Page 11 of Pour Decisions
I sigh and text JD.
Me: what’s this apartment you know of to rent?
He calls me moments later. Seeing his name on my phone screen after so long is so jarring that it takes me a second to answer.
“Hi,” I say. “I text and you call?”
“Easier this way,” he says. Obviously he hasn’t heard of voice notes, but whatever. “It’s not an apartment. It’s my house. I have an extra room.”
I blink several times. “You’re offering me a space in your house? Me, your ex-girlfriend and current physical therapist?“
He doesn’t say anything for a few moments, but I hear a dog bark in the background.
“Yes.”
“Why?” I ask.
Maybe our breakup just wasn’t a big deal for him the way it was for me. Or he’s not as big of an asshole as I thought, but I kind of doubt it. A guy who can go from telling you he loves you and wants you as his future to dumping you suddenly with next to no explanation in the span of a month is the definition of an asshole.
“Because you need a place to go, and as much as you probably doubt it, I’m not that big of an asshole.”
“Ugh, get out of my head.” I run my hand down my face, and it comes away damp.
“You can come take a look and see if you’ll have enough space. If you don’t feel comfortable, I can ask around if someone has a place to rent,” he says.
I bite my lip. He’s being very reasonable. And what else am I supposed to do?
“Fine,” I finally say. “I’ll come now if you’re free. “
“I’ll text you my address.”
He ends the call, and moments later, I get a text with his address. I plug it into my GPS and head over, windows open.
He doesn’t live far from where I am, but his neighborhood is tucked away into the woods, hidden from the road. His house is the last one on the street, backing up to the tree line. It’s a beautiful home, simple and bigger than I thought he’d have. I park next to his shiny, high-end SUV—not the kind of car I thought he’d have either, but I'd noticed it the other day after his appointment.
By the time I’m out of my car, JD is coming out of the garage, a chocolate lab on his heels. I grin at the dog, who sees me and uses every ounce of his willpower to not rush me.
“Go ahead, Bubba,” JD says, nodding his head at me.
“Hi, Bubba!” I put my hand out to the dog and he rushes over to me to say hello. He slams his butt against me, so I give him scratches above his tail. “What a sweet boy.”
Usually most dogs I’ve met get bored of being petted after a while, but Bubba doesn’t appear to have a limit.
“Okay, buddy,” I say, stopping. Bubba looks up at me with the saddest eyes I’ve ever seen. It’s like he reached into my chest and punched my heart. “Oh no, I’m sorry.”
“He’ll have you pet him for hours. Ignore the face,” JD says, nodding toward the inside of his house. “Let me show you your room.”
“My possible room,” I say.
He glances at me over his shoulder, a dark eyebrow going up like he doesn’t believe me. The fucking nerve he has, caring all of a sudden.
The inside of his house is more intentionally decorated than I thought—masculine but almost sterile. The only hints of coziness are the blankets on one side of the living room couch and the occasional dog toy on the ground. Bubba trails behind us.
“Your house is nice,” I finally say. The silence is killing me.
“Thank you.” We reach the end of the hallway and he pushes open a door.
The room is huge, with a ton of natural light and a great view of the woods and mountains. The massive bed takes up a good portion of it, and it’s so high that I’d probably need to pole vault into it every night. And it smells like him, or at least the whiffs of him I’ve gotten during our sessions—warm and clean.
