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“Someone is going to clean this mess,” I decide right then and there.
And after changing into a pair of gym shorts and a loose tank, that’s precisely what I do.
But I do more than just remove the filth from the party in three giant trash bags. My pent-up ire from the scene that just transpired on the top floor of Wales Weekly has me washing the surfaces of every countertop with vigor. I scrub those fuckers until I see a shine. The TV gets an alcoholic wipe-down, removing it of scum I’m quite sure has built up on it since the day it was purchased. I wipe the windows, wipe the barstools, and even wipe stains and spattering of beer off the very walls.
I’m in the middle of wiping down shelves and chucking expired crap from the fridge when Brett comes home from work in the late afternoon and slumps into the living room in his Bailey’s barista apron and hat, wiping his tired eyes. “Where the fuck am I?” he breathes, astonished, as he takes in the sight of his squeaky-clean apartment. He whips off his hat and turns his wide eyes on me. “Did you do all this?”
I lift half a tub of cottage cheese. “This has sat in the fridge for a week and a half. Are you going to finish this before the end of time?”
Brett’s eyes fall on the tub of cottage cheese.
Then his eyes fall lower. “Uh … bro …”
“Ignore it,” I say, flushing.
“You’re sporting, like, the biggest boner I have ever—”
“Yes, and it aches, and every time I move, I’m reminded of it. Now are you gonna eat the rest of this or not?” I ask, waving the half-empty tub.
“Uh …” He’s still staring at my hard-on. “Uh, nah, that’s fine. You can, uh …” He pulls his eyes up. “Actually, I did have a pretty tedious day at the bookstore, so …” He takes it from my hand, grabs a clean spoon out of the drawer, marvels for a second at the fact that he has a clean spoon to grab, then starts chowing down while pretending not to still be staring at the tent in my gym shorts.
I forego explaining, allowing his imagination to run as it wishes, and continue cleaning out the fridge. “You can join in at any time you like,” I tell him. “I do still have two and a half cabinets full of who-knows-what to get through. Not to mention the bathroom full of your hair mousse.”
“Y’know, if it persists longer than four hours …”
“You have Mr. First-Floor Lex to thank for my uncomfortable erectile situation. It’s a complicated, backfired revenge tale. Also, I quit my internship.”
He blinks. “Dude. Y-You quit? Why?”
“Don’t worry. I wasn’t getting paid anyway. That’s why I picked up the job at Aubergines.”
“Oh.” I watch as the story slowly pieces itself together on his adorably dumbfounded face. “So, uh, you weren’t just doing it for fun extra cash?”
“Believe it or not, I did not make the decision to work there just to put on shorts so short and tight, they make my ass look like two fat grapes.” I shoot him a look. “You’re still staring.”
He pries his eyes from my erection—again. “So why did you quit? I thought it was your dream job, working at Wales Weekly.”
“I did, too.” I sigh as I tie up a trash bag, then thrust the fridge door shut with my hip. “I guess I realized climbing the corporate ladder isn’t for me.”
“But you were already at the top of that ladder. You were working for the boss man himself.”
“The boss man whom I never even met.” I roll my eyes as I sling the bag of trash next to the other one, ready to be taken out. I stare down at it with thought. “But maybe that’s part of my journey. To realize all that glitters isn’t gold.” I bite my lip, then wince at Brett. “I still need to tell Alan, though.”
He takes off his apron, tosses it at the couch … then has a second thought, picks it back up, and neatly hangs it on the coatrack—where it totally doesn’t belong, but the effort makes me smile. He notices. “See? I can learn from your example here. I’m capable of … growing up a little.”
“I never said you needed to,” I tell him sweetly.
“You’d be the first! Everyone tells me I gotta grow up … take responsibility … stop partying like I’m still some nineteen-year-old club monster.” He takes one of the bags of trash and slings it over his big shoulder. “You just keep doing you. I’m gonna take …” He grunts as he takes the other bag over a shoulder, too. “… these babies to the dumpster.” His eyes drop once more to the stiff situation in my shorts. “Seriously, bro, if you need a minute to rub one out, I can stroll around the block …”
