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“Sweat and dirty laundry?” She arches a flawlessly plucked eyebrow.
“No.” I swat her. “You’re so unromantic. Man-smell like…pheromones.”
Jamie, the bitch, throws her head back and actually howls. Like a wolf. At a full moon.
“Pheromones!” She points her flawless, red, bitch nail at me as if I’m naked on stage at a middle school play.
I wrap the scarf more tightly around my neck and cross my arms. “They’re real, you know. I didn’t make them up. This man has excellent pheromones. I can tell.”
“And what’s his name again?”
I blink and cast my gaze up to the ceiling. “I’m not telling,” I say peevishly. And then I feel embarrassed, because maybe I really am insane, and I also don’t want to fall into talking about what happened with Elvie, so I change the subject fast. “I feel like we may be out of toilet paper? Is that even possible with—”
“We are. I wiped with the hand cloth earlier.”
“I looked for that.”
“I stashed it underneath the sink. Nic was in my room.”
“Sexxxy.”
She fans her face. “I know, right?”
“So is he coming back?”
“He said he was, yeah.”
“That’s awesome, dude.” We high-five, Jamie smiling shyly, the way she always looks when she’s newly crushing on someone. It’s adorable.
“So I’ll go grab some? TP?”
She blinks, then frowns. “You want to? Dad could call someone.”
A delivery person. That’s what she means. Her parents call them any time we need something up here—sometimes in the middle of the night, even. “Nah. I’m in the mood to get out.”
“Are you stewing?”
I hold both hands up and walk backward. I can’t help smiling, probably guiltily. “Later, lovahhh.”
“I love you.”
“I love you more.”
“Get the Cottonelle. You know how Dad is! Take his car, too.”
“Yessir!”
Downstairs, the house is quiet. Jamie’s parents are asleep. The family cocker spaniel, Bruno Mars, is curled up underneath the granite counter in a little red dog bed. Her ear twitches when I grab Mr. Madison’s keys off the hook beside the fridge. I know they’re his because they have a Wheaton keychain attached. I stare down at it for a second, then notice I left my jacket upstairs in the bathroom. Classic.
I smile ruefully at my adopted scarf.
Barrett. Jamie didn’t remember his name, but I did.
I need to take the damn scarf off and give it to Nic.
Later.
For now, I decide to go full-on Mr. Madison and borrow his long, black down coat in addition to his SUV. I pull on my tall snow boots, lace them tightly, and admire the way his coat falls all the way down to my shoe soles. At least I won’t be cold.
