“I’m not just some girl. And if he is watching, wouldn’t moving in with me look good? I know you said you dated girls before, but you never moved in with them. You’ve only ever lived with Mia, and he knows that. If anything, seeing you move in with someone else should reassure him that you’re not coming back for her. I can write him a letter or recommendation. I’ll tell him about all the progress you made and assure him that if you ever come back for her again, I will kill you myself and he won’t have to.”
I smile, wrapping my arms around her waist and pulling her close. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, you’re such a badass.”
“The baddest of asses,” she agrees, nodding. “I’ll explain that you can’t go save Mia from his evil clutches because we have an agreement. Abandoning me for several days to ride to your death and save your ex-girlfriend would hardcore fall into the category of things you could do to make me bang Mr. Ink Muscles.”
“Vengeful little minx,” I accuse, leaning in and giving her a kiss.
“Hey, it works,” she says, lightly. “Besides, if you leave me, you’ll never find out which saying Laurel would have put on your Christmas mug. And if you leave me, I’ll send you a mug that says ‘dumbass’ because it’s the only mug you’ll ever need again.”
“You’re getting cocky,” I tell her, grabbing her ass.
“I’m a catch,” she tells me, giving me a wicked little grin and grinding against my cock.
She is not wrong.
But she is wrong about moving in together being a good idea, so that’s one disagreement she doesn’t win.
—
“Look what I made!”
Carly proudly holds up some pastel wreath thing. I assume it’s the result of yesterday’s labors, when she spent literally the entire day dipping pastel thread into some kind of glue mix and wrapping the threads around small balloons.
“It’s an Easter egg wreath,” she explains, when I am not adequately blown away by whatever the fuck it is. She points to a pink thread egg, then a blue one, then a yellow. “See? These are all those different colored yarns. I made it to hang on the front door. It’s festive.”
“I can see that,” I reply, since it’s really all I can say.
“You can tell they’re eggs, right? I’m not crazy.”
“No, I see it. Now that you’ve told me what to look for….” She scowls. I revise my opinion. “I mean, they’re obviously Easter eggs. Anyone who doesn’t look at that wreath and see Easter eggs needs their eyes checked.”
Satisfied, she nods and smiles. “That’s what I thought. It came out really well. I’m impressed. If this one doesn’t hold up, I’ll make another one next year.”
“Did you make one for Laurel?”
We haven’t discussed Easter plans yet, but since I can’t go to Chicago, I figured it’s a given Laurel will come here over her spring break. As into holidays as Carly is, I’m surprised she hasn’t turned the whole apartment into an Easter paradise and made name-card-holder-thingies for all our place settings yet.
“Nah, not this time. Wasn’t sure it would turn out. I don’t always have luck with this kind of craft. My hands get messy and the glue takes forever to dry. It’s a whole thing. But I love these eggs, so I’m thinking it might be worth it. When we have a baby, I’ll add a family of bunnies. A mommy, daddy, and baby bunny.”
“Oh, good, we’re talking about babies again.”
Carly grins at me. “We’re gonna make the cutest babies. We should have a Christmas baby.”
“I don’t think you can just order what season of baby you want.”
“We could name him Nick, like Saint Nick.”
“I’m not naming my son after Santa Claus,” I inform her.
“Or a daughter named Noelle.”
“You’re making me itch.”
Carly grins. “Don’t worry, I want to at least start grad school before we start making babies. I’d like to start procreating before I finish, though. The first year or so in the workforce I can’t be having babies.”
I itch theatrically so she’ll stop, but she just goes to hang the Easter wreath on our front door. When she returns, she plants herself in my lap on the couch and snuggles up against me. I settle my arm around her waist and the scent of her shampoo drifts to my nose. She’s stopped using the coconut kind, but I like this one now. I associate it with Carly, and I like pretty much everything associated with Carly—even her lame holiday wreaths.
“We should watch that serial killer show,” she tells me, passively watching the television.
“You’re such a creep,” I tell her.
“I’m sorry, they’re interesting.”
“You’d love my family,” I remark, rolling my eyes.
“Probably. If I ever get to meet them, I’m going to take extensive notes. Laurel still wants to meet the polygamist cousin.”