The end (for now)

Just lifting the boxes into the van left me exhausted. It had been a while since I’d been to the gym. By the time I had the van loaded, I drove straight to my house. When I walked in, my house looked unfamiliar, like some things were moved around. The bedroom door was closed and I could hear talking inside. I opened it and saw my wife in bed. She was damp like she had just been through an intense run. I couldn’t figure out why all the windows were fogged up. And the air…there was something in the air…

My wife was under a bedsheet but quickly sat up when I walked in. I noticed that Andrew only wearing boxer briefs and a t-shirt and that his jeans, socks, and shoes were on the floor right beside my wife’s blouse and skirt.

I was about to ask what they were doing before Andrew raised his voice at me, which told me I was fucking up somehow. He was saying that I was sweating all over the bed, prompting Laryssa to shoo me off. I apologized for being so wet and explained that I had single-handedly moved his stuff. I told Laryssa I was going to have a quick shower before taking Andrew to his new place. Andrew stopped me and told me to just bring all his stuff inside, which confused me. I made my way towards the bathroom, but Andrew sidestepped me.

“Eh…don’t make me tell you again…” Andrew said to me with a raised eyebrow. Over my shoulder, my wife let out a sensual moan as Andrew kept talking. “You can use the shower when you’re done, but you’ll need to scrub the tub clean right afterward-ah.”

“Yes, Andrew,” I said instead of questioning his instruction. “Whatever you say.”

My wife moaned in the background once again, this time breathing heavy. I caught Andrew giving her a wink and grin as if he was pushing her buttons somehow.

As I brought Andrew’s boxes inside, Laryssa – who put on one of Andrew’s t-shirts, told me she decided to let him keep his stuff at our house. There was plenty of room, so I didn’t see the harm in it, and quite frankly, I didn’t want his stuff crowding my apartment. Andrew put on his pants and directed traffic, telling me where specifically to put his stuff. I was confused when he told me to unpack his clothes in the master bedroom. I realized most of my stuff was in the apartment, so there was plenty of room in our closets for his stuff, but I didn’t understand why his clothes were staying at my house.

Andrew jumped in the shower as I was unpacking, and I kissed my wife goodbye a couple of minutes later. I texted Andrew on my way out to let him know I was done and encouraged him to make himself at home at my place.

“What’s mine is yours, Andrew!” I texted my tag-along friend.

“It certainly is,” Andrew replied, wink-face emoji. I felt like Andrew wrote that comment with a smirk for some reason.

I drove back to my place, looking forward to reclaiming my apartment. It was going to be a little empty without the neighborhood loser living with me, but I was happy to having the entire place to myself, and not attend to Andrew’s needs. I’m sure he was just as happy, if not happier, with all the room he would have in my house.

As I sat back on the couch, beer in hand, I got a text from Rob, who send it to “all”, meaning everyone in his contacts list.

“Party at Andrew’s new place tonight. Don’t invite the foot-fag.” The text read.

“He’s off your contacts list, right?” Someone mass-replied.

“Oops.” Rob mass-replied. “Fuck ‘em, he’s off now.”

Strangely, no texts came in after that.

THE END