Into Your Arms (Squad Stories #1)(53)

"You're a terrible person," I say.

"Why, thank you." Nothing gets him down. Nothing seems to upset him and I find it both odd and intriguing. Everyone has something that makes them upset, or several things, but I haven't figured out Rhett Miller yet. It almost makes me suspicious. That secretly he's a serial killer or something. Like Dexter. Only better looking.

"You're not a serial killer, are you?" I ask, setting my bowl down.

"Shhhh," he says, putting one finger to his lips and giving me a wink. Honestly.

"That explains it. Just make sure you shower before you come over. And I'm not helping you hide any bodies," I say and he laughs.

"Deal." After the soup we hang on the couch a little and I scoot closer to him. We're not really big on cuddling, mostly because I inch away from him whenever he tries after we have sex.

But the combination of the soup and the orgasm he gave me earlier has me in a warm and snuggly mood.

He puts his arm around me, and we flip through the channels on the TV, arguing about what we're going to watch. We finally settle on reruns of an old nineties show that I've already seen a million times, but is still just as funny. His fingers slowly slide through my hair. I know I should tell him to stop because he's blurring the lines of hang and bang, but it feels really nice. I can't remember the last time a person just played with my hair like that. Mia's mom used to when we were kids. She always did my hair for cheer too, since my own mother couldn't be bothered to make bows or help me curl or braid it. 

I sigh and realize that this is one of those perfect moments you remember when everything turns to shit and you think about the good times. Rhett surrounds me in this bubble where I feel . . . protected. I'm not used to it. Even when Mia's parents were helping take care of me, I tried not to rely on them too much. I've always been fiercely independent. I had to be.

Turning my head just a little, I watch Rhett out of the corner of my eye. I don't even know if he realizes he's playing with my hair. So I lean a little closer and put my head on his shoulder. He stiffens the tiniest bit and then I feel him relax again. I see the beginnings of a smile on his face, but he tries to hide it.

* * *

I have to admit, it's nice being the one kicking Rhett out. I should have had him over here sooner. We agree that from now on we'll alternate between our houses to make things fair. Then we'll both be buying food and things will even out.

When he's gone, though, I can still smell him on my sheets. The bowls that we ate out of are in the dish drainer. There's a dent on my couch where his ass was. Even though he's no longer here, I can still feel him. I sigh and roll over, smelling his scent on my pillows. There's a black hair on one of them. Figures.

If it wasn't the middle of the night, I might have gotten up and washed the sheets, or at least changed them. Too tired and worn out to do that.

Rhett has snuck into my life and I just let it happen, but at least it's happening on my terms. I made the rules for hanging and banging, and I can change them whenever I want. If I told him tomorrow that we weren't doing it anymore, he would accept that. At least I know that if I say no to something, Rhett will respect that. Gives me a get out of jail free card. I'm not trapped in a relationship with definitions and expectations and all that shit. I wonder why more people don't try hanging and banging.

I turn back over onto my side, so my back faces where Rhett was lying.

* * *

With everything going on with Rhett, I'd completely forgotten about the voicemail my parents left me. Every time I do remember, I decide to ignore it because I don't want to deal with it. Finally the little red notification is too much and I listen to it.

Basically, my parents are selling their house, getting out of Texas, and retiring to Florida. As soon as possible. They want me to come home to get my stuff or else they're going to toss everything. Guess now that they've absolved themselves of financial responsibility, they don't care about my things, either. I expected as much, but it's still a knife in the gut that they have so much disregard for the few things that are still left there. Childhood memories, more pictures of me and Mia, old cheer jackets and uniforms, books and toys. All the detritus that you accumulate over a life. And they don't even care.

At first, I'm numb. The anger sets in after a few minutes and I have to force myself not to call them back and ream them out. Instead I send a text to Melissa and tell her what's going on. She calls me back immediately and says that she will go over to the house and take anything I want and store it in their garage for me. I almost have a breakdown but take a deep breath and calm down. I give Melissa a list of the things I want her to get, and she says that she'll take pictures of everything and send them to me so I can make sure she's taking the right stuff. I ask her how she's going to get into the house, but she tells me to leave that to her. Melissa and my parents have had plenty of run-ins over the years, and she always seems to come out on top.