Page 41 of This Life and All the Rest
“I don’t mind,” I say honestly.
I say my goodbyes and Lennon follows me out of the bar twenty minutes later. The silence is awkward as we walk to the parking lot. I follow her to her car, and she stops in her tracks when she sees me move to the passenger side.
“You need a ride?” she asks, and I grin.
“I walked. But I figure I should ride with you, so you know where you’re going.”
She doesn’t reply, just unlocks the door and climbs in, so I do the same. She starts the car and silently follows the few directions I give her. I watch, amused, as her brow furrows more and more the closer we get to the rec center, until we’re pulling into the parking lot and she’s parking next to my car.
She twists in her seat and stares at me.
“Explain.”
“I live in the apartment upstairs,” I tell her, unbuckling my seat belt and climbing out of the car. “C’mon, I’ll show you.”
She hops out and walks quickly to catch up to me.
“I didn’t know there was an apartment upstairs,” she says, and I shrug.
“It didn’t used to be much. James renovated it a few years ago, and I moved in when I came back.” I unlock the side door, let Lennon in, then lock it again. “This way,” I say, then head toward my stairwell.
We’re quiet as we climb the stairs, and she waits patiently behind me while I unlock the door to my apartment.
“Here we are.”
I usher her inside and then kick my shoes off at the door. She does the same, then trails me through the apartment and into the kitchen. She stops and looks around, and I wait for her to say something.
“It’s nice,” she says after a moment. “Really nice.” She turns to me and raises an eyebrow. “Andclean. I thought you said you didn’t have a girlfriend?”
I scoff playfully and push past her.
“Ikeep it clean,” I tell her. “No girlfriend, no housekeeper. Not even my mom. I do it.” I gesture for her to follow me, then lead her to the living room. “I function better when my space is tidy.”
“Me too,” she says quietly, and I have to bite my tongue against the urge to sayI know.
“Living room, kitchen, bathroom,” I say, pointing in various directions so she knows where things are, then head into the hallway. “Bedroom,” I say, knocking lightly on the door, “and studio.”
I turn to face Lennon and push the door to the studio open slowly. I swear she’s holding her breath and trying her best not to look excited. I fixate on her facial expressions, the brightness in her eyes and the twitching at the corners of her mouth. When I turn on the light, her reaction is so fucking gratifying.
Lennon swallows hard and her eyes go wide as she takes in the space. Even in the middle of the night, my studio is impressive.
I watch as she walks toward my wheel and surveys the workspace. She walks to my drawing desk, her hands hovering over the surface, like she wants to touch everything, but she won’t let herself. When she gets near the closet, I speak up, bringing her attention back to me.
“You can set your stuff up in here tomorrow when you get it from the house,” I tell her.
She nods, then shuts her eyes and sighs.
“Damn it,” she mumbles, dropping her head back. “I don’t have anything. I left all my stuff there.” She lifts her head back up and looks at me. “I guess I’ll be back soon.”
She turns toward the door, but I stop her.
“Why? Just get your shit tomorrow.”
“I don’t have anything to sleep in,” she says, and the way she stares me down feels like she’s daring me to smirk. To make a smart-ass comment. Something sexual and suggestive. It’s on the tip of my tongue, but I like throwing her off balance.
“I’ll give you a shirt,” I say with a shrug.
No smirk. No double entendre. She almost looks disappointed.
