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“What time is it?”
“Two. In the afternoon. You missed school.”
He shrugged that off. “I never cut. It’s fine.”
Of course he didn’t. School was a place away from his asshole parents.
“Hungry?” I asked. “I was thinking of ordering.”
With that, I had a ton of shit delivered, and we sat on the couch eating while talking about the night before, about how he didn’t have to worry about the body, that it was handled, that he was best to just forget there ever was a body.
And it was all very… comfortable.
Which was weird as fuck, considering I never had someone else in my apartment. Maybe the abused kid in me just recognized it in him or something like that.
“I liked that guy,” Joel said as we sat back on the couch, watching the idiots on the remodeling show rip out a bunch of original woodwork and stained glass.
“What guy?” I asked. I felt his gaze on my profile, his brow raised.
“Oh, right. Dav. Yeah.”
“He likes you,” Joel said.
“Oh, what do you know? You’re ten.”
“Fifteen,” he said, doing that chest-puff thing again.
“Same difference,” I said just to annoy him.
“He does, though,” Joel said, shrugging, not knowing when to shut up. “Like you. Why’s he not here?”
“Because it’s not like that.”
“He wants it to be.”
“Dude, how could you possibly know that? You’ve probably never even talked to a girl.”
He didn’t take the bait, though, shrugging it off.
“He looks at you like Spike looked at Buffy.”
“That reference is… way too old for you,” I said.
“It’s true, though,” he said.
“I’ve never watched Buffy,” I admitted. “Had my hands full with real-life monsters growing up. Hey, don’t turn that off before I can rant and rave about how ugly the final renovation is,” I grumbled as he reached for the remote.
“You don’t have streaming?” he asked, shooting me a disgusted look.
“I don’t watch much TV.”
“I’ll scam you a free week of the one that Buffy is streaming on.”
“Scam me a free week?”
“Yeah. I just make a bunch of new email addresses, use a Visa gift card with next to nothing left in it, then sign up for a free week, and cancel it before it tries to charge me. Rinse, repeat.”
“Or you could, you know, use my credit card,” I said, giving him a small smile as I got up to hand him my wallet. “Sign me up. I’m making more coffee.”
