Page 54 of I'm Your Guy
Maybe it’s Carter? Maybe he wants to yell at me, which I richly deserve. “Hey, Gia? I have to go. Thanks for the gift idea.” I’m already walking toward the door. “Don’t forget to send me an idea of what you want for Christmas.”
“I want nothing. Bye, little brother! Be good.”
If only.
She hangs up, and I fling the door open.
It’s just a delivery guy, holding a big bag of food that Carter had ordered.
He didn’t even get to eat it. I made that impossible for him. How am I going to look that man in the eye again?
I dig a twenty out of my pocket and tip the delivery guy.
Then I put the entire bag in the refrigerator. Because I’m no longer hungry.
Instead of eating, I go downstairs to my home gym and work out like I’m prepping for the zombie apocalypse.
Then I take a shower and dry myself off with brand-new towels that Carter chose. They’re navy blue, and there’s a note propped on the vanity.
Jersey—
I washed these towels for you already, so hopefully they won’t bleed navy dye onto your clothes. But you might want to keep them separate for a couple more washings.
And I hope you like that decorative pillow on the bed. If you don’t, just say so.
Stores don’t really sell snarky hockey pillows in Cougar blue, so I made it myself.
Toodles—
Carter
Naked, I walk back into my room and grab the pillow off the bed. I run a thumb over the stitches. There’s a blue-and-white patterned border, and then blue text on a white rectangle. Either you like hockey or you’re wrong.
He made this? With his hands?
I fling myself face down onto the bed that he made up for me, feeling like the worst human in the world.
No, the third worst. But still, it’s a podium finish.
TWENTY
Carter
I drive to Rigo’s apartment, but he’s not there.
If I don’t talk to someone right now, I’ll die. So I open the FindMy app and locate him at the gym where we both have memberships.
My head is such a mess that I change into workout clothes and drive right over there, eventually locating my temporary roommate at a squat rack. “Can I work in?”
He blinks up at me, surprised. Then he slides out from under the bar. “Sure, pal. I’m having a shitty day. But I swear you look worse.”
“Oof. Is it that obvious?” I put a modest amount of weight on it and take his place. “So what’s wrong?”
“Now Buck isn’t sure he’ll be home for Christmas.” He lets his face hang.
“Oh shit,” I strain under the weight. “God, I’m sorry.”
It occurs to me, though, that Buck’s absence means I can probably stay a little longer with Rigo. Which might be very important, given the night I just had.
