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"A hundred-sixty pounds," I agreed, nodding. "Did you really think you needed half a keg? How many people are you having? A pony keg probably could do it."
"Last time, I got the smaller keg. They kicked it halfway through the party. It is always better to have too much beer than too little."
"Can't argue with that. Where are you having me put this?" I asked as we made it up to Auggie's surprisingly sedate black sedan. "It won't fit in the trunk.
"I guess we're belting it into the backseat like a baby."
"Is everything all set up for the party?" I asked, heaving the keg into the backseat, trying not to look down Auggie's shirt as she leaned in from the other side of the car to reach for the belt.
"Getting there. I have all the food prep to do still. And locking up my valuables."
"Your friends would steal from you?"
"Oh, you know how parties go. You invite people and they invite people. And then before you know it, half of the city is here. I don't have a lot, but I would prefer it if I don't have to have Huck track down some guy who stole my tablet again."
"You need some help? With the hiding and preparing?" I asked, despite knowing it was a terrible idea, despite knowing that being alone with her in an empty apartment was just asking for things to progress. When they absolutely couldn't do so.
"No. But I can be persuaded to accept some help. How are you at chopping spinach?"Fifteen minutes later, I was hauling the keg up a flight of stairs because Auggie had neglected to inform me that not only was there no elevator in her building, but the super also didn't happen to possess a dolly.
"Right there on that table is fine," Auggie declared when I made it to her door.
I hauled the keg up on a sturdy wooden table a few feet off the ground, then finally turned to look at her place.
I had no idea what to expect.
If there was one thing I found about women, it was that their houses weren't exactly a representation of the part of themselves that they projected to the world, but more the parts of themselves they often kept hidden.
I'd fucked a goth chick who had pastel walls. And a gorgeous woman who was always well put together who lived in a goddamn sty.
It was easy to meet Auggie and figure her place would be hectic like the woman herself—clothes strewn about, too many knick-knacks, wild splashes of color on the walls.
But Auggie's place was surprisingly understated and feminine.
The walls were a fresh off-white, the living room furniture a color I had to call oatmeal, with striped throw pillows. The carpet was a mix of beige and brown in a faded Oriental pattern.
The windows had simple white curtains pushed to the sides to allow the sun in, giving the collection of plants lined up in front of them the right amount of light.
The kitchen had some pretty hideous pinkish countertops, but with half of the surface covered in various mismatched serving dishes, you almost didn't notice.
"You definitely got the decorating genes in the family, babe."
"I know, right? Would it kill Huck to get an area rug? In his defense, our parents never had anything decorative around either. I learned through my friends that houses are supposed to be, you know, homey. Alright. The spinach is in the fridge. Get to thawing and chopping."
Then we worked side-by-side, making dips, and I was starting to think that whatever thing she'd had for me had run its course. She didn't strike me as someone who stayed hung up for too long. And after a couple rejections, her pride wasn't going to let her try for a third time.
Which was good.
That was what I wanted.
Or, more accurately, that was what I told myself I wanted.
The truth was that I wanted her. In a fun, casual way, of course.
I never wanted more than that.
Certainly not with a woman I barely knew.
So it made life easier that she had moved on. "Okay. That's that. I need to go shower," she told me, scooping the last of the spin dip into a small crockpot. "Why don't you just hang?" she asked, shrugging. "The guys will all be heading over as soon as they wrap up for the day. Seems stupid to go there only to come right back. The remote for the TV is likely lost in the cushions. There is Netflix. No fancy cable here. I'll be back out in a minute," she said, moving down the hall toward her bedroom.
Without even a slight innuendo or invitation.
"Oh, Jesus! What are you doing in here?"
I was across the room before I really even processed the fact that while the words were alarming, her tone hadn't been.
