Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84195 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84195 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
“Do your parents know I’m staying here?”
I chuckled. “You do realize it’s only been a little over twenty-four hours since our meetup?”
“Holy shit, why does it feel like so much longer?”
“Right?” I pushed back from my plate, feeling stuffed. “And I’ll tell them that we’ve become friends again—eventually. It’s still such a bone of contention for me.” They probably didn’t even remember all these years later that they’d pulled me out of something I loved.
He sighed. “Parents. They’re complicated.”
“Tell me about it.”
After we rinsed our plates and set them in the dishwasher, Skylar went to his room to retrieve his bag. “I need to get going. I promise not to make too much noise when I get home.”
“Nah, it’s fine. Have a good night.” As I followed him to the door, I tried to figure out something else to say. “Make lots of good tips?”
“No problem there,” he said with a wink that made my stomach feel strange.
As soon as he left the apartment, it was as if he’d taken all the energy with him. Which was ridiculous because I’d lived here for a couple of years and was perfectly fine being by myself.
I caught up on emails, watched some TV, then went to bed. But it was a restless sleep, and I’d be lying if I didn’t say I felt relieved when I finally heard his key in the door, like I was some sort of mother hen. Ridiculous indeed.
9
Skylar
The next few days were…well, I couldn’t really say exactly what they were. Clark and I settled into a routine. He left for work early and kept the coffee warm for me. I woke up later, because I went to bed later, but we often had dinner together before I headed to the Playground. He refused to let me pay him any rent, so I tried to cook dinner, but sometimes I thought maybe that made him a little crazy. I could tell he appreciated it, but I was messy and all over the place and Clark wasn’t. I wondered if I was stressing him out when I was in his kitchen, so I tried not to do things like Wild Skylar, but that didn’t work so well for me either. I was who I was.
The first day I did clean up the kitchen afterward, but I felt like I did that wrong too. Not that Clark would ever say anything about it—and again, I knew he appreciated it—but he was used to doing things a certain way. The next two days he told me he would clean up. I felt bad, like I was using him, but it also seemed like something he needed to do. I didn’t want to mess up his flow. Clark seemed like the kind of guy who needed things done a specific way.
Other than that, everything was great. I enjoyed the hell out of being in Clark’s life again. Even though we didn’t have a lot in common, I just…liked being around him. I’d always liked being around him.
And now I had to figure out how to tell him I might be around him a whole hell of a lot longer. Either that, or move out. I should probably move out. It wasn’t like he enjoyed having someone in his apartment, taking over his space. Living alone was the best thing ever, but I’d just met with the super and some guys from the fire department, and the news was not good. Jesse and Dane spent the morning there with me, helping me grab what I could, and we got a U-Haul so I could put my bed and a few other things into storage. Most of the stuff in the living room was ruined, so no couch or anything like that. Luckily, my sewing machine was okay.
God, this really fucking sucked. I had a bit of money in the bank, but not enough for first, last, and deposit on a new place, otherwise I’d just move. My complex wasn’t that big, and there had only been a few available units, but I’d passed up on them because the others in need had been older people or single moms with kids. No way was I taking an apartment when others needed it more, which meant I was fucked and not even getting an orgasm out of the deal.
I had a car full of stuff as I drove to meet Jesse and Dane for a late lunch. They were in their car, driving in front of me. I probably shouldn’t even waste the money, but I was pouting, and I liked carbs when I was pouting—or, you know, I always liked carbs.
I parked beside them, and we went into the café, which was in the queer area of Portland, not too far from the bar where we all worked.