Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
“Roommates don’t have to talk. It’s not a requirement. It’s a lot different than dating. No one has to speak. No one cares what anyone else is wearing. And it’s no big deal if you want to walk away without an explanation.”
I chuckle, rinsing the bowl. “Sometimes roommates can be friends who do, in fact, talk. I’ve gathered that Will and Maren aren’t interested in letting you into their friendship circle, so I’m offering to be your friend.”
When he doesn’t respond, I peek over my shoulder, surveying the room. The empty room. Fitz left. He vanished without any explanation.
“Or roommates works,” I murmur to myself. “I have other friends. Like . . . me, myself, and I because I’m talking to myself.” I shake my head while drying my hands.
I’m unsure if I despise Calvin Fitzgerald or if he’s officially my newest obsession.
Chapter Five
Betty O’Neil runs late every day. She’s thirty-seven, has five kids from four men, and has never been married. Betty works with the mentally ill to feel normal—at least, that’s my best assessment of her situation.
There’s a lot to assess with Betty, such as her light-pink bob with freakishly short bangs. Did she wash her platinum hair with a red sock? Are the bangs a new style or a trim gone terribly wrong? Is she worried that one of her offspring might yank that silver septum piercing out of her nose?
“What’s on your shirt?” I nod while she slips on a scrubs top over her white turtleneck.
“Hell if I know. After I wash my clothes, they’re dirtier than before I washed them because I live with little monsters who keep crayons, markers, and bite-size candy bars in their pockets. Don’t tell anyone I said this, but I might have too many kids.”
“At least your scrubs top hides it.”
Betty taps her tablet. “Has Lewis Cron arrived? His wife couldn’t get him out of bed yesterday to make his appointment.”
“Not yet.” I lift my coffee to take a sip, and Betty snags it.
“I need this more than you.” Her brown eyes roll back in her head when she takes a slow sip. She shoves it back into my hand, and I frown at the red lipstick stamped on the lid.
“How’s it going at your new place? Isn’t Will the best?” She digs through her purse and pops a piece of spearmint gum into her mouth.
“He’s great. I never asked how you two know each other.” I follow her toward the reception desk.
“I hooked up with one of his friends a few times.”
“Oh?”
“Is it terrible I don’t remember his name?” She peers over her shoulder and cringes. “It was ten years ago. A smoke jumper, I think.”
“Calvin?”
“Maybe.” She pushes through the door and calls her patient.
Why on earth does she not keep track of the men who impregnate her? And what about birth control? I have so many questions. But for now, I have to get to work. I pivot and hurry in the opposite direction, pressing my lips together like I have a secret I can’t wait to share.
Did Fitz hook up with Betty O’Neil? Come to think of it, I’m pretty sure Betty said one of her kids is eight or nine.
A miniature Calvin Fitzgerald? That would be something.
When I arrive home after an enlightening day with Dr. Reichart (including a fifteen-minute Beat Saber tutorial between patients), Fitz’s truck is in the driveway. He’s been in Arizona for the past two weeks. I’ve been spoiled with just Maren and Will. Fitz is emotionally exhausting. I need my other roommates to take some pressure off me, but they’re not home.
“I shoveled a path from the driveway to your shed,” Fitz says with his back to me while stirring something on the stove that smells savory, garlicky, and delicious. “So you don’t have to track snow through the house or remove your boots only to take ten steps and have to put them back on.”
“Then you wouldn’t get to see my lovely face.” I slip off my boots and tug at my scarf.
“I’d get by.”
“Would you really? Don’t lie. You’ve missed me. How was Arizona?”
He doesn’t respond. Typical.
“I, uh . . . work with Betty O’Neil. Does that name ring a bell?” I fill a glass with water just to get a glimpse of his face.
“No. Should it?” He offers a quick sidelong glance.
“She thinks she might have hooked up with you ten years ago.”
“And why does she think that?” He sets a lid on his pot of chili and retrieves a bowl.
I finish my glass of water. “Because Will fixed her up with a friend who’s a smoke jumper.”
“This might surprise you, but I’m not the only smoke jumper in town.”
“But you’re Will’s friend.” I lean against the counter.
Fitz crumples half a sleeve of saltine crackers and dumps them into a bowl while smirking. “I can see why you might think I’m Will’s only friend, but I’m not. However, it’s weird that you’re talking about my sex life at work.”