Page 77 of Alfie: Part One
After taking a leak, I washed my hands and my face, and the cold water felt good on my skin. My nose wasn’t so stuffy anymore.
The bathroom hadn’t changed since I’d lived here. In fact, nothing had. The living room was the homiest area in the house. I liked the dark, warm colors and the comfortable couches and chairs. It had a fireplace too, and we’d put the Christmas tree near it…
I shook my head to myself and toweled off.
I had to stop going down memory lane.
My reflection in the mirror stared back at me, and I brushed my fingertips over the redness under my eyes.
I looked like a sorry sack of shit.
As I left the bathroom, it didn’t feel right to park my ass on the couch, so I went into the kitchen instead to wait for West.
I sat down at the table and glanced it over. Was it new? I couldn’t be sure, but I didn’t remember ours being so glossy. This wood seemed slightly darker too.
Most of the time, we’d eaten at the dining room table in the living room. It was how West had grown up. He’d looked at me funny when I’d automatically set the kitchen table, and he’d said something like, “We’re not in LA anymore, baby. We have a dining area now.”
The front door opened, and I sat up straighter, part of me wanting to stand up simply because it wasn’t my home. Maybe sitting down meant I’d gotten too comfortable? Even though everything about this screamed discomfort.
West stopped in the wide doorway and seemed to hesitate. He watched me, and he watched the table.
“What?” I asked.
He shook it off and came closer. “Just strange seeing you at the table again.”
I gave the table another glance as he flicked on the light right above. “Isthis the table we picked out?”
“It is.” He sat down at the end, sharing my corner. “I had to re-treat it. Ellie and one of her friends wrecked the finish with glitter glue and scissors last fall.”
Ah.
“Got it,” I said. “Was Colby all right with crashing in the studio?”
“Yeah, definitely,” he replied. “He might not be asleep in an hour after all, if you want to check in on him. He saw the washer and asked if he could do laundry—something about bed bugs at the last place he’d stayed at?”
I made a face. “Yeah, it was a fuckin’ dump.”
“Explains why he called the studio a luxury apartment.”
I let out a quiet chuckle. I had a feeling Colby hadn’t experienced much luxury in his life.
“By the way, he gave me his number if you want to contact him.” He pulled out his phone. “I’ll text it to you.”
“Thank you.” I’d send him a text in a little while.
He inclined his head as he sent me the number. “He calls you boss,” he noted.
“I’m not. I’m a…I don’t know, temporary babysitter.”
He hummed and placed the phone in front of him.
Fuck. Colby had talked, hadn’t he?
“Did he tell you anything?” I wondered.
He shook his head slowly, maybe considering his response. “Not really. He said he’d been sure that hispunishmentwould’ve been a lot more severe—or painful as fuck, in his words—if you hadn’t stepped in and, to quote, saved his ass.”
That was technically true, I guessed.