The Co-op

Chapter Seventeen

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

DEACON

The first half of June slips away in what feels like a montage of labor with very little gain. I’m sure it’s typical for this phase—at least when it comes to DIY.

What is not typical, however, is the shifting dynamic in our humble abode. LaRynn hardly ever responded to my flirting even when we were sleeping together before, so why she’s engaging now is… suspicious.

Earlier in the week, I showed her how to properly and safely tackle some demo, after she came home from her shift. I’ll have to be back at the campground during the days over the next two weeks while my mom takes her annual trip with some of her girlfriends back east, so I figured she’d be fine with a bit of homework. I quickly learned that one should not hand their cohabitant a tool and ask them to work when they get home from… work. Especially when said tool qualifies as a weapon. She tore down more than her half of a wall, but I won’t deny being afraid while she did it. Or inexplicably turned on. There was a very particular intensity there.

The only other progress we’ve made on that front is ripping up the remaining carpet, which I got around to today, and now on the monetary side, which is kicking off to an awkward start to say the least. LaRynn’s just told me she added me to the account that the trust funds are in, tossing the packet with my info onto the counter in a huff.

“Hey, Lar?” I say to her back, since she’s already sifting through her records. I’ve begun to notice that one of the first things she does when she gets home is play music. Today she settles on “Suspicious Minds.”

“Hmm?” she responds, back still turned.

“What would you think about just pooling our money together and using the same account? Since we’ve got so much mixed in anyway, now that I’m living here full-time, too, and we’re going to end up eating each other’s food—”

“No, you end up eating my food.”

“It was one apple,” I reply. Then, under my breath, “Jesus, you can hold a grudge.”

“It was three days ago!” Her face pulls up in that scrunch thing before she starts muttering in French. “And why would you do that anyway? You make more money than me.” Her eyes cut away when she says it, like she’s ashamed of that for some incomprehensible reason.

“We’ll have to pay the subs out of the same funds, and I don’t know,” I say, shrugging. “I’m not exactly experienced with sharing a space with someone. I might stumble upon a banana and eat it. Maybe I’m hoping that contributing to the overall grocery fund will buy me forgiveness occasionally.”

“So you’re trying to buy my compliance?” She lifts a brow slowly.

“I—” I look away and kick out a boot. Was I? I didn’t think I was, but, shit.

“I guess if we pooled money together for groceries and utilities it would make it simpler to pay for things instead of going over percentages and arguing about usage, weighing every cost against the hefty food tab you surely hike up,” she says, cocking her head and looking me up and down.

“Takes a lot to maintain all this,” I say.

“Yes, yes, you’re a god among men and all that,” she monotones with a sigh, but it’s more worn than biting. “If you really don’t mind then I’m fine with that. I just…” She inhales deeply through her nose before she turns rigidly toward me. “I would like those driving lessons you mentioned.”

Surprise unfurls in my chest, but I cover the feeling with a cough. The way she asked made it sound like she’s been looking for an opening. “Alright. That’s fine with me,” I say.

“Obviously, that would be beneficial for us both, here. I’d be able to get whatever you need, too,” she adds, like she’s still trying to convince me.

“Totally, yeah,” I add, voice picking up at the end. And then I hold very still while she regards me.

When she seems satisfied on that matter she does another uncomfortable fidget. “I also—and feel free to say no to this—it’s really not a big deal. I just know it will cost a lot on my own and thought it might be easier if I went through you… but… Would it—would it be hard or costly to add me to your health insurance?”

“It won’t cost a thing. I have it through the union,” I answer right away. But you mean to tell me she’s been riding around town on an electric bike and I showed her how to use a nail gun and she hasn’t had medical insurance?! I shrug, even though I’m biting my tongue. I have a feeling that the last thing she needs is a lecture.

“Thank you,” she says warily. “I don’t think I’ve been dropped from my dad’s yet, but I will in October when I turn twenty-seven anyway, and I don’t want a lapse. I know we talked about being done before then, but it’d just buy me time and—”

“LaRynn, it’s totally fine. The answer’s yes.”

She’s never been especially easy to read, but I get the sense that she’s trying to find a catch. The self-conscious way she looks at her feet when she comes up empty makes me miss her glare, though.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, and the edge in her gaze comes back.

“Nothing.” She taps a foot and scoffs from her sinuses, arms swinging open in frustration. “I snapped at a customer today, okay?”

She shifts to her other hip and shakes her head at herself, arms refolding across her chest.

She’s stronger than she was when we were teens—with a body that’s only grown more… dramatic. Everything about her is. Long, slender throat, wide-set shoulders above a steeply curved waist. The kind of lengthy, powerful thighs and rounded ass that make you think there’s definitely a God and he’s definitely a mean bastard who lives to see his creations make fools of themselves drooling over his finer ones. The capped muscles atop her arms shift and tense now, working beneath her skin, thighs flexing below her miniskirt. A ridiculous scrap of fabric.

“And you feel bad?” I ask, genuinely. I deduce that if I just come out and ask her exactly what happened she’ll shut down.

“Not for the customer, ” she says. Like it should be obvious. “Elyse said she wasn’t upset with me about it, but he’s a regular, so…”

“He make a pass at you or something?” I laugh to disguise whatever else is happening in my gut. Her expression sours further.

“Glad that’s such a truly laughable thought.” Her eyes roll. “He didn’t hit on me, exactly. Not today, at least. He just pissed me off. Repeatedly.”

“An equally laughable thought.”

A twitch. I swear the corner of her mouth twitched at that one.

“So,” I say, eager to keep this going for some reason I’m not yet in touch with. “A regular, huh? What’s his name?”

