Good Girl (Love Unexpectedly 2)

“Oh my God,” I mutter, putting the crook of my arm over my face in irritation. “Guys. I can’t today. Shut the fuck up.”

Finn crouches down. “Dude, are you crying?”

I kick at him, connecting with his kneecap, but he takes it like a man and kicks me back.

“Oh, good, flashbacks to third grade,” Vaughn mutters.

“Why, you have a wedgie?” Finn asks. “I’m guessing that happened a lot in your youth. Hey, how’s your Labradoodle search going?”

I give the wrench one last twist, holding my breath, then releasing it when I realize the leak’s fixed.

“Didn’t you already fix this?” Vaughn asks as I scoot out from under the sink.

“Not this one.”

“And we’re

fixing this one now because…?”

“Because,” I say, standing and brushing off my hands, “nobody’s going to buy this dump if the plumbing leaks.”

“News flash, bro—nobody’s going to buy this dump anyway,” Vaughn says.

Finn studies me. “Thought you were keeping it.”

“Yeah, well, that was before,” I say, bending down to load my tools back into the box. Ranger licks my face, and I give him a distracted pet.

“Before the incident?”

“How about we not call it that?” I snap.

“Sorry. The debacle,” Finn says.

Vaughn staggers back. “Debacle? Big word for a little brain. But yeah, what are we calling it?” he asks me.

“Nothing. Because we’re not talking about it,” I say.

It’s been nearly two weeks since Jenny disappeared from this house. From this state.

From my life.

It took me exactly twenty minutes of being here alone without her to realize I couldn’t do it. I still want the solitude and the fixer-upper, but not this one. There’s too much of her here.

Too much of us.

“You talk to her?” Vaughn asks.

I glance up. “What part of ‘we’re not talking about it’ went over your head?”

“What part of ‘quit being a moron’ isn’t getting through to yours?” Finn says, taking Vaughn’s side. For once.

I drop the wrench back into the box with a clatter and stand, looking between the two of them. “What exactly is it that you two want me to do? Chase her down? Send her flowers? I lied to her, and she left. End of story.”

“If that was the end of the story, then I wouldn’t be counting the number of words you’ve said all week on one hand.”

“Let me simplify it for you,” I say. “Here’s two words, conveyed with one finger.”

I flip him off, then start to move toward the door, but they both move with me, blocking my exit. Hell, even Ranger seems to be in on this, although he at least gives me an apologetic wag.