“Are you crazy?” I whisper, blinking rapidly.
Yes, she is crazy. And so am I. Some sane part of me is coming back and yelling in my ear, telling me that, as my lawyer, he advises me to get the fuck out of here. But Julia jimmies the window, and it slides open. She pumps a victorious fist into the air.
“Vegas, baby!” she yells, and then tumbles into the blackness of the open window.
Well, fuck. Better go after the fair drunken damsel. I pull myself up onto the overhang—dead lifting in the gym is useful after all—and slide in after Julia.
I blink, trying to focus my eyes in the darkness. Neither of us is quite drunk or stupid enough to start turning on lights. But I hear her rummaging around somewhere down the hall. I landed in the master bedroom, which still has boxes left to be unpacked.
Six damn months later, and Phoebe’s still putting shit away. There was a time, when we first moved in together, that she had to have us scrub every corner of the condo before we could even think of putting our boxes in. And then everything was unpacked within twenty-four hours. Living with air conditioner man has made her sloppy.
Or happy. Maybe it’s just because she’s happy and doesn’t need everything on the outside to be perfect, to make up for what isn’t there inside.
It’s like a bullet to the chest, and I crouch on the floor just to breathe the pain out. The tequila’s ripped all my internal walls away, allowing my thoughts to be heard, no matter what they are. I tell myself that my tight-ass, angry phase started after she left, but I know that’s not exactly the truth. I could always be a little domineering. A little judgmental. A little arrogant. After all, when I first met Julia I dismissed her based on her fucking suitcase. What kind of asshole does that? I could’ve missed a connection with a warm, sexy, gorgeous woman simply because she liked shiny purple things.
Maybe I’ve been using Phoebe’s leaving to ignore the things I never liked about myself.
And then I hear Julia knocking around somewhere in this house, and my mood lightens a bit. Fuck this self-reflective moment. I’m having an adventure right now. An adventure in stupid shit. It’s not the time for soul searching.
“Where are you?” I say, getting up and stumbling to the door.
“In here!” Julia calls. I follow down the hall, careful not to bang into anything. The darkness tilts and whirls in front of me, like a tilty whirly thing, and it’s a little hard to remember what’s up and what’s down.
In front of me, Julia exits the bathroom, two rolls of toilet paper in hand and a mischievous grin on her face. At least, I think her expression is mischievous. It’s still pretty fucking dark in here.
“What are you doing?” I ask, catching one of the rolls as she chucks it to me.
“We’re going to do a little redecorating,” she giggles, and walks past. She throws her toilet paper up over some light fixtures in the hallway, decorating the lights with reams of fluffy white. Then she breaks it off and ties some paper around the bedroom doorknob.
I smile. Fuck it; it’s time to be stupid.
“Watch,” I grunt, and toss my roll into a sweeping arc through the air. It spins gracefully, pillowy sheets of paper trailing behind it like streamers. The roll bounces down the staircase, leaving a delicate trail behind. I stumble down the stairs and grab the roll again, heading into the kitchen for more extensive design.
Above me, Julia cackles.
In the kitchen, I hear the familiar squawk of a familiar pain-in-the-ass parrot. “Hey Peebles. Glad to hear you’re alive and kicking, you little bastard,” I whisper, draping lines of toilet paper over the rustic looking chandelier they’ve hung in the ceiling.
The bird continues to squawk and move in its cage. I head over and open the door, reaching inside. I can see a dark shape rustling around, and wince as something pecks me. Fucking animal.
“Here, Peebles. Here, you little feathery asshole,” I mutter, and I grab the bird. Peebles shrieks and whistles, but I pull him out, grinning down at him in the light from the streetlamps outside. Julia stumbles into the kitchen after me.
“Okay. I’m outta TP. I think we should hit the road.” She looks down at her feet. “Where are my shoes?”
“Outside,” I say, grabbing her up around the waist and kissing her. I’ve never felt so alive, with a beautiful woman in my arm and a parrot in my hand. Peebles reminds me of his shitty existence with another peck. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
16
Julia
2:31 am
“Remember, I’ve always kept my jacket buttoned like this,” I whisper to Nate as we walk into the hotel lobby.
The night guy at the reception desk gives us a surprised look. Well, I am barefoot with Nate’s jacket draped over my shoulders, plus hugging myself like I have a terrible stomach problem. Well, I got ninety-nine problems right now, and a bird smuggled in under my hookup’s jacket is the most pressing one.