Shep’s smile makes everything inside of me melt. I don’t know why I’m so hesitant to be his friend. I’ve never been friends with a guy like this. My guy friends are either from school or they’re boyfriends or husbands of my friends. Why can’t we be friends?
Oh that’s right … we’re friends who touch. Friends without rules. Friends without lines. What could possibly go wrong?
CHAPTER TWELVE
Thursday night I eat dinner with Jimmy. He has news. I like news, especially since I know he’s been looking for a job. I don’t want to have to give him written notice or start the formal eviction process.
It’s my house.
We’ve broken up.
He just needs to get back on his feet to realize he can stand just fine without me.
“I got a job.”
I grin. I knew it. This is the best news of the week. “That’s awesome. What’s the job?”
“It’s in sales. I’m selling timeshares. And the good news is I do it from home, so I don’t have to invest in fancy suits or wear a stupid uniform. The hours are flexible, and there are lots of opportunities to earn bonuses.”
“Well, sounds like a good fit. I know you hate wearing uniforms, and you have never been a fan of suits. When do you start?”
“I started today.”
“Oh … wow. That’s good. How did it go?” What is that saying about catching more flies … more flies with honey than vinegar? That’s the goal. Be nice. Be sweet. Jimmy leaves. Mission accomplished. Neither the baby nor I need to hold a grudge. I stab my fork into the broccoli and cut it in half. We did it. Jimmy has come to his senses. Found a job. And no one in my family will be the wiser.
“Good. Really good.” He nods. “I’ve ordered a desk. I had to use your credit card, but I’ll totally pay you back. And you can use the desk, too, in the evenings when I’m not working. And I’m not asking you to pay half. I’m totally cool with covering the full cost. It’s a business write-off for me.”
Honey, not vinegar.
My fork drops out of my hand and clinks on the plate. Slowly bringing my napkin to my face, I clear my throat. “First, where did you get my credit card? Second, why are you ordering a desk for my house? Third, why haven’t you found a place to live?” With a shaky voice, my composure teeters on the edge. The honey is gone.
“Um …” He rolls his eyes from one side to the other, confusion lining his forehead. “I got your credit card out of your purse this morning before you left for work. I didn’t want to bother you while you were in the shower, but I also needed to get Cersei out for her walk before it got too warm. And I need a desk for my computer, which I will also be paying you back for as soon as I get my first paycheck. I actually have one more unemployment check coming, and it might cover part of the computer. And for the record … I didn’t use your credit card for the taxi to the Apple Store. I had a new customer credit for downloading the app. And I’m not moving until we have a chance to make this work. Like … really work. Now that I have a new job and I’ve been doing basically everything around the house, I’m more than earning my keep. And you should be happy.”
This isn’t happening. Any minute I’m going to wake from this nightmare, and Jules and I will laugh as I tell her about my disturbing nightmare because this isn’t real. No. There’s no way this is real.
Scooting my chair back with a slow screech along the tile, I unfold my body and make cautious, calculated steps to my bedroom. Any sudden movement will end with a steak knife shoved into Jimmy’s carotid artery. And I need to keep calm. Calm for the baby. Calm to stay out of prison.
I retrieve the five-day written notice for him to move out. Returning to the kitchen, I grab a pen and sign and date it. “Here.” I smile while gritting my teeth. “You have five days to move out or I will have you legally evicted. Keep your desk and computer, just get out of my house.” I gently set the notice on the table beside his plate, forcing control with each measured movement, but my hand shakes as I rest the pen on the paper.
See … I’m being calm. So calm. Smooth and sweet like honey. No need to commit murder.
My fork rattles on my plate as I carry it to the sink, scraping most of my dinner into the garbage disposal. The problem with non-confrontational people like myself is we don’t let off enough occasional spurts of steam to prevent an acute nuclear meltdown.