Read Online Geek God (Forever Geek Trilogy #1) by Victoria Barbour - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Victoria Barbour
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more months later.
“W hy won’t you move in with me? I’ll evict the whole load of them, if that’s what you want.”
“I don’t want to have this argument again. We can’t live together.”
“We do live together. I haven’t slept home in nearly a month. And this house is too small for your stuff, let alone mine.”
“Sleeping over doesn’t mean you live here.”
“Really?” He starts pulling open dresser drawers. “’Cause this drawer is full of socks and underwear I’d hate to see you wear. And this one here has a lot of very masculine-looking pants and shirts.”
“That’s just some clothes. You still have your own place.”
“No, what we have are two mortgages, two sets of bills, and two beds, one of which is vacant ninety-nine percent of the time.”
I don’t want to have this conversation with him, because the answer makes no sense to me.
“Jill, my place is so much bigger. You could sell and make money on this place with the work we’ve put into it. Do you hate my house?”
“No! I love your house. When it’s not being used for gaming marathons. I love it more than this house. But I can’t move in with you. Not unless . . .”
No. I refuse to say it. I’m not telling him that my mother has somehow convinced me not to live with him unless we’re married. There’s no way I’m going to make him think I’m pressuring him to propose to me. And I still haven’t wrapped my brain around why Mom’s suggestion seems to have resonated with me so well. But it makes sense.
Already there are little things he does that bug me. Like the way he hangs a damp dish cloth over the kitchen faucet after washing up, letting it air dry into a crusty sheet full of germs. Right now I can grab it and toss it into the laundry, and he can only give me a look. He has no right to bicker with me.
Bickering is what I’m afraid of. I’m afraid that we’ll move in together and we will bicker each other to the point of irritability and we’ll break up. I’m afraid to live with him because I’m afraid he’ll hate living with me. Mom is right. If we’re married, he can’t leave me so easily.
Argh. When did I become this person? This woman afraid of losing her man? This woman afraid to move forward in fear of the future?
“Jillian, talk to me. I can see the signs of an internal monologue written all over your face. Tell me what’s going on. It can’t be nearly as bad as you think it is.”
“I can’t. I can’t tell you what I’m thinking because you’ll think I’m nuts.”
“I already think you’re nuts. I love it.”
“You’ll think I’m saying things to force your hand, and that’s not what I’d be doing. We just can’t talk about it, Evan, because it’ll turn into something it’s not supposed to.”
I’m crying and yelling and pacing, and he’s just standing there, a look of total patience on his face. I hate that. I hate how calm he is when I’m having a meltdown. As if he’s perfectly fine just waiting around while I have my momentary freak-out and then resume the conversation.
“I know what’s going on. Your father told me.”
“Told you what?” I’m going to kill my father if he dared pressure Evan to propose to me.
“That you’re hoping they’ll move into a condo and give you their house.”
“Are they insane? I don’t want that house.”
“You don’t want a swanky mansion?” His laugh is too mocking for my satisfaction.
“No. I want your house, you nincompoop. I’ve always wanted a house like yours.”
“Then why in seven hells won’t you live there now? That makes no sense.”
“I’ll live there when I’m ready.”
“Well, I live there now. And it’s where I’m going tonight.”
“I can’t stay there tonight. I have work to do here.”
“I didn’t invite you.”
Woosh . Is he really leaving? He’s not going to sleep with me tonight?
“Evan, don’t. Don’t be angry.”
“I’m trying really hard not to be, Jill. But
“W hy won’t you move in with me? I’ll evict the whole load of them, if that’s what you want.”
“I don’t want to have this argument again. We can’t live together.”
“We do live together. I haven’t slept home in nearly a month. And this house is too small for your stuff, let alone mine.”
“Sleeping over doesn’t mean you live here.”
“Really?” He starts pulling open dresser drawers. “’Cause this drawer is full of socks and underwear I’d hate to see you wear. And this one here has a lot of very masculine-looking pants and shirts.”
“That’s just some clothes. You still have your own place.”
“No, what we have are two mortgages, two sets of bills, and two beds, one of which is vacant ninety-nine percent of the time.”
I don’t want to have this conversation with him, because the answer makes no sense to me.
“Jill, my place is so much bigger. You could sell and make money on this place with the work we’ve put into it. Do you hate my house?”
“No! I love your house. When it’s not being used for gaming marathons. I love it more than this house. But I can’t move in with you. Not unless . . .”
No. I refuse to say it. I’m not telling him that my mother has somehow convinced me not to live with him unless we’re married. There’s no way I’m going to make him think I’m pressuring him to propose to me. And I still haven’t wrapped my brain around why Mom’s suggestion seems to have resonated with me so well. But it makes sense.
Already there are little things he does that bug me. Like the way he hangs a damp dish cloth over the kitchen faucet after washing up, letting it air dry into a crusty sheet full of germs. Right now I can grab it and toss it into the laundry, and he can only give me a look. He has no right to bicker with me.
Bickering is what I’m afraid of. I’m afraid that we’ll move in together and we will bicker each other to the point of irritability and we’ll break up. I’m afraid to live with him because I’m afraid he’ll hate living with me. Mom is right. If we’re married, he can’t leave me so easily.
Argh. When did I become this person? This woman afraid of losing her man? This woman afraid to move forward in fear of the future?
“Jillian, talk to me. I can see the signs of an internal monologue written all over your face. Tell me what’s going on. It can’t be nearly as bad as you think it is.”
“I can’t. I can’t tell you what I’m thinking because you’ll think I’m nuts.”
“I already think you’re nuts. I love it.”
“You’ll think I’m saying things to force your hand, and that’s not what I’d be doing. We just can’t talk about it, Evan, because it’ll turn into something it’s not supposed to.”
I’m crying and yelling and pacing, and he’s just standing there, a look of total patience on his face. I hate that. I hate how calm he is when I’m having a meltdown. As if he’s perfectly fine just waiting around while I have my momentary freak-out and then resume the conversation.
“I know what’s going on. Your father told me.”
“Told you what?” I’m going to kill my father if he dared pressure Evan to propose to me.
“That you’re hoping they’ll move into a condo and give you their house.”
“Are they insane? I don’t want that house.”
“You don’t want a swanky mansion?” His laugh is too mocking for my satisfaction.
“No. I want your house, you nincompoop. I’ve always wanted a house like yours.”
“Then why in seven hells won’t you live there now? That makes no sense.”
“I’ll live there when I’m ready.”
“Well, I live there now. And it’s where I’m going tonight.”
“I can’t stay there tonight. I have work to do here.”
“I didn’t invite you.”
Woosh . Is he really leaving? He’s not going to sleep with me tonight?
“Evan, don’t. Don’t be angry.”
“I’m trying really hard not to be, Jill. But
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