Filled - Alexa Riley Page 0,31
batch of boxes to go before I trip right into one and almost fall over it.
My phone slips out of my hand and goes flying into the air. One of the movers grabs me by my shirt right before I face plant onto the ground for the second time this afternoon.
“Jesus, kid,” the guy says as he gives my shirt a good yank and puts me back on my feet.
“Thanks,” I tell the older man, who looks like my great uncle John on my dad’s side.
His name tag reads Paul and tells me he’s the owner. He lets go of my shirt when he sees I’ve got my feet back under me.
“Thank me by parking yourself in a chair until we’re done here.” He points to my daybed that’s set up in the living room. It can work as both a bed and sofa since the one bedroom I have is going to be my office. I don’t need a lot of space, but somehow I have a lot of things. Maybe I should have let some stuff go. It doesn’t help matters that my parents are downsizing and let me have my pick of a lot of stuff before they move.
“I can help,” I try again but catch my foot on one of the boxes. It tips over and one of the movers grabs it before it hits him in the head. I cringe and my face heats. I almost nailed the guy right in the face. “Sorry.”
“What’s in that box, air?” Paul laughs from beside me.
“Stuffed animals.” I say and sigh.
“You’re eighteen, right?” Paul looks me up and down. “Never thought to ask someone’s age before I moved them.” His eyebrows pull together and worry etches his face.
“Yes, I’m eighteen.” I roll my eyes. I get that a lot. I’m small and my cheeks are round. Those two things together and people always think I’m younger than I am.
“They’re not my stuffed animals.” I know having boxes of stuffed animals doesn’t help with the age thing.
“You stole them?” Paul gives me a teasing smile.
“No.” I scrunch my nose. “They’re mine for work,” I hurriedly add.
“For work?” Now he doesn’t fight the laugh trying to escape when he teases me about having them, and a few of the other guys join in.
“Yes for work. See? It says ‘office’ on it.” I point to the words scrawled on the box in pink marker. I know they’ll want to know what I do for a living next, but I don’t offer to tell them.
“Glad we cleared that up.” Paul shakes his head when he sees I’m not going to give them any more information. “How about you sit.” He motions towards the daybed again.
I don’t want to sit, I want to unpack. I’m too excited to be still right now. I’ve never had a place all to myself. It’s scary but I don’t care. I’m ready for this.
“I don’t need a lawsuit because you hurt yourself.” This time Paul’s tone is serious and he’s not really asking.
“Fine.” I walk over to the daybed and sit down. I know I’m clumsy.
I get it, I just don’t care anymore. If it were up to me, of course, I wouldn’t be clumsy, but I’ve learned to accept it for what it is. I can’t sit in one spot for the rest of my life. I kick off my shoes and tuck my feet under me. I’ll stay out of their way because they’re just trying to do their jobs. I don’t need to add to the chaos of three men in my tiny apartment. With my luck I’d end up flattened.
They all go back to working since they’re almost finished. I sit and watch and try to direct from my seat. There’s really no point because my place is so small they might as well put everything in one big pile.
After a few minutes I give up because they’re not really listening to me. It’s another problem with being small and people taking me for a kid. You can go unnoticed even when you’re talking to someone, which is more annoying than being clumsy.
“Fine,” I mumble as I pick up my phone to play with.
My laptop is on the other side of the room, but Paul can cut me a look better than my dad. They’re almost done anyway, so I’ll wait.
I pull up my emails and see if I’ve gotten anything new in the last few hours. I’m ahead on my work projects