This time, it’s me who laughs. Hard.
“I think she’s playing him,” Zane says.
“Yes. I’m here for this,” Hero adds.
“Does this mean next time I come over, there won’t be dishes and clothes all over the living room?” Graham asks.
Everyone is laughing now.
“So she’s fucking with me?”
“She has to be. I can’t think of any other reason for her to be like this.” He shrugs. “You two hate each other, but this is a new level. Don’t worry, I’m only a few weeks out from a working basement and then she’ll be out of your hair.”
In an instant, the idea of Calla leaving bothers me more than the idea that she’s been tricking me this entire time.
“Yeah, she’ll be happy to hear it.”
Simon stops moving and looks at me. I heard the catch in my voice too.
Lucky for me, he doesn’t say anything.
“Anyone have time to read a few chapters of this new WIP I’ve got?” Graham asks. “I’ll have them ready by tomorrow.”
“I do,” I answer quickly. “I need the inspiration and reading the starting chapters of someone else’s work always helps.”
“Stuck on a book?” Simon asks.
I nod. “Yeah. When I was solely self-published, I could write anything at any time. Now that I’m hybrid and have a contract to fulfill, it’s different. The pressure to keep up takes the fun out of it.”
“Is that all it is?”
“Yeah, what else would it be?”
He shrugs. “Maybe having a roommate is throwing you off.”
“Perhaps.” I smile. “But now that I know she’s deliberately trying to drive me insane and I don’t have a total whack job for a roommate, I do feel lighter. Inspired even.”
“Fuck.” Simon chuckles. “Just don’t light her on fire or color her hair. I’m starting to put the pieces together and sense she’s the one who did that to you.”
“Me too, and no promises.” I pat his back and head home.
Now that I’m aware that Calla could be doing all of this to me intentionally, I need to be on my toes.
I peek through my front windshield to view the front of my house.
Shit.
It’s dark. It’s midday, but the house looks like it’s vacant.
What has Calla done now?
I close my eyes, lean back, and grip the steering wheel.
Just because the house is dark doesn’t mean that she did anything. Hell, who am I kidding? It all makes sense now. Calla is hell-bent on doing whatever it takes to get me to crack and demand a divorce. The blue hair dye in my shampoo—whatever. Gargling her mouthwash like a fish gasping for air—also fine. It’s actually a bit comical. The pink frilly pillows and cushy throw blankets that make me sweat after five minutes of use to clearly signify that a woman lives here—who cares?
It was the pickles in my tuna sandwich and the diet chips that almost made me crack. Food is important to me, and so is my digestive situation. I don’t like unanticipated bathroom trips in public. I’m a grown man, but fuck, I prefer to take a shit in my own house, thank you very much.
That’s what you get for suggesting she start cooking for two.
