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Chapter 11
"Okay, so new house rule," Eric said the next morning as he finished making his coffee.
He walked over to where I was on the couch, enjoying my own cup of tea and leafing through our assignment study materials for the weekend. I pushed my glasses up my nose. I was dressed in my typical Saturday morning attire: yoga pants and an oversized T-shirt. Outside it was a fine late-spring day, and I was already a bit grumpy that I had to stay in and study.
"Fine. What's the new rule?"
Eric flopped onto the couch next to me and kicked his socked feet onto the small wooden coffee table. "No bosses in the apartment."
I huffed and dropped my pencil into my open book. "Yeah. I'm sorry about the surprise. But honestly, we don't have anywhere else to go."
"What are you talking about, Cros? I've been to that museum he calls a house. You telling me all ten thousand square feet are taken?"
"No, no," I said. "It's because his divorce is in the final stages of mediation, and apparently his ex is having him tracked by a P.I. We can't be seen together, and his house is probably being watched round the clock."
"So what, now you're fifteen years old, running around behind your parents' backs?" Eric said with a smirk. "Do we need to take shifts with a sock on the door? Your boyfriend owns the Earth, Cros. Tell him to book a damn hotel."
I cringed. "Ew. Because that wouldn't make me feel more like a creepy mistress. It's bad enough he's still technically married." I turned to Eric with my best pleading face. "Come on. We can't go to his place for another three weeks. Then the papers are signed, and that's the end."
Eric slurped on his coffee. "It's a good line, I'll give him that. I should use it the next time a girl wants to come home with me. 'Sorry, babe, but my ex has my place watched by a private eye.'"
I slugged him halfheartedly on the shoulder. "Stop. It's true."
Eric raised a light blond brow and scratched his chin. "You sure about that? Some guys will say a lot of things to keep women away from their places. I should know."
I knew his heart was in the right place. A New Yorker like me, Eric was a cynic, convinced that everyone was a con artist. And it was true that Brandon wasn't always the most forthcoming of people. Some of his secrets had nearly destroyed us, and we weren't exactly out of the woods yet. But then I thought about how warmly he had invited me into his home before, even asked me to move in with him. No, it wasn't in him to make up tales just to keep me at arm's length; if anything, he had a tendency to go overboard bringing me close.
"It's the truth," I said confidently. "I'm sure of it."
Eric sighed, but nodded sympathetically. "Okay. But can you at least send me a text first when he's here? And maybe keep it to your bedroom? I don't really want to walk in on the two of you macking on the couch again, and I'd prefer if he didn't see me when I still smell like lubricant and my date's perfume."
"Ewwwww!" I cried as I whacked him with a throw pillow. "Too much information!"
Eric laughed, but tucked the pillow safely behind him. "I just need him to like me. Got it?"
I squeezed his shoulder. "I'll talk you up, don't worry. I'll be your biggest fan."
"I knew you were going to say that," Eric said, but his face quickly screwed up in horror. "Not too much, Crosby. The last thing I need is my boss thinking his girlfriend has a thing for his new associate."
Eric's eyes grew wide as he obviously imagined a jealous Brandon. I couldn't help but giggle, which earned me a brown-eyed glare.
"Sorry," I said. "I'll keep it tame."
Eric shook his head. "So what's up with the reunion anyway? I thought the two of you had broken up."
Before I could answer, there was a curt knock at the door. I looked to Eric, who just frowned, confused.
I stood. "I guess I'll get that."
I opened the door to the last person I expected to be standing on my door stoop. Jane, my best friend and former roommate, tapped a combat-booted toe impatiently on our mat, multi-ringed fingers clenched and raised to knock again. She was dressed in a typical Jane outfit: ripped, black skinny jeans, an old CBGB T-shirt, masses of leather bracelets around both wrists, and her signature cat-eyed glasses. The only discernible difference was that her short black bob was no longer spiky and asymmetrical, but had been cut to one uniform length––more office appropriate, I guessed.
"Aaah!" I screamed.
Jane immediately grinned and screamed back, causing Eric to plug his ears while my best friend and I attacked each other with hugs.
"You're here!" I cried.
"I'm here!" Jane echoed, and we hopped around in a circle while hugging tightly.
