Before Lennon moved in, we’d clean once a week, and that was enough. Between working full-time jobs and mostly ordering out food, there wasn’t much to keep up with. Now, Lennon cooks for Brandon every night, does their laundry twice a week, and tells me when it’s “my time” to vacuum and dust the apartment. After enough nagging, I do the chores she assigns, but only when I’m ready.
However, vacuuming up her panties and cell phone charger got me thirty minutes of scolding and a lesson on checking the floor beforehand. Then when she found out I used bug spray instead of furniture polish to dust the apartment, she stomped her foot and screamed at me for being an imbecile.
Safe to say, I made my point on how I felt about her assigned “chores.”
“Nah, don’t worry, man,” I reassure him. “It’s how we show affection.” I chuckle, then finish my coffee. “If she hates it that much, maybe she’ll go live with one of her sisters or friends or something, and we can get our bachelor pad back!”
I stand and walk to the sink where I set my empty mug. A few of my cereal bowls that Lennon soaked in soapy water are still there, and I shake my head at how she tries to control everything.
“If she moves out, you know I’m going with her,” Brandon tells me softly. “She’s the love of my life, and you’re my best friend, so I’d hate to even have to pick, but she’s my future. However, moving out is the last thing I want.”
His words have my jaw tightening at how pussy whipped he is. I know he loves her, but fuck. I miss the days when it was just us. We’d play video games, order pizza, and then head out to the bars. In college, we were so broke that we’d take advantage of all the happy hour 2-for-1 deals so we’d have enough money to buy a drink for a girl or two. Mason and Liam would always be there to fuck shit up too. Through thick and thin, it was always the four of us, and there was a strict no girls tagging along rule until Lennon came along.
Brandon’s one of the good guys, and deep down, I know he deserves to be happy, but I can’t help feeling like he stole something from me. It’s unfair to say, considering he had no idea how I felt about her, and once they hooked up, I knew none of it mattered. Even if it’d been nothing more than a one-night stand, Lennon would always be off-limits. Bro code and all that shit. You don’t dip your toes where a buddy has already been. The second he claimed her, my chance was shot.
“I know, man,” I finally say, grabbing my bowls and emptying out the water.
I don’t want to have these feelings for her. Hell, I’d do anything not to have them. The only thing that seems to work, even if only temporarily, is pissing her off. She’ll scream, tell me how immature and irresponsible I am, curse me out until she’s red in the face, and for a split second, those feelings of lust dissipate.
Approximately thirty seconds later, she’ll do something adorable like shake her ass as she stomps away or force a smile in my direction to pretend she’s not seething, and those stupid feelings quickly rush back.
Heading to my room, I grab the last of my things that I need before I leave for work. I spot three more bowls, a glass, and silverware on my desk and carry them to the sink.
Brandon’s already finished his coffee and left the kitchen by the time I return. Knowing this will piss Lennon off, I place them next to the other dishes I left her this morning, and a smirk hits my lips.
My cell phone beeps, and as soon as I see Lennon’s name flash across the screen, I know it’s going to be a passive-aggressive comment. When her message is exactly what I thought it would be, I reply like I always do—with anything to set her off even more. When she doesn’t respond to my last text, I take a picture of my dirty dishes and send it to her, knowing it’ll have her steaming. Nothing satisfies me more.
To be honest, I don’t know why she even tries anymore. She’ll text me with a simple request, and I always do the exact opposite, so you’d think she’d learn by now.
Her messages are usually along the lines of:
I’m making Brandon dinner tonight, so don’t bring food home for him or he won’t be hungry later.
Or…
I have to stay late at work, and my sisters are coming over right after. Do you think you could sweep the kitchen when you get home since you’re the one who made the mess?