Page 61 of IOU

Rumor has it she poisoned him.

“This is so awkward—just stop. You’ve given me too much information as it is.”

My ears are bleeding and I’m seriously concerned about all the times my mom said the moans coming from her room at night were really from eating Truffles.

“You asked for my opinion!”

“No, I didn’t!”

I sort of did, but she’s the one who took it to Inappropriateville.

“Yes, you did. You asked me how I handled being alone. I merely said books and rechargeable batteries.”

“Ahh! Don’t say it again. I just meant like what do you do when the toilet is clogged and the trash needs taking out.”

Maverick asked me this morning how I would feel about renting a house versus an apartment. His friend said we might have more luck with a private home versus an apartment complex. I don’t really want a house at this point in my life, but Maverick wasn’t in the hearing-me-out mood. His glare suggested this wasn’t a multiple-choice question but rather him letting me know, in a non-shitty way, this is what I would be doing.

It wasn’t the time to tell him that even if I could afford the rent on my own, I wouldn’t know what to do with a house. Apartments have idiot-proof chutes to dump your trash and a maintenance man who lives in the building who will unclog your drains as long as your roommate wears a crop top short enough to show underboob.

I don’t know much about renting houses, but since I have no desirable underboob to flaunt, I need to learn what to do with trash and toilets if this is going to be my new way of living—hence the reason I called my mom—a big mistake, by the way.

“Well, you need to be more specific, dear. I thought you meant something else entirely. Either way, sweetie, books and rechargeable batteries are great to have on hand during a power outage.”

Give me freaking strength.

“Also, there is nothing wrong with a woman who knows how to please herself. How can you expect a man to know what you like if you don’t?”

A whole bunch of ick is spewed in those few sentences, but when I think about it, she’s right. Last night, Maverick had my body tingling in places I didn’t know existed. And when I went to my room—just kidding, it was still the sofa—I tried to bring those tingles back and finish the job. I couldn’t, if you’re wondering. Part of me was a little scared Maverick would come back out and catch me, and the other part of me wished he would volunteer to rekindle those blessed tingles.

Maybe I was tired or just too excited that I had finally won a fake million dollars, which I wrote an IOU for and slipped under Maverick’s door. It wasn’t fancy, and I didn’t waste five hundred thousand cards like he probably expected. Instead, I emptied a box of mac and cheese—that I hope he will cook before I get back—and flattened the box, writing:IOU too many favors to count—consider my life yours. Do with me as you wish.

I thought it was pretty funny, but when Maverick emerged, all devil-like and sweating, I knew he didn’t appreciate my humor first thing in the morning. But it could be he’s just in a bad mood or suffering from a severe case of blue balls. Clearly, he was just as affected as I was. Maybe he too had problems finishing the job last night.

“Ainsley, did I kill you? Mumble if I need to call an ambulance.”

I shake off this morning’s encounter with Maverick. “I’m here. What kind of books are you referring to?” May as well be thoroughly grossed out and satisfied. “Like Kama Sutra type stuff?”

My mom hesitates for a moment. She’s probably shocked I asked her to clarify. “Yeah, those and other instructional type books. The internet works well too.”

“Mom!”

“You asked!”

I take in a deep breath. “You’re right, I did. So do I just go to a sex shop for one of these books?”

She’s quick to respond. “Personally, I like the brick and mortar bookstores. They have the best selections.”

Later, I’ll worry about whether she stumbled upon this discovery or if she asked someone to show her the sex section—I know it’s probably called something a little cuter like Women’s Fantasy.

“Noted. I’ll have to check it out on my way home,” I tell her, already thinking about which store I want to stop at.

“Are you off tomorrow?”

I take off my work shoes and throw on a pair of flip-flops to drive in. “Nope. Tucker gave me more hours this week.”

She hums in the background like she could say something nasty about him but keeps her mouth shut. “Is that cunt still giving you a hard time?”

I snort. “Mom!”

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