The Conundrum of Collies (Love & Pets #6) - A.G. Henley Page 0,25
and he smells slightly spicy.
“Hi, you,” I giggle.
He sighs. “Stevie. You said last time that you wouldn’t clean your desk when I wasn’t home. You promised.”
“Oh, yeah.” I honestly hadn’t remembered promising that until he said it. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long time.”
And it had. Probably about three years. He’d found me then, about like now, surrounded by the paper bird droppings of my work life, drinking and pretending to sort things out.
“We were going to run.”
I slide my head so I can see him better. “We can. Give me ten minutes.”
He rolls his eyes. “Stevie, you’re three drinks into the weekend and your room looks like a hurricane blew about thirteen hundred miles off course and hit right here. I don’t think a run is going to happen.”
I stumble to my feet, chagrined. “I . . . I’m sorry.”
He sets his bag down with a heavy thump. “C’mon, let’s get this mess cleaned up.”
When he looks at me, something like pity—or is it disgust? —suffuses his face. I stiffen. It’s one thing for me to pity him for having to live with me. It’s another for him to pity me for being, well, me.
“No thanks,” I say. “I’ve got it. You go for your run.”
Logan grabs a dust cloth I’d brought in hours ago to clean the desk with but never got around to using. “It’s okay. Let me help.”
“No.” I take the cloth out of his hand. “But thanks.”
His lips thin, something they do when he’s annoyed. And he’s rarely ever annoyed with anyone but me. Who can blame him?
“Stevie. Don’t be an ass.”
“I’m not being an ass. I’m trying to clean my room. Thank you for offering to help. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a few years of crap to clean up.”
He closes his eyes, muttering something. “Fine. See you later.” He snatches his bag off the ground, turns, and stalks out.
I groan to myself. Five hours ago, I had such good intentions. What happened?
What usually happens. I happened. I always happen.
Most people’s bucket lists are full of cool, exotic trips or once in a lifetime experiences. Mine consists of cleaning my freaking room and occasionally the spaces between my teeth. And I can’t even do those things without getting buzzed and triggering a pity response in my best friend.
Stupid Stevie. Stupid, stupid Stevie.
With a rush of anger, all aimed at myself, I take another swig of wine, prepare the dust cloth and take it out on the years of dust piled up on my desk.
Two hours, and two more glasses of wine later, I finish. My desk is clean and organized, every sheet of paper and writing utensil has a home, my keyboard is free of smudges, my monitor sparkles, my bed is made with clean linens, and I’m . . . exhausted.
As I’d worked, I heard Logan call for Bean to take her on his run, they’d come back, he’d showered, and he’d banged around in the kitchen. He hadn’t offered to make me anything to eat like he usually would.
I’d had plenty of time and enough grapes to get my guilt juices flowing. Logan had offered to help. He hadn’t said one critical word. Then again, he hadn’t needed to. I can read my best friend’s face perfectly well, thank you.
My whole life, I’ve been very sensitive to criticism. I know every fault I have. Could catalogue them for you at any moment. I don’t need anyone to point them out. But Logan hadn’t pointed anything out. He’d only looked disappointed.
I creep out to the living room, empty wine bottle and glass in one hand, a fistful of apologies in the other. He’s on the couch playing a game, back to me, headphones on. After a quick detour to the sink and recycle bin, I pad into the living room, Bean on my heels, and sit on the couch beside Logan. She curls up in her dog bed by the gas fireplace that doesn’t work.
My housemate doesn’t look at me or even acknowledge me. He’s playing one of his first-person shooter games, and he must be playing by himself, because he’s not talking to anyone through the headset.
I watch for a while, and then I slide a little closer and put my head on his shoulder. He doesn’t make room, doesn’t even move. It’s like I’m not there.
For a second.
Then, he pauses his game and slides an arm around my shoulders. I wrap my arms around his torso and hug him