Page 45 of Ellie Hayes and the Himbos
“We wanted to try a new warm-up activity,” Grant chirps. “It was pretty effective. My quads are burning! But, um, Alistair got racked in the nuts.”
“There’s video, if you’d like to see,” Helen offers.
“Banded tug-of-war,” I say, finding my voice. “The band slipped off and snapped into Alistair. But! That was after he pulled himself forward with this!” I point down at the raised spot. “It’s up again.”
Ian comes closer, enough that I feel his body heat. My breath catches. That element had come into play in my nocturnal imaginings.
“Do you think it’s the humidity?” I ask, hoping to overwhelm the screaming inside my head that last night’s masturbatory session was not only wildly inappropriate but has also made this interaction about a thousand times more difficult for me, because my imagination wentoffwith this man. “Making the tiles expand and contract? Or the foundation settling? Or maybe the installer just screwed up…”
“I’ll deal with it. I’ve fixed it before, I can fix it again.”
“Like you did last time?”
The question comes out of me innocently enough, but I can taste the judgment. And based on the sudden furrow in Ian’s brow, he can hear it.
“It’s probably just a mistake made when it was installed,” I add, aiming for diplomatic.
He tugs on the brim of his hat, eyes on the flooring. “Oddly enough,Iinstalled it.”
Goddammit, anyway.
“Oh, yeah!” says Grant. “I remember that. It took youforever! You had to measure a bunch of times.”
“I did,” Ian agrees, and looks at me. “And yet.”
“It could still be the foundation,” I mutter. “Or… something.”
“Sure,” says Ian. “Or something.”
The words are heavy with self-reproach, and a twinge of guilt goes off in my chest.
“All right,” he says, and nods to Grant. “Let’s at least get him off the floor.”
Alistair groans, but when Grant and Ian each offer a hand, he lets them pull him up to standing without further complaint. Once upright, he leans into Grant like a crutch, and the two hobble toward the lounge. Penny joins them, Goldfish at the ready.
Another sigh, and Ian leaves, too.
I glance over at Helen, who cringes sympathetically. “I didn’t know he did the flooring,” she says quietly, but whether in apology for not warning me or genuine surprise, I can’t tell.
We’re almost to the lobby when Ian stops. “Hayes,” he says, darkly. “Did you do something to the lost and found?”
Oh, hell.That.
“I had an extra laundry basket after Saturday,” I say, and while I’d known that I’d been on point when I named the “last and least likely outcome,” I can’t help being disappointed that we’re on course forIan responds poorly / I can be indignant.
I hold my chin high. “That box is actively decomposing.”
“It’sfine. A little weathered—” he starts, picking up the box. One corner of it remains adhered to the floor, the rest of thecardboard collapsing as limply as if it were one of the towels I pulled out of it earlier.
He frowns, glaring at the box, and tugs more firmly. The corner releases with a wet, peeling sound, leaving a pale ring of torn cardboard… and revealing a cockroach roughly the size of a cell phone. Ian and I jump, retreating reflexively as the bug scrambles in circles.
Penny darts forward, and before anyone else can react, upturns her snack cup and uses it to cover the roach. When she steps back, the cup shudders with the activity of its occupant.Ugh.
It is not without a sense of vindication that I raise my brows at Ian. “Still calling thatfine?”
He sighs, looking oddly defeated as he eyes the flaccid cardboard still in his hand. “I’ll put this in the compost bin,” he grumbles, and heads out the door, his usual stride more of a trudge, the former box flapping at his side.
My stomach falls. This wasn’t part of any of the scenarios I ran last night.
