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She bats her eyelashes at me, and I want to fold like origami, stalk her to wherever she’s going just to be in her presence all night, in the world where sheis.
“Hey, can I ask you for a favor?” she shouts to me across the hall before exiting the building.
“Anything.”
“Can you walk Pushkin tomorrow morning, please?” Her innocent blue eyes are so hesitant like there’s a chance I could say no. “It might be a late night, and I—”
“Done,” I respond.
There’s absolutely nothing I won’t do for her. Even if her requests were as bold as those of the characters in her books.
No such luck.
“Thanks, Jace! You are the best!”
I love the way she says my name, softer than other words like it’s special.
I get back to the empty apartment and meet Pushkin’s sad eye, the werewolf-style eye patch making me smile. He already misses her too.
So, being a good roommate just like she asked, I take Pushkin with me for a jog the next morning.
He needs a boot camp. His lazy ass gives up after only three minutes of my usual jogging routine along the river. Even bacon bits can’t force him to make another step.
The white pirate is gonna learn discipline. I’m now planning on turning him into Usain Bolt.
His purple waistcoat with yellow paw prints and the ridiculous pirate patch stops two female joggers, who flock to me like I have a cute baby I need help with.
“Oh! My! God!” they coo around him for ten minutes, and the shithead blissfully closes his eye at their touch, then leers at me as they make small talk with me.
When we get back to the condo, I run into my room, pull off my hoodie, and exhale in relief.
It’s fucking hot in this apartment. I should probably talk to Lu about that. I still refuse to wear T-shirts to avoid questions about my tattoos.
A quick lukewarm shower helps to cool down my mind, my body, and certain parts that get restless now and then at the memories of Lu’s spicy stories. I’m her patron on SD now, and my first generous donation will hopefully make her life easier.
I put on sweatpants and a thin long-sleeved sports shirt, then remember the glasses, put on those stupid things, and walk to the kitchen.
Lu is up, surprisingly early, cutely yawning as she pads toward the kitchen for the coffee that I made earlier.
She’s wearing a short string dress with daisies. Her frizzy hair is done into a braid that hangs down her back. No makeup. She looks sleepy and so deliciously natural.
I steal a quick glance at her long bare legs.
Yes, definitely delicious.
She’s beautiful in a homey way. Not the wham-glam-flash-warning Lu when she goes out, but I-like-to-bake-bread-and-don’t-care-about-the-paint-smudges-on-my-skin Lu.
“Coffee?” She smiles at me.
“Sure.” That’s a first. I already had a cup, but I’m craving her presence.
“How do you like it? Tell me, so I can get it down.”
“I’ll do it.”
“You are my roommate, and I like having you here.” She’s already hustling by the espresso machine. “Trust me, in a month, I’ll know what you wear, how loud you snore”—I don’t, I want to argue—“what time you get up and go to bed, how long before my voice starts driving you crazy.”
She laughs, her laughter making my heart flutter.
