by Scott, Kylie
I didn’t bother answering.
“Did it ever occur to you that he started seeing someone else because you don’t care?” she asked.
“You think I wasn’t meeting his emotional needs?”
“That’s one of my theories about your dating issues.”
“See, this is why I have a therapist for a best friend,” I said. “You have all the answers.”
She laughed. “Only I don’t get paid to listen to you.”
“Sorry about that.”
“Luckily, you’re normally pretty boring. So I don’t mind this bit of drama.”
“That is fortunate,” I said. “Thing is, Deacon and I had only been out like four or five times. We hadn’t even had sex yet. Can I really be expected to emotionally prop up men after such a small amount of dates?”
Hazel snorted. “You’re willfully misunderstanding me. I give up.”
“Good. How’s Maddie?”
“She’s fine. We’re going to her parent’s place for dinner soon,” she said. “Are you going to survive where you are?”
“No. I’ll probably just die in a really sad and pathetic manner, slowly becoming a smell in the hallway that he eventually can’t ignore. Or not. I haven’t decided.” More sighing from me. “God, I feel so wound up, like there’s something heavy sitting on my chest. Maybe I should just have a mild panic attack and get it over and done with. Tick that box, you know?”
“Panic attacks are nothing to make jokes about,” she chided. “Now go have a drink and calm down. Make peace with your situation . . . if you can’t make peace with him.”
“He won’t make peace with me.”
“Show him what a glorious, mature person you are these days.”
“I’m a glorious, mature person?”
“Sure you are. Or at least you can pretend. Your acting skills are quite good. I believe in you.” Hazel made kissing noises. “I have to go. Will you live?”
“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” I smiled. “Thanks for the pep talk. And the information. I promise to be a mess of tears next time a guy’s cheating on me. Cross my heart. Have a nice night.”
“I’ll believe that when I see it. ’Bye.”
I tossed my phone aside, surrendering to despair. Or just the oppressive heat and general tiredness. That’s when the giant-ass spider ran up the wall directly above my head, long legs skittering as it navigated the edge of the ceiling.
“Jesus!” I scrambled off the bed, heart pounding. “Not cool.”
Footsteps came running from the other end of the house, and Pete dashed into the room. “What’s wrong?”
I just pointed at the wall.
His brows rose. “It’s just a huntsman.”
A huff of breath left his body, and with it all sense of urgency. Given my shriek, he’d probably been expecting a snake. While mostly the local populations were just harmless green tree snakes, occasionally an eastern brown would appear. Those things were aggressive and deadly poisonous.
“It’s the size of my hand,” I complained, trying not to sound defensive. “Ew.”
“Ew? Seriously?” Yet again, he came dangerously close to smiling. Though this time it was more of a mockery-type thing. “You used to deal with these all the time.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t anymore. My spider-catching skills have lapsed,” I said. “On the plus side, I’ve mastered Sydney’s public transport system. Talk about intimidating.”
He just looked at me.
“Can you please get it out of here?”
“Open the verandah door.” With a heavy sigh, he disappeared back out into the hallway, reappearing shortly with a big plastic container and a piece of cardboard.
I stood by the open doorway, watching as he crept up on the ugly, hairy eight-legged monster. Realistically, I knew I’d probably scared it worse than it had me. Huntsmen weren’t even very poisonous, their sting not much worse than a mosquito’s. But creepy-crawlies really weren’t my thing. Not anymore, at least.
Pete stepped up onto the bed, his bare feet spread wide apart as he positioned himself for the capture. The clear plastic container closed down on the creepy thing, as Pete tried for the slow and steady approach. At the last moment, its spider sense kicked in, and it leapt into a mad dash for freedom. I bit back a squeal of fright, but Pete’s reflexes were up to the task. The container knocked against the bedroom wall, all eight legs and any other bits and pieces of the beast safely inside. I tried to avoid any feeling of grudging admiration. It took a fair bit of skill to nab a big, fast-moving one that smoothly.
Pete carefully slid the piece of cardboard between the wall and the container. Lots of spider jumping and scurrying ensued inside the plastic box. Continuing my display of extreme bravery, I stood back out of the way as he carried the thing outside and then took off the cardboard covering. He flicked the container so Mr. Spider went flying off into the garden, to live wild and free. Much better than copping a load of bug spray in the face.
“Happy?” he asked.
“Delirious. Thank you.”
A grunt.
“Remember the first time you taught me to do that? I didn’t get it right and the poor thing lost a leg under the edge of the container. Half of me was petrified, and the other half in tears.” To be fair, huntsmen’s legs were strangely brittle, and you had to be pretty agile to make sure they didn’t lose a leg or two in the process.
Another grunt.
Great. Was this how it was going to be for my entire stay?
“Not that I don’t adore the whole grouchy thing you’ve got going,” I said. “But out of curiosity, should we just possibly talk about the issue and get it all out there? Deal with it, maybe?”
He frowned. “Hell, no.”
“So we’re never going to discuss it?”
“Got it in one.”
I took a deep breath and gave him a thumbs-up. “Okay. Great. Good talk, Pete. Thanks again for getting rid of the spider.”
Another disgruntled look and he was gone, wandering back inside. Off to hide out in his office, no doubt.
Skittering spiders and taciturn men. What the hell had I gotten myself into?
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