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“Why do you own so much clothing?” Justin grunts as the elevator doors shut behind us.
We managed to get all of the boxes and garment bags holding the remainder of my personal items squished into one trip, but my hands are cramping from lugging the bags halfway across town.
“Because I’m young and beautiful,” I throw back flippantly, trying to imitate him.
Justin’s face lights up with amusement, and he bounces on his toes, tossing back his head with a laugh
“Yeah, you are,” he chuckles.
Justin grabs the front of my jacket and hauls my face to his, kissing me wetly on the lips. The collar of his coat is up against the wind, and he looks ruggedly handsome this morning, facial scruff a week thick and his hair windblown and untamed. I step around the boxes in between us so I can deepen the kiss and squeeze his ass.
“Have you heard back from the girls yet?” He asks as the elevator dings and comes to a stop.
Justin kicks one of the boxes in front of the elevator doors to hold it open, and slings the two overstuffed garment bags back over his shoulders as I bend to lug two stacked tubs from the elevator floor.
“Yup,” I confirm. “We’ll meet them at the Rosemont tonight at ten.”
JJ were planning on spending New Year's Eve at home but for the first time in my life, I want to get out and do something. The Rosemont sold out of their New Year’s Eve party weeks ago, but I called Beth and apologized—no, I thanked her for sticking her nose in where it didn’t belong and threw myself on my sword—and one thing led to another.
I couldn't have gotten us last-minute tickets to an event that hot, but Beth and Raine are staples at that club. So now we’re meeting the girls for drinks and dancing to ring in the new year in style. It feels right. The Rosemont was the first place outside of our living room that I felt safe enough to be us.
It feels like the right place to start the year, and our lives together, out fresh.
“We’re home!” Justin yells as we shoulder our way back into the apartment.
We left Julia still tucked into bed this morning, which is unusual. She’s normally the first one awake, and that was hours ago now. She should be halfway through baking a quiche or something by this time on a Saturday.
But Jules is nowhere to be found. All of the lights in the kitchen are off and it doesn’t look like she’s so much as stepped out of the bedroom. J glances at me and lifts his brow as if I know where she’d be hiding.
“Don’t look at me man,” I shrug and drop my boxes on the couch. “I’ve been with you.”
“Get your ass out here and help, wench!” Justin yells with a laugh.
“Fantastic,” I reply dryly. “Now you’ve done it. Go and find your wife and beg for forgiveness.”
Justin moves deeper into the apartment, head bouncing and chuckling with amusement while I turn right back out the front door.
* * *
The alarmin the elevator is incessantly beeping, and the little panel that hides the phone is vibrating with the echoing sound of ringing.
I grab the phone and mumble, “Sorry, we’re fine,” into the receiver before hanging up without waiting for a response and scoop up the remaining two boxes, allowing the doors to slide shut behind me.
I’m nervous about seeing the girls again tonight, but at the same time—no. I’m nervous. And embarrassed. But I owe them both a thank you, too. I figure with the aid of music and a decent amount of alcohol on their side…it shouldn’t be too hard to—well—thank them for saving my life.
Not to make too big a deal about it or anything. But I know Julia will. She’ll probably cry, which will make Justin laugh and make me squirm, because I hate it when Julia cries and when Justin thinks our overrun emotions are funny.
I’m sorry that we can’t all be masters of the universe and in touch with our feelings and whatever such bullshit Justin spews like Kris Kringle giving out candy.
Of course, instead of lecturing me about therapy and whatnot he should be helping me lug my crap into the room and shoving his piles of books out of the way to make space for more important things.
Like my Nikes.
“I thought you were gonna—oh.”
I drop my boxes on the bed and shake out my hands, looking towards the bathroom—where the all too familiar sight of Julia sitting in front of the toilet with Justin holding her hair out of the way as she pukes her guts out assaults my senses.
“What is it with you and sicking up on holidays?” I ask forlornly.
