12
Greedy Guts
Alex, Madeleine, and I settled in the kitchen sans Boone, who’d scarfed his dinner then made a beeline for the guest room. We both liked to pretend that was his room. (It wasn’t. He crashed on my bed routinely.)
We were also missing Wembley. I’d texted him in the drive that female company was present, and he should put pants on.
I suspected he was sulking.
Wembley didn’t always deign to present himself fully dressed in his own home. This was a recent development, and one I considered a function of our increased familiarity. Living with someone encouraged emotional intimacy—and pantslessness, apparently. Since Wembley was my first roommate since college, I wasn’t entirely sure if our relationship was normal, but it worked for us.
I wasn’t fond of his recent aversion to
