Page 146 of Something Tattered
I felt myself smile. "Really?" I gave his physique a long, lingering look. "I had no idea."
He set the chair aside and smiled down at me. "If I asked you to stop, would you?"
"Why would I stop?"
"Because it's not necessary."
"Sure it is," I insisted. "You want it to feel like home, right?"
At this, he laughed.
I gave him a perplexed look. "What's so funny?"
"Baby, if you sawmyhouse growing up?" He paused. "Well, let's just say, clean baseboards weren't our thing."
Maybe that was true, but I refused to be discouraged. "Well, then you just don't know what you were missing."
His gaze warmed. "I do now."
I smiled up at him. "See?"
"But it's not the baseboards." He flicked his head toward the narrow stairway, just a few paces away. "Now c'mon. There's something I wanna show you."
"But I'm not done," I said.
"So take a break." He reached down and tugged me to my feet. He pulled me close and planted a soft kiss on my forehead. Into my hair, he said, "Or better yet, forget the baseboards."
"But–"
"Come on." He pulled away and guided us toward the stairway and then up the stairs to the third floor.
Inside the spacious studio, I glanced around. Already, he'd carried up a few plastic bins, along with at least a dozen boxes, stacked on top of each other.
But the place was still mostly empty. I knew why. It had taken a colossal effort just to move his things from storage into the garage below. Now, he'd need to lug the whole mess up the stairs before he could truly settle in.
Inside the studio, he led me to a far corner, where he popped the top off a large, grey bin. Inside, I spotted a few bricks, along with a sturdy-looking metal case, slightly smaller than a shoe box. He pulled it out and handed it to me.
Gripping the case with both hands, I asked, "Should I open it, or…?
When Joel nodded, I raised the lid and looked inside, only to feel my eyes widen. I looked to Joel and asked, "Is this yours?"
"Not mine," he said. "Ours."
Okay, now I was really confused. Again, I looked down. The box was filled with bundles of cash, secured with big rubber bands. I pulled out a random bundle and rifled through it. I saw mostly twenties, along with a few fives, some fifties, and a whole bunch of hundreds.
I looked to Joel. "Where'd you get this?"
"I already told you. From fighting."
"It paysthatgood? Seriously?"
He shrugged. "For some people."
Obviously, he was one of those people.
"And," he continued, "it helps when you bet on yourself." He gave me a crooked smile. "Assuming you win."
"So you bet on yourself?" I said. "Is that even legal?"
