"I'm not."TENLivianna"That's it?" Astrid asked after he had left, hands on her hips, chin up stubbornly.

"That's it," I affirmed, turning away to deal with the dishes.

It wasn't it, of course.

It was it for Roderick being around, but not for the memories hanging around like ghosts to remind me he had been there in case I dared ever forget.

Like the way my sheets smelled like him, something I let myself indulge in for the first night, drinking up the scent I knew I would never get to smell again.

The next morning, I dragged all my bedding down to the laundry to wash his scent away.

But I was met with two giant cartons of eggs in the fridge - something that would never normally be there.

"Let's bake," I told Astrid, voice fake-cheery, so much so that her brow lifted, but she said nothing because baking was a tradition, one we tried never to break.

And we used up all those eggs.

When I got ready for bed, I noticed his toothbrush still in the holder. It went out with the next day's trash.

It took a full three days to get all traces of him out of the loft. But even with the blankets washed, eggs turned into cookies, toothbrush trashed, and the living room furniture Febreezed, he was still there.

Because there wasn't much in the loft he hadn't touched. We had eaten at the table, watched movies on the couch. He'd cooked at the stove, washed dishes at the sink. Showered in the bathroom, slept in my bed.

He was just there.

I would actively have to shake the thoughts away when they popped up, when I turned around and practically saw him there by the coffee machine, putting my caramel creamer into my cup for me.

"It's a lot quieter around here," Astrid observed two days before Christmas, letting out a loud sigh into our airy home, the sound carrying from her position on the couch to where I was crouched down, trying to jam a turkey into the fridge.

"Turn the music on," I suggested, praying there was some variety on the station, not just Mariah Carey and Wham! on repeat over and over again. Was there something suddenly wrong with a little Bing? Or, in lieu of him, Bublé? Sometimes you didn't want to hear those goddamn peppy Christmas songs. Sometimes you wanted to hear slow, somber ones.

They suited my mood.

"That's not what I meant. You know that's not what I meant. It's just... you're sullen. Cam is, well, Cam... and there is like nothing in this apartment. I miss when he was here. Everyone was talking and laughing and screaming to God over and over... oh, wait, that last one was just you."

"Ha. Ha," I drawled, rolling my eyes at her as I managed to jam some green beans into the butter compartment, finally getting everything in there we needed for a big Christmas feast.

"We're supposed to talk about it, you know," she told me, slamming her laptop, letting me know it was serious if she was giving me her full attention. "That's what we do, right? Share shit. I've shared all my shit. You wouldn't let me mope around the loft for days like this. You would sit me down and insist we talk about it. So, consider this me sitting you down and insisting you talk about it."

"There's nothing to talk about."

That sounded too high-pitched even to my own ears.

"Puh-lease. That man had you floating around this loft, Liv. I mean, you were on cloud fucking nine. I didn't even know you had a dimple until he made you smile so much."

"I smiled before!" I insisted, a little hurt that she thought I was always a Debbie Downer.

"Of course you smiled before, but you're missing my point. He made you smile with your whole face. He made you happier, Liv. Admit that at least."

"It was fun," I covered, shrugging it off. "We had fun."

"Fun. It was more than fun," Astrid insisted, jumping off the couch, coming over into the kitchen to hop herself up onto the counter where I was preparing to chop apples to make a pie. There was no way to walk away without it looking like I was running away from the conversation and she knew it. "Why is it so hard for you to admit he had become kinda important to you?"

"He was a fling, Astrid. That was all he could ever be."

"Oh, please. You know you were totally dreaming of him losing his job with The Henchmen, needing a new crew, and joining up with us."

Damn her.

I had fantasized of that very thing.

"It's ridiculous."

"Why is it ridiculous?"

"Because I barely knew him."

"Oh, bullshit. You didn't know him for a long period of time, but you knew him, Liv. All you guys did when you weren't fucking was talking. Sound carries in this place. We should probably hang some art. Or curtains or something. But that is beside the point. You talked all the time. And that was just when you were here. I imagine you talked on the road trip too. Most people would probably date for months before they talked as much as you guys did in just a matter of weeks. So don't pull that We barely knew each other thing with me. I know better."

Tags: Jessica Gadziala Henchmen MC Erotic
Source: readsnovelonline.net