Page 127 of The Off Limits Captain
“Of what?”
“A bachelor ecosystem in distress.”
I lean back against the counter. “You have been in my apartment twenty minutes and are already criticizing the habitat.”
“The habitat needs intervention.” Her thumb moves over the screen. “Do you drink beer?”
“I am Canadian-adjacent.”
“That is not an answer.”
“Yes.”
“Good. I am ordering wine too.”
“To my apartment?”
“Yes.”
“You are ordering wine and beer to my apartment.”
“And dumplings. Possibly noodles. Definitely crab rangoon.”
“I do not know what is happening anymore.”
“You are being hosted in your own home. Try to keep up.”
She puts the phone down and looks at me properly for the first time since I walked into the kitchen.
“You still smell like rink tape and violence.”
“I played hockey.”
“Recently.”
“That is usually how smelling works.”
“I cannot be expected to eat dinner next to that.”
I look at the food app on her phone. “The food is not here.”
“Excellent. Shower.”
“You are ordering me around in my apartment.”
“Yes.”
“This is going to become a problem.”
“Almost certainly.”
I should argue. I do not.
By the time I get out of the shower, she has moved my coffee table six inches with her hip, cleared three protein bar wrappers from the floor, and made a flat surface out of a stack of old game programs and one hardcover book I did not know I owned.
My old team hoodie hangs off one shoulder. Her hair is damp at the ends. Bare feet. Laptop open on the couch behind her. My charger near the outlet because she forgot hers and then blamed modern technology with suspicious conviction.
The place has changed around her anyway.
