Full Package by Lauren Blakely Read Free Book Online

and hand it to her. I pay for her baking goods, too. “Have I ever told you I give amazing gifts? It’s kind of a special talent of mine.”
    She rolls her eyes, but as we leave, she lets go of the teasing and drops a soft kiss on my cheek. “Thank you for the amazing gifts. That was very sweet of you.”
    Later, as we spend our first night together as roommates, I’m weirdly jealous of a pillow.
    But a week or so after that, it’s not pillows I’m jealous of.

7
    F rom the pages of Josie’s Recipe Book
    Air-Popped Popcorn for Nights Hanging Out on the Couch
----
    I ngredients
    1/4 cup unpopped corn kernels
    One popcorn popper
----
    D irections
Place the kernels in the popcorn popper.
Put the top on.
Stick that baby in the microwave.
This is the toughest part. Gather close. Wait for it . . . hit the popcorn button on the microwave. Watch it. When the microwave dings, voila!
----
    S erving suggestion : Dump the popped corn into a bowl, sprinkle with a little salt, grate a small bit of parmesan cheese, and prepare to enjoy the hell out of a snack as you curl up on the couch and watch TV.
----
    S pecial instructions : Resist placing your feet on Chase’s legs. Refrain from snuggling up next to him. Keep your hands out of that hair. That golden brown, slightly wavy, looks-so-damn-soft hair. You are friends, and you like hanging out with him. It’s that simple, and don’t presume that friendship means you get the chance to touch his hair. Even though you really, really, really want to touch his hair.

8
    S ix things I’ve learned about women from living with one. . .
----
    O ne
----
    T hey use a lot of toilet paper.
    Okay, hold on. I don’t mean anything untoward. What I mean is this—it’s like an epic fiesta of tissue in the bathroom.
    â€œCan you pick up TP on your way home?” Josie asks on the phone one evening as I’m leaving the hospital after an insane day of sprains and broken bones. “We’re almost out.”
    â€œThere’s half a roll,” I say, because that’s good for three days, right?
    Nope.
    I’m wrong.
    â€œChase,” she chides as I head down the street. “That’ll be gone in a couple of hours.”
    And I know why. The chick loves toilet paper. She’s like one of those cat memes, where the pussycat’s paws are wrapped around the roll, and she’s gleefully tugging it off the holder. Josie uses it for everything.
    She uses it to take off her makeup. She uses it to clean up water on the bathroom sink. She uses it to dust . Yup, she wads up a chunk of TP and wipes down the shelves with it. She fucking unravels it with her little feline paws. She uses it when she blows her nose, which, incidentally, is kind of adorable since she makes a little squeak.
    I pop into the drugstore and grab some TP. I get her favorite kind. Because it makes her happy.
----
    T wo
----
    H air .
    It’s pretty much everywhere. I find brown strands on the couch. I discover pink strands in the sink. And, truth be told, I find Josie’s hair in my own hair. Shhh. Don’t tell her but . . . I use her hairbrush. I don’t know why, but girls’ brushes are evidently way better than combs. They’re just really fucking awesome.
----
    T hree
----
    J osie really likes it when I perform manly tasks. I like it when she likes it when I do manly tasks. Sorry if that makes me not PC or whatever. I’m sure I should be defying stereotypical gender roles and knitting her a scarf or planting flowers, but I won’t lie—I vastly prefer when she asks me to lift shit. A few days ago, she wanted to move the coffee table. I