“Good. That’s good. Well, I need to go get ready.”
Oh. I thought he didn’t have plans today.
“Okay.”
“Are you all set here?” He stands, rinses his dishes, and puts them in the dishwasher.
“Yep.”
“Cool.” Mark pops the last piece of bacon off the stove and into his mouth. Last semester, I learned that he would eat bacon every single day if you let him. Eggs too. He loves cheesy eggs— “I’m going to shower.”
“Have fun,” I say as he moves for the stairs.
I don’t typically watch him walk away, but for some reason, today, I look.
He’s stripping his shirt off with his back to me. I notice the tattoo on his arm first. The one he hates because it has no meaning. He said he lost a bet once and . . . my heart beats faster at the sight of his low hanging sweats and the two dimples just above his butt. My eyes roam like a pinball over his ripped back just before he disappears up the steps.
I place a hand over my heart and squirm in my seat.
Is that what always looks like with his shirt off?
Heck. I don’t remember any of that from our one night together.
I spoon a huge bite into my mouth and quickly grab my purse and backpack.
I’m out the door before my mind can come up with some bad, bad ideas. Like following him. Because that is surely not the right choice right now. And waiting till he comes back down while my mind is in a dirty place isn’t that smart either.
Plus, even though I don’t have class on Tuesdays, getting in a little extra studying before work won’t hurt.
It’s definitely the better choice right now.
Mark
For the first time in months, I actually woke up happy.
Not saying I wasn’t happy before but knowing that Syd is under the same roof as me takes a lot of stress off my shoulders. I hadn’t realized how heavy it has been till today, the morning after she moved in.
Ms. Coraline is going to be stunned when I tell her. I might even take Syd over there, but not today. Ms. Coraline has breakfast with her friends on Tuesday mornings.
I sort of wish it weren’t Tuesday though. I need someone to talk to about what just happened.
I’ve never heard someone talk about money like that. Like . . . worry about it or about who was going to pay for something. In my world, things have always just been . . . paid.
God, I sound like a jackass. Which is exactly why I excused myself when I did. I didn’t want to say the wrong thing.
I know of only one person who might understand my thought process right now.
I hop out of the shower and get dressed quickly.
Then I grab my phone and call Tripp.
“Hey man, you know it’s like super early, right?”
“Yeah, but do you want to meet up in like thirty minutes at the gym? I need to talk to you.”
“Me specifically?”
“Yeah. I mean, I could call Winston, too, but it’s about money.”
