Page 168 of So Not Meant To Be
“Okay, Monica Geller,” he says, flopping on my bed.
I point at his feet and say, “Uh, shoes, mister. Those need to be taken off.”
He glances down at his feet and then back up at me. “Oh, this is going to be fun driving you nuts.”
“Try me. I’m pretty sure I know who’ll win.”
* * *
“Doyou do this every time you come home from a trip?” JP asks around his mouthful of chocolate cookie dough ice cream.
“Yes.”
“What happens when you arrive home late?”
“Then I go to bed late.”
“So, you’re telling me, you need to steam and disinfect all of your shoes before you go to bed?”
I set down my steamer, pick up my bowl of ice cream, and take my last mouthful before setting it back down. “Yes. If I don’t, I won’t get any sleep. I told you, I have a system, and that system must be followed before I can tuck myself into bed.”
“I see... why do I find it strangely sexy?”
“Because you’re deranged,” I answer while finishing up with my last shoe. I put away my steamer and disinfectant and then zip up my suitcases—the smaller one in the bigger one—and set them by my door.
“Where do those go?”
“In storage. There’s a unit in the basement of the apartment building. It’s where I keep my holiday décor as well as any extra supplies like toilet paper, paper towels, and anything I might have purchased a surplus of because of a great coupon.”
“You’re so fucking efficient, it makes me want to bury my head between your breasts.”
I chuckle. “Are you saying you don’t have a surplus room?”
“Uh, I think mine is called a pantry.”
“Ah, true. Is it organized?”
He winces. “I think your nipples would curdle if you saw my pantry.”
“What about your bathroom? Is that organized?”
“My toothpaste has a specific spot on my counter, if that’s what you mean.”
“Your fridge, is it color coordinated?”
He scratches the side of his jaw. “I don’t even think there’s food in there.”
“Under your sink, are there drawers to hold your dishwasher pods?”
“I don’t do dishes.”
My eyes narrow. “Laundry?”
“I pay someone to clean my clothes.”
“Your closet, are your suits organized by color and texture?”
“Babe, I’m going to settle that craziness in your voice right now and tell you there’s no way in hell you will walk into my house and feel comfortable. It is unorganized.” He lies back on my bed and puts his hands behind his head. “That’s why I think it’s great that we spend a lot of time here.”
