Still Breathing [Jacob Black]

Chapter Three

Felicity

It only took a couple of days to realize that Paul was going to be staying at the apartment more often than not. I didn't know the particulars on why, and I didn't ask, but I could definitely understand the feeling of wanting to be anywhere but at your parents' house, so I let it be.

I also realized pretty quick that Paul was cool. He had the attitude of a ladies man with the snark and humor of a good friend. He didn't actually try to hit on me at all, though, which I was thankful for. The last thing I needed was to be fending off his advances. No, instead he was nice and funny and I could definitely see us being friends, even if we hadn't met through the connection of Elijah.

So with Paul sleeping in the extra room in the apartment and showing no signs of getting himself thrown out anytime soon, I decided it was a good idea to clean out the random things of mine and Elijah's taking up space in there. A good portion of it was easily relocated to another closet or the garage, but there were a couple boxes of items that Elijah would probably need sooner rather than later. I'd told him I had no problem with storing the belongings that he didn't take with him until he settled somewhere, but these things were work-related. Files and business clothes that I was surprised he hadn't already shown up to claim. Surely he had some work clothes with him, but he had to be washing them constantly. And I had no idea how important the files were, but the fact that he'd brought them home in the first place instead of leaving them at work kind of pointed to them as something he needed.

Which brought up the dilemma of how to get the boxes to him. I could call him—but I didn't really want him over. Or to see him at all, which was childish but nonetheless true. Maybe I could just keep them here until he asked for them. Avoid the situation until he made it unavoidable. Who was to say he needed the boxes anyway? I was only speculating. Maybe he'd bought more clothes. And maybe the papers were garbage.

But then again, what if they weren't? What if he did need them?

I brought up my conflict to Paul one afternoon and he said, "Drop them off at Sam's house. I'll give you the address and some directions." Then he went back to eating his massive bowl of Frosted Flakes. Honestly, I'd never met anyone who ate as much as him, ever. The guy used a mixing bowl to eat cereal, for crying out loud. And he did it while grumbling about how I needed to acquire larger bowls.

Now I gaped at him, and it wasn't because he could fit an abnormal amount of cereal in his mouth. "I can't do that!"

Paul frowned. "Why not? You said you don't want him here—so go there."

Shifting in my seat, I shook my head. "I don't know Sam, or anyone else who might be there. What if his new girlfriend is there? No," I decided. "That would be a disaster."

He sighed, rolling his eyes. "His girlfriend should really have some damn sympathy, don't you think? And you don't need to know anyone else who might be there. The only people who hang out there are cool."

"And you can guarantee that," I deadpanned.

"Of course I can." Paul smirked. "They're people I hang out with."

The corner of my lips twitched. "So you're cool?"

He shrugged, scooping the last few flakes into his spoon. "You said it, not me."

I couldn't help it—I snorted. "Right. So that's settled, then."

"Great." He took a sip of the milk left in the bowl. "I'll write down those directions for you."