Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 85725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
“What would you like to wear? Pick something and two pairs of jeans and one pair of sweats.”
“That’s too much.” When there’s no effort to redact part of what she suggested, I release a heavy sigh, “Jaye, I don’t need-”
“To keep fighting with me. You’re just slowing down the dinner making process, and I’ll be totally honest. The longer it takes me to grocery shop, the more likely I am to order delivery versus cook.”
“I’ll cook.”
“And you’ll wear…”
Sensing that she won’t cave, I reach for a couple nearby flannel shirts, “These. And I’ll grab a pack of long sleeve tees.”
“And jeans.”
“And one pair of jeans.”
“And one pair of sweats.”
I reluctantly surrender. “Fine.”
She struggles not to squeak in glee. “Fine.”
Strolling away is attached to a quiet grumble, “You’re too fucking sweet for your own good.”
“Like my cookies!”
After grabbing the items and tossing them into the cart, I resume pushing only to be stopped almost immediately.
“You need boxers!” She doesn’t wait for a response. “Or briefs…Or boxer briefs. Or you know whatever you prefer.”
With the opportunity to lighten the mood back up, I playfully poke, “You don’t like me going commando?”
The redness that rips her expression is instant. “Uh…um…y-y-you can – If that’s wh-wh-what – I just thought that-” Her inability to finish the sentences receives a loud laugh which causes her to deliver another teasing swat to my chest. “Go grab whatever underwear you wanna wear or pretend to wear. We’re gonna go by storage next. We need something to keep your stuff in. Maybe a set of those plastic drawers or a couple of totes. Whichever you like more.”
My mouth twitches to argue, barely being caught before a single sound can leak free.
What the fuck do I need that shit for? What am I gonna do, stop by for visitation of my pants? Yeah, I know I can’t – or shouldn’t – say that shit to her. I should just let her live in her weird fucked up friendship fantasy for a while longer. I’ll make sure she keeps the receipt so she can return all this shit when she comes to her senses.
Traveling from clothes to the organizational area is completed in silence; however, the minute we arrive in the section, another wave of enthusiasm busts free from Jaye as she Vanna White’s various options for me to choose from. The sight in itself is amusing, but the continued implication I am staying longer than just one night is uncomfortable.
And that unease has me shuffling my feet.
Grinding my teeth.
Balling my fists not to say something else dickish to the woman I’m slightly convinced might be a little insane.
How else do you explain wanting to let a stranger to basically live in your garage?
Jaye begins to grab the three-drawer plastic piece and I promptly take over the task of retrieval. After rearranging the awkward piece at the bottom of the cart near the squeaky front wheels, I’m quickly reminded of something I forgot to mention earlier. “Since we’re here,” rising back to my feet is slowly done, “can we grab some WD-40?” Resuming my position to push the basket is done next. “I noticed a couple of your kitchen cabinets squeak and so does the downstairs half bath door.”
All of sudden, she swings herself in front of the cart to cease our movement. “That’s it!”
“What’s it?”
“That!”
“WD-40?”
“My brilliant idea!”
“I don’t think you invented that shit, sweetheart.”
“Huh?” She shakes her head, realizing what I’ve said doesn’t have anything to do with what she’s thinking. “No. No, this isn’t about the WD-40. This is about how we get you to stay with me.”
I don’t like where this is going.
“You can ‘rent’ my garage space – not because you’re not welcomed in the house but because I know you won’t accept the offer to sleep in one of the guest rooms – in exchange for fixing stuff around the house!”
“Like a live-in handyman?”
“Exactly!”
Her excitement has me hesitating to retort. “Yeah, the thing is, I don’t think you really need one, Jaye.”
“Yeah, and I think it’s best for this arrangement if you don’t pre-emptively know just how many things are broken at my house.”
Laughter instantly bounces back and forth between us.
Fuck. Me. I need her to be less irresistible.
“Come on, Archer! This is a win-win scenario which are everyone’s favorite. You get a warm place to sleep, fresh food to eat, and the chance to add a new job to your résumé – whenever you’re ready to fill one out – while I can stop having my dad fix things at two houses instead of just his one. Plus, I get a roommate that’s also a friend who can talk about books with me and TV and eat the leftovers I feel guilty about chucking.”
I can’t stop myself from shaking my head. “That’s a terrible idea.”