“It was a bunny,” I murmur quietly under my breath.
The moment I have the truck in park, Cooper flies out of the passenger seat, slamming his door before rounding the vehicle to jump in the driver’s seat. We look like a married couple in a tiff. Well, fine. If he’s going to slam a door, I am too. I hop up into the passenger seat, and I pull the door shut with a loud BAM.
He scowls at me and then rubs his hand over the top dashboard, whispering, “It’s okay, baby. I won’t let that sexually frustrated man crash you.”
I roll my eyes and position my elbow on the side of the door so I can lean on my fist. “Does Lucy know about this romantic affair you’re having with your truck?”
“Whatever. Hers is worse. She steals the keys and takes it out for late-night rendezvous to get ice cream. The number of sprinkles I find on the seat after is obscene.”
Cooper starts the truck, backs up, and we pull onto the main road again, only about five minutes from my house now. It’s insulting he didn’t even trust me to make it the last few miles.
“Lucy’s wrong, though. I’m not sexually frustrated,” I say, but Cooper looks unimpressed by my declaration. In fact, he has the gall to laugh. “What? I’m serious. I was doing great before Jessie showed up. And for the first time in my adult life, I had my house all to myself. So if I’m frustrated, it’s because I can’t walk around naked anymore.”
“Really? Well, if you were enjoying your nudist sanctuary so much, why did you offer for Jessie to move in with you?”
I look out the window. “You already know this answer. We made a trade. I need her to act like my girlfriend at the fundraiser.”
He shakes his head. “The real reason.”
“That is the real reason. I couldn’t find anyone else to do it. I needed someone to help me, and Jessie needed somewhere to stay. Problem solved.”
“I call BS.”
He’s serious. He really thinks this was all staged for me to get to spend more time with Jessie? Ridiculous. “Oh wow, yeah,” I say, completely deadpan. “You caught me. I want Jessie soooooo bad. I love that she constantly fights with me and makes my life miserable. I love seeing her green eyes flare when she says something biting, and I am actually happy to have her moving in because I secretly hate living alone, and—” I stop myself when I realize this is sounding less and less like a joke and more like my subconscious thoughts climbing out of hiding.
My eyes cut to Cooper and see his lips pressed firmly together, gaze grinning, a laugh strangled in his throat.
“Just shut up,” I tell him, pulling my hood up and sinking down in the seat like a teenager who hates his parents. Cooper’s hands go up in mock surrender as I reach over to turn up the radio and drown out any uncomfortable realizations coalescing in my head. It might have sounded like the truth, but it wasn’t. I was just kidding around. The only part of that whole statement that might have had a sliver of truth to it is when I said I don’t like living alone. I actually miss having Lucy and Levi around to talk to at the end of the day or watch a movie and eat pizza with. It’s sort of depressing to finish an entire large pizza on your own.
Truth is, I don’t even like being naked. I tried it last night after I went home because I thought I should make at least one attempt at nudism before Jessie moves in. I spent the whole night buck naked. I was just cold. I felt weird and don’t really have a desire to do it again.
But the rest, the whole part about Jessie and wanting her—yeah, that wasn’t true.
Once we get to my place, I help Cooper move the last few boxes inside but then make him carry them upstairs where the ladies are by himself, because I’m in a terrible mood now. I go hide away in my own room and take a shower just so I don’t have to talk to anyone—especially not Jessie. No, I take that back—especially not Cooper. He gets a big head when he thinks he’s right about something and then won’t let up. I don’t care to see his eyebrows wag at me all night.
I take the world’s longest shower and then linger in my bedroom until I’m sure the coast is clear and Cooper and Lucy have finally left for the night. Finally, I open my door, peek out (this actually looks way more manly than how you’re picturing it), and see that everything in the living room is quiet and still. I’ve never before been so thankful that my room is on the ground floor while all the spare rooms are upstairs. If I time this right, I’ll probably never have to come in contact with Jessie for the rest of her time living here.
I tiptoe toward the kitchen (again, picture a warrior trying to outsmart his enemy in combat rather than the pathetic maneuver this really is). I quickly assemble a sandwich in the dark so Jessie’s not alerted to the light and then carry it back to my room, never having loathed myself more than I do in this moment. Tomorrow will be better, though. After a good night’s sleep, I’ll feel more in charge and ready to face her.
I wake up in the morning feeling disturbed. I lie in bed for longer than necessary, remembering my dream in way too much fantastic detail. I remember how Jessie’s lips felt pillowy soft against mine, how she tasted like a vanilla cupcake, warm, fresh out of the oven. I don’t want to start the day; I want to fall back asleep and back into Jessie’s arms.
It’s fine. I’m fine.
But I’m not fine, at least not when I go out in the living room and stop short, blinking and staring at all the feminine accessories spread out all over my house. I know for a fact I made it clear all of this had to stay in her room. I specifically told her if she wanted to bring every throw blanket she owned, fine, but she had to find a way to contain them upstairs in her room. Not here, draped across the back of my couch. So please explain to me how I’m run
ning my fingers across a soft pastel pink blanket, squishing a frilly, fuzzy pillow between my hands, and reading a dish towel draped over the oven handle that says “Oh, for fork’s sake” and has two forks kissing.
Ah, geez, there’s more. It’s everywhere. Like the flu during the winter, her stuff has mutated and multiplied all over my home. My clean countertops are cluttered. Drawers are stuffed, and my world is spinning. There’s a set of salt and pepper shakers wearing BFF t-shirts. A fluffy rug is rolled out in the living room. (What kind of messed-up person puts a rug over carpet?!) Picture frames filled with Jessie and her grandaddy sit on my entertainment center. A froufrou ottoman has replaced my mid-century coffee table. Pillows—so many damn pillows lining the couch there’s nowhere to sit anymore.
I spin. Candles.
I twist. Succulents.
I bend. A woven basket containing MORE fuzzy pastel blankets. How many does one woman need?!
There isn’t an inch of my house that hasn’t been touched—vandalized.
Anger scorches through me because once again, she found a way to slide under my skin. She’s there, chiseling away at my bones with something sharp. I thought there was no way Jessie would be able to unpack all of this around my house because it’s Sunday and I don’t have to go into work. I had the whole day blocked out so I could stand like a centurion and make sure she kept all her crap contained to her little 10x12 cubicle upstairs. Once again—and for the last time—I underestimated this woman. From the looks of it, Jessie was up all night.