“Step away from the peanut butter,” I warn as the door is slammed in disgust. I barge him out of the way and open it again, helping myself to a jar. Fucking hell, I’m beginning to feel stressed again. I whip off the lid and dive in. “What happened with Coral?”
Drew rests his arse against the counter. “Steaming drunk. Again.”
“Last night?” I ask, and he nods, his face in his phone. “Sarah didn’t mention it.”
“Sarah didn’t have to deal with it. She was busy in the communal room. John dealt with her. Took her home.”
“He didn’t mention it,” I muse, slowly sucking my finger clean, thoughtful, as Drew taps away at the screen of his phone. Why didn’t he mention it? I need to know this kind of shit.
“He said he didn’t want to trouble you.” He looks up, tucking his phone away. “Said you’ve got enough on your plate.” His head tilts. “Anything to do with a pretty little interior designer?”
I shove my finger in the jar and into my gob, buying some time. What can I say? Luckily, I don’t have to say anything. Sam rounds the corner into the kitchen with Cathy in tow, their hands full of cleaning stuff. Their timing is impeccable.
Drew looks on, horrified. “I’m not cleaning,” he declares, and Cathy laughs. “I came round to chill the fuck out before I go let off some steam at The Man—” He snaps his mouth shut, eyeing Cathy.
“At The Manor, dear?” she asks on a laugh, dumping her bucket on the counter. She pulls one rubber glove off, and it snaps, piercing the air. “Think I’ll fit in?”
I fall apart laughing, as does Sam, and Drew’s eyes widen dramatically. “Like a dream,” he murmurs, giving me a pleading look, like,get me the fuck out of here.
“Now,” Cathy says, giving us all a moment of her eyes. “How about I cook you boys dinner before I go pack for my trip?”
“Where are you going, Cathy?” Sam asks, settling on a stool.
“Ireland, dear. Visiting family for a few weeks.”
“A few weeks?” He looks at me. “You’ll be missed, I’m sure, since Jesse’s suddenly decided to move out of The Manor.”
I scowl, and Drew looks at me with interest. “Fuck you,” I snap, having one last dip of my vice before replacing it in the fridge. “I’ll survive just fine.” I go to Cathy and give her a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you for the offer, but you should get home to pack. I’ll drive you.”
“You’re a good boy, Jesse.” She gives my cheek an affectionate rub before taking a bottle of bleach and leaving the kitchen. “I’ll just finish the bathrooms.”
“So, what’s the plan?” Sam asks, clapping his hands together and rubbing. “Oh, and who was the visitor?”
“No one,” I answer.
“Freja Van Der Haus,” Drew pipes in, holding back a rare smile, motioning to my brooding form. “She’s in love with bighead over there.”
“Same day, different story,” Sam mutters, going to the fridge and opening the door. “Peanut butter? Is that all you’ve got to offer?”
For the first time, I notice both the boys have turned up empty-handed. I turn questioning eyes onto them. “You didn’t bring any beers?” I ask. They always bring beers.
Sam looks at Drew. Drew looks at Sam. What’s going on? “I’m driving,” Drew announces. “I said I’d be at The Manor later.”
“Yeah, and me.”
“Get a cab,” I suggest. They usually do.
Both my friends start shifting awkwardly, and the penny drops in my lagging brain. “You’re fucking kidding me,” I say, stalking past them and grabbing my keys. “I’m going to the shop to get you two dicks some fucking beers.” I can’t be pissed off with them. They’re friends. Good friends. “And I’ll drop you at The Manor later myself.”
“Why’s that?” Sam calls. I look over my shoulder, finding him smiling mildly.
“Because I’m not drinking,” I answer, disappearing around the corner to the door.
“And why’s that?” Drew yells.
I don’t bother answering them this time. I don’t need to. I’m a mug if I believe they’re not onto me. Maybe later I’ll open up to them. Talk. Get their thoughts.
I laugh. Only pussies discuss woman prob—