Page 64 of Best Offer Wins
Before I can make up my mind, I hear footsteps, human and canine, pounding down the hallway outside. I hear the jingle of Fritter’s dog tags, then Ian’s key in our door.
Then nothing.
The deadbolt was no longer locked. I can sense him, just on the other side, letting that sink in. Steeling himself for the fact that I am already here.
Does he remember where he left the phone? Or does he just know that he doesn’t have it with him?
As the handle starts to turn, I snatch it off the counter and shove it into the waistband of my jeans, concealing it beneath my flannelbutton-up. Fritter’s scruffy face appears first. He pushes through the door, beelining for me. I bend down to shower him with kisses—and to avoid seeing Ian for a few more precious seconds. I know he won’t look the same, that he never will again. I’ll delay that tragedy for as long as I can.
“Who’s my best boy?” I grab hold of both sides of Fritter’s face, kiss his shiny black nose. His happy tail smacks against the fridge, as I blink away the stinging in my eyes.
I make myself get up.
“Hi!” I say brightly.
In an instant, the rigid angles of Ian’s jawline mellow. The crease in his brow irons itself out. The transformation happens so fast that I would’ve missed it if I didn’t already know he had something to hide. His smile—the way it turns down the corners of his eyes and makes the green in them sparkle a little—rips me apart. When I lean into him for a hug, I feel the rest of the tension leave his body.
He thinks he’s gotten away with it.
“You’re home early.” He kisses my forehead. It turns my stomach, the ringing in my head dialing back up. “Couldn’t stand being around Jordana any longer?”
Ian has made a joke, I tell myself.Laugh at the joke.
I laugh.
“Actually, it was nice to spend some time with her outside the office. I woke up at the crack of dawn and couldn’t fall back asleep, so I figured I might as well beat traffic.” I hear myself speaking, but I’m not totally convinced the words are coming from me. “I would’ve texted, but I didn’t want to wake you.”
“Well, lucky us, getting you back so soon.” His eyes shift to the countertop, then swerve past me, searching the apartment. “Now you’ll get to have some Fritter time before Natalie comes down to get him.”
“You guys got an early start, too.” I gather my bags from theentry and head into the bedroom, pausing in the doorway. “Wow, you even made the bed!”
Ian never makes the bed. That is the same made bed that I left behind on Friday. He hasn’t slept here all weekend. This lying motherfucker.
“Uh, yeah. I guess I must’ve really missed you.”
“I missed you, too.” It’s physically painful to say it.
“Are you hungry? I can make pancakes.”
“Sure, that sounds great. I’m just going to take a quick shower.”
Fritter follows me through the bedroom, into the bathroom. I close the door behind us and turn on the water. I sit on the edge of the tub, Fritter’s chin resting on my knees. The volume of my tears surprises me. There have been so many times since we moved in here when I felt like I hated Ian. I mean, really hated him. But if I ever doubted that I still loved him, the way I feel right now—completely ruined—is my validation.
Fritter whines softly, the worry in his eyes compelling me to get my shit together. “It’s okay,” I reassure him. “Everything’s fine.”
I peel off my clothes and hide the phone in a box of tampons under the sink, in case Ian comes in while I’m showering. When I’m done, I take the box and shove it inside one of the purses holding my contraband house numbers, in the top corner of the closet.
“So, what did you get up to last night?” I ask, pushing gluey, underdone pancake around my plate, already nauseated from the couple of bites I managed to force down.
When I reemerged from the bathroom, Ian was putting the seat cushions back on the couch—looking for the TV remote, he said. Fritter hasn’t left my side; now he lies on top of my feet under the table. I think he understands. He was apparently with Ian, after all. Wherever he was.
“Oh, not a whole lot,” Ian says. “I took Fritter on a long walkafter I went upstairs to get him, then Brant came by for a while, and we ordered a pizza and had a few beers. What about you?”
He doesn’t skip a goddamn beat. Why has it never occurred to me that Ian might be just as good a liar as I am? Maybe he’s even better.
“We had a pretty lowkey night, too. Cooked some pasta, drank some wine. Went to bed early.” I take a sip of coffee. “How’s Brant doing? I can’t remember the last time I saw him.”
Ian laughs. “Well, yeah, he’s not really your favorite, right?”
