Little G opened his mouth as if to yawn then looked away.
“Huh,” Mark peered into the tank. “He seems pretty chill.”
“I know, right? Why would we need to stay up all night with a freaking gecko?”
“I don’t know.” He set the tank down at the sink then peered in the bag. “What the hell?”
Slowly he started pulling out colored ping pong balls, some weird gecko food, a blanket that smelled like a barn animal died in it, a dog chew toy, and then several containers of living, writhing mealworms making me gag.
Finally, he pulled out a small journal. “Little G’s schedule,” Mark announced. “At exactly six p.m. he needs to stretch his legs to accommodate the length of them. Please attach the long leash to Little G’s collar and only walk around the kitchen. When he gets tired, feed him a worm. Repeat this process every hour on the hour.”
“I’m calling bullshit.” I narrowed my eyes at the journal. “Geckos don’t need walks!”
“This one apparently does.” Mark sighed. “And technically, this is our task for the night. Well, that and giving feedback on the apartment, living room, and kitchen.”
My marketing mind was already churning, but then the gecko made a weird and scary screeching-hissing noise like a miniature Jurassic Park dinosaur. I let out a little scream as the bag dropped to the floor.
I knelt to pick it up and was greeted by a lovely cockroach bigger than my finger.
Shrieking, I jumped into the air and directly against Mark’s hard body.
“Oomph.” He stumbled back. “It’s just a bug!”
“It’s a cockroach!”
“So put it back in the container; it’s probably part of Little G’s food!”
“He’ll choke on it!” I turned, still in Mark’s arms. “We’ll have to cut it up into tiny pieces. Not it.”
“He’s not going to choke—” He eyed the stationary bug. “Well, I mean, we can’t kill little G by accident. Shit, if we cut it, do we cut it in half or like in thirds?”
“I think thirds?” I whispered, my focus completely on the fact that Mark’s hands were holding me against him and that I could feel the warmth of his skin through his shirt.
With a sigh, he shifted his gaze downward at our touching bodies, then very quickly set me on my feet and moved to grab the cockroach. The minute he got close, though, it made a beeline for my feet. I screamed again, stomped, and then heard a crunch beneath my shoe.
“Well,” Mark said with a sigh. “Guess we won’t have to cut it; we’ll just scrape his insides off your outsides and be in business.”
“Ewwwwwwwwwww.” I held up my foot. “I killed his food!”
“Good job, you’re a natural hunter.” Mark winked.
I made a strangled noise. “I don’t suppose you’ll let me wave the white flag of partnership and get the cockroach guts off my Vans?”
“Not a chance in hell, but I will video it and post it to TikTok.” He smiled.
“My hero.”
“I try.” He put his hand across his chest. “I’ll get a knife and help you dump it in his tank. “You want first shift or second?”
“Second, I think.”
“Cool, let’s get him fed and then find some blankets and pillows so we can start our campout in the living room.”
“Great.” With a disgusted face, I grabbed the knife from Mark and managed to get some cockroach guts off my person and into Little G’s tank.
He started chomping away immediately.
“Aw, he likes it.”
“He’s got an appetite.” Mark lowered his head to watch.
I did the same.
And then complete silence fell as we watched Little G eat, only to lock eyes through the damn tank for an uncomfortable amount of time.
He stared.
I stared.
Then Little G looked between the both of us as if to say, “Yo, it’s getting weird, and I’m feeling the tension, and you’re ruining my dinner.”
I jerked back and walked down the hall.
Needing space between Mark and me if I was going to survive.
I heard his footsteps softly following.
I tried a few doors, then finally found one that was open. And thank God it was a closet with pillows, sheets, and blankets.
I stood up on tiptoes to reach for them, when in a classic guy move, Mark reached above me and grabbed him, his front grazing my back and my back dying a slow death wishing that move was longer than three point seven seconds.
Not that I counted.
That would be weird.
Right?
I cleared my throat. “Thanks.”
“I can be nice.”
“You just choose to be mean.” I snorted.
“No.”
I could feel the heat from his chest.
“I just choose to protect myself from girls who like to break hearts and stomp all over them.”
I gasped and turned. “I’m not like that!”
He shrugged. “Okay, sure.”
“I’m not!” I called after him.
“Cody, Jayden, Sawyer, Brad, and Dylan,” he yelled over his shoulder. “Just in case you needed a reminder of the guys you dated in college and ruined.”