“Some dumb name. Roofie, or Raid, or—”

“Rafe?” I snort.

“Yep.” She walks over to the couch and collapses onto it. “Know him?”

I nod. “What’d he do?”

“Just—the normal. Misogynistic, entitled bullshit. Calls me ‘sweetheart’ condescendingly, called me ‘bright eyes’ one of the other times,” she says, sighing. “Today, I was in the middle of talking with another customer and he took it upon himself to shout—from all the way at the end of the breakfast bar in front of a crowd—and tell me that I should smile more . And when I asked him why, he declared, ‘Because you’re nice to look at from a distance without it, but with it, you demand to be approached.’” She gags and I have to swallow a pop of irrational rage. Can’t that idiot go to a bar to pick up someone and not bother women while they’re in the middle of work? “He thought it was elite, too. Probably practiced it in front of his bathroom mirror. He really felt he was owed a favorable response to that.” She chews her lip to cover a cruel, satisfied little smirk. Heat licks up the front of my legs at that look. I always loved when LaRynn would be proud of herself this way. Usually had to egg it on through games and bringing out her competitive streak, but sometimes she’d recognize her influence over me, too, and she’d let herself own it. I couldn’t have cared less back then, would’ve let her eat me alive. Unfortunately I know better now.

“I take it your response was less than?” I say, voice rough.

“I told him if we were both lucky then he’d experience all of my expressions from a distance, and he’d do well not confuse any of them with an invitation, let alone a demand. And then I drew a dick in his latte art.”

“Atta girl,” I rasp. I need to dial it back. When I smile her way, her expression shifts into something owlish. “Doesn’t sound so bad,” I tell her. “Sounds to me like you went easy on the guy.” I personally wish she’d not-accidentally spilled coffee on him and done some physical harm.

She eyes me suspiciously again. “Somehow, I think my carefully executed restraint was lost on him.”

I reach down and start gathering up debris. “Well, if Elyse wasn’t mad then I wouldn’t worry about it. Here, help me drag this?”

She rocks up from the couch with a beleaguered sound but shuffles over and grabs an end of the roll I’m working on.

“I just think—I don’t know.” She looks behind her to find the stairs. “I don’t know if the place is doing great. Not sure if scaring off regulars is a great move right now. I saw her looking at listings for new spots the other day. And she’s mentioned how expensive the retail space is here, and needing to bring in the dinner crowd more.”

I pause and she gives the load an annoyed tug. “What do you mean? It looks busy in there all the time,” I say.

“In the mornings, yeah. And I’m not sure. I just know she’s been waiting until the last minute to do stock orders and has mentioned a few things, that’s all. Now can we finish this? I told Jensen I’d meet him and be his second for a few pickup matches tonight.”

“What?! He didn’t ask me.” I stop short with the roll.

She huffs out a groan and drops her end of it. “What is so unfathomable about the words coming out of my mouth right now? Did I slip into French at some point?”

“Why would he ask you?”

“Maybe because I’m good ? Maybe because Elyse and June are both working tonight. Also, it’s CO-ED.”

“Oh.”

“Oh,” she mimics, unflatteringly. “Do you want my help or not?” She gestures to the rolled-up carpet and I nod, and we make our way down to the dumpster I’ve got in Sal’s side of the courtyard.

“I’m coming, too,” I announce dumbly. “To play.” We toss the bundle into the dumpster, dust and debris puffing up into the air.

“It’s a free world, Deacon. And it’s a public beach.” She shrugs sideways at me before her face arranges itself into something smug. “But aww, look who’s getting a little possessive over his friends now. At twenty-seven versus twenty, no less.” She dusts off her hands, clapping them together. “How the turn tables.”

I can’t help it, a laugh bursts free. “Look at you making a joke.” She rolls her eyes, so I press on. “You know, you’re not as mean as you think you are,” I say, leaning back as I open the door for her. And it’s true, she’s not mean per se, not unless she’s got a reason to be. She moves to walk past me and I attempt to follow behind, but she stops short, our thighs bumping into each other.

“Sorry,” she mutters, twisting toward me, “you just— here —” She reaches up and I flinch back. Her eyes narrow to slits. “What do you think I’m going to do to you? Pull your precious hair? Bébé géant. Hold still, I’m trying to help you.” She mumbles more under her breath in French.

It’s the first time I’ve been this close to her since our kiss at the ceremony, face-to-face this way. She steps even closer, her chest barely brushing mine, and I hold in a breath, the moment settling like we’re sinking under a wave. I note that little freckle on her chin that I remember with disturbing clarity, next to the corner of her lip there. The other two that dot her cheek beside her nose on the same side, a small constellation I used to skate my thumb along. The dark lashes that nearly touch her brows—when her eyes aren’t narrowed in irritation, that is. Clear green irises. I feel the puff of her breath on the center of my throat.

Her eyes meet mine before I watch her mouth gently open, the tiniest peek of her pink tongue as it darts out across her lip, her teeth biting down into it… until it slips back out with a little flick.

“Deacon,” she says huskily, and I love how she holds on to the N just a little longer, like a breathy hum.

Something starts to turn over in my chest—spinning and filling up my head with cotton candy, with that scent on her I want to press my nose into, like some sugar-hungry bloodhound.

“Yeah?” grates out of me. How did we get here? Is she about to kiss me? Fuck, I think I’ll let her—

Her teeth flash in a cruel smile. “You have about a hundred of these in that mop on your head,” she says, waving a thread of carpet in my face and curling a brow. “And you’re not as smooth as you think you are.”

She sways past and struts up the stairs, and I blow out that breath. Let my skull thud against the door.

She might be right, I think with a wry laugh. Either way, game on.