Page 24 of Raising Love
“Oh my God,” I groaned, my eyes falling on everything that shouldn’t be where it was. “Is he fucking kidding me right now?!”
I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs. The scream was right there, boiling in my throat, waiting to erupt—but the hour stopped me.
It was barely daybreak. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, I could see the sun hadn’t risen yet, as usual for the time I got up.
My shoulders sagged as my eyes landed on the cluttered living room—not how I’d left it when I dragged myself off to bed the night before.
I’d made a point to come downstairs and clear the papers and water bottles left by both me and Leo. He’d had training all day yesterday, and I’d been working from home, leaving the living area in a state of chaos. Even though the nanny we’d hired helped a lot during the day, there were still plenty of hours left for us to make a mess. But keeping the house tidy? That was all on me.
I sighed as I walked into the living room, picking up sneakers, socks, granola bar wrappers, and water bottles—most of which still had water in them.
“I’m gonna kill him,” I muttered, tossing his sneakers toward the shoe rack.
I’d gotten that shoe rack for him. Leo. Because this wasn’t the first time he’d left things all over the place.
Every night when he came home, he peeled off his clothes—shirt, joggers, whatever—and let them fall wherever. And he never came back to pick them up.
He was driving me crazy.
The slight creak of the stairs caught my attention over my shoulder as I hunched forward to pick up yet another item of clothing.
“What’s up, Ivy League?” Leo greeted, jogging down the remainder of the stairs.
“Shh,” I shushed, standing upright and turning to face him. “He’s still sleeping, and I’d like for him to stay asleep until Karina gets here.”
Karina was Baby Love’s nanny, and she was a godsend. Our baby nurse, Marta, had taught us everything we needed to know in what felt like a crash course. Days of lessons on everything from holding the baby to changing, bathing, burping, and soothing him. It was a lot, even just thinking back on it, but it helped so much.
“Aight, my bad.” He chuckled.
Even that irritated me.
I was running on maybe three or four hours of sleep. Between driving to the city every other day and then coming back here to edit videos for upload, I wasn’t sleeping. With no baby nurse to handle Baby Love at night, Leo and I were on our own. Well, mostly me. Unlike Leo, I wasn’t out in Manhattan at a club, making appearances or partying like I didn’t have new responsibilities in a new home.
“You look rested,” I commented, resuming my task of picking up yesterday’s leftovers.
“I’m feeling good, feeling great,” he replied, rolling his head from side to side. “Yo, have you seen my wallet?”
I rolled my eyes and turned back to picking up the mess. “Now, why would I know where your wallet is, Leo?”
“Damn,” he said with a snicker. “Why so cranky?”
I whipped my head in his direction, then turned to face him fully. “Maybe because for yet another morning, I’m down here cleaning up your shit that you could have easily put away when you got back home?”
He threw his hands up. “I said my bad.”
“My bad doesn’t do shit for me, Leo.” I shrugged. “It just doesn’t.”
“Aight, fine.” He grunted. “I’ll look for my own wallet then, damn.”
I stared at him for a moment, seriously contemplating chucking the bottles and snack wrappers at him. Instead, I inhaled a deep breath, closing my eyes to force myself to calm down.
I’d never lived with a man before—for this reason exactly. Kendra had been so excited to move in with Tyrell back in college, and I’d never understood why. Living with someone had never been something I wanted.
Even in college, I could barely stand my roommates because they were so messy.
Was it too much to ask to put things away when done? To throw out wrappers after finishing whatever was inside?
“Look,” I said to him. “We’re both busy. And I get it—we’re both adjusting to living here and taking care of a baby neither one of us expected to have to take care of. But, Leo, please.” I sighed. “Do your fucking part.”
