Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
“Fuck,” I hissed to myself as I went around the hood of the SUV to open her door.
I needed to pull myself together.
“Top floor, right?” I asked as we made it to the elevator. “Because it’s quieter,” I added as we got into the elevator car.
“Yes,” she said, and a hint of a smile was playing at her lips as she fished around in her belongings for her key.
I won’t lie. I was curious as fuck to see her place, to figure out how she lived.
In my mind, I figured it was soft and feminine.
When she pushed open the door and moved inside, I realized I’d been completely fucking right about that.
The walls were painted a beige color that had a pink hue to it, and likely looked pinker in artificial light.
Her apartment was smaller than the one Nyx had lived in when she’d been in an apartment, but the tight feel of it seemed to only suit Everleigh more. It made it feel even cozier.
Everything was, as I had expected, very neat and organized. No dishes in the sink. No shoes strewn about.
Her furniture in the living room was light-colored with an assortment of throw pillows and blankets in neutral shades. Her coffee table had several magazines and a big three-wick candle on it.
Moving further in, I saw she’d done some DIY thing to her TV to make it look framed, but the TV screen must have timed out because there was no art on it, just a black rectangle in a gold frame.
She had art on her walls, all simplistic and feminine. A record player sat on top of a console table with a rack set beside it.
Ten of the albums sitting inside of it were Taylor Swift. The others were Fleetwood Mac, Stevie Nicks, and Carly Simon.
I’d always suspected that Everleigh was a girls’ girl. This pretty much confirmed it.
From the other side of the apartment where Everleigh had disappeared to, I heard a crash.
“Ow,” Everleigh hissed, and I was already halfway across the apartment, pausing in the doorway to her bedroom, feeling like I would be invading her personal space if I stepped inside.
The bedroom was even more girly than the rest of her apartment. She had a tufted headboard almost in the same shade of mauve as the shirt she was wearing. The bedding was all white, save for the pink blanket folded neatly on the bottom and one of those Squishmallow plushies that were in all the stores. This one white with pink dots, looking a lot like a cow, but with flippers.
“You alright over there?” I asked to her back as she stood in the doorway of her open closet. It was small, even given the narrow spaces of her apartment.
“I don’t use my luggage much, so it’s way at the top. You know, where no shelf has a right to be,” she mumbled, talking mostly to herself.
“May I?” I asked, watching as she turned. “I’m more vertically blessed than you,” I added, getting a small smile out of her. And given the events of the past few days, that felt like a monumental feat.
Her gaze moved up me as I approached, and I reminded myself she was just assessing my claim, not checking me out.
She was right about the shelf. It was high even for someone as tall as me to get to, but I grabbed down her big light pink hard shell suitcase and placed it on the floor.
“Okay. I gotta know,” I said as I turned to see her picking up the Squishmallow and putting it next to the—again, pink—stainless steel flask from her nightstand, like she was readying them to pack as well. “What the hell is that thing supposed to be?”
“Oh,” she said with a sheepish smile. “It’s a sea cow,” she said, wiggling one of the flippers. “Mondy the sea cow,” she added. “I know it’s juvenile, but I use it as a pillow since real pillows get flat so easily. He doesn’t,” she said with a shrug as she moved forward to grab the suitcase, putting it on her bed to unzip it, and reveal another, smaller, hard shell case. Then, inside of that, a hard shell toiletry bag.
She laid each out beside one another, and got to work.
Feeling weird, like I was watching her—and I was—I cleared my throat. “Anything I can do?” I asked.
“Oh, um. Maybe clear out the fridge?” she suggested. “There are reusable bags in the drawer beside it. You can pack some of the things to bring, and maybe just toss anything else.”
“On it,” I said, happy for something to do.
I got the bag and wasn’t exactly shocked to find that the inside of Everleigh’s fridge was like that of one of those damn aesthetic fridge refill videos. All clear acrylic organizers with the contents facing forward. Nothing was in its original packaging. I left the stuff that I knew would last, figuring we could come back for it if she ended up staying for any length of time, and packed the rest. Including four mason jars stuffed with greens, veg, and what looked like chopped chicken on the top. Work lunches, I figured.