Me: You think I’m the best. Admit it.
Elliot: You’re alright. But you know who will meet Mickey’s high standards better?
Me: Amy Poehler?
Elliot sends a picture of the dog beds he’s been buying for Mickey, stacked one on top of the other. All sleek and dark-colored, with one white in the middle. I keep finding new ones every time I go over. The guy is a total softie.
Me: You know the way to get Mickey to move in with you. **winky face**
The emoji doesn’t hide anything. He knows it, and I know it. It’s obviously too early to think about moving in together, but I can’t help but imagine what it’d be like to wake up to that adorably clueless face Elliot has before coffee.
To cook for him every day while he grumbles about pet owners and their annoying tendency to spoil animals as he pets Mickey on one of his thousand dog beds and serves him one of the most expensive dog food brands that’s Mickey’s latest preference.
To catch him watching me when he doesn’t think I’m looking. To talk for hours about shows he only watches becauseIlove them. To spend lazy weekends slowly fucking him as he bites his lips until he can’t hold it in anymore and finally lets go.
My phone vibrates in my hand, acting as a splash of cold water on my face. The room is silent except for my rapid heartbeat and Mickey’s soft breathing on my lap.
Elliot: Or I can just keep him the next time he stays over.
I huff out a laugh. Of course, he’s not entertaining my whims.Someoneneeds to be mature here.
Me: I knew Oliver set a bad precedent.
Elliot: Mickey’s new snuffle mat arrived. Can I pick him up tomorrow morning to see if he likes it?
Me: And you’ll give him back, right?
Elliot: He can sleep in the new bed too. This one has a special elevation for its neck.
Me: And then you’ll give him back?
Elliot: Go to bed, Nicholas. Late-night texting is very high school. Good night.
He’ll return him. I nod to myself. Yeah, I’ll get my precious baby back. I lightly scratch Mickey to wake him up so he can sleep on his bed before inevitably coming over to mine at night.
He gives me a betrayed look before grumpily stomping off to it.
I take my laptop to bed, using the time alone to get through a few more reports. I fall asleep between a woman complaining about insurance complications if she agrees to an autopsy of the man who abandoned her and her three kids, and a daughter angry about having to take a day off to sign the consent forms for her deadbeat father, whom she’s only met once.
Elliot clearly chose the victims who were complete assholes all around.
***
As I push the clinic’s door open, the ringing of the bells drains some tension from my shoulders, as if my body is already aware of what's coming. If I were a little girl, I’d be skipping down to Elliot’s office. But I won’t. Mostly because he’d mock all the confidence out of me and I’d deserve every second of it.
I do a brisk walk through the reception area, hoping to avoid—
“Hey, Nick,” Ashley greets me from behind the reception desk. She recently decided to ditch her goth look and ismoving towards a more nerdy secretary in a ‘waiting for her dress-up montage to turn hot’ way. Suits her, though.
I don’t slow down my pace. “Hey. Is Elliot in? I’m meeting him for lunch.” I hold up a bag full of takeout containers.
She pushes back from her desk and rushes in front of me, frantically glancing over her shoulder at Elliot's door. I stop to avoid slamming into her. “Uh… What did you get him? He’s allergic to a lot of things. You should probably go buy something else.”
I narrow my eyes. “Are you okay?” I mean, the woman is whimsical, which I adore most days, but this is moving towards weird territory. Unless… “Is Elliot okay?” I sidestep her and barrel towards the door.
“No, please don’t. You guys are so good together. He’s so stupid…”
I push the door open, ignoring Ashley’s mutterings. What is she on about? I find Sam and Elliot looking at something on Elliot’s laptop, weird noises coming from it. They both snap their heads up as the door bangs open against the wall.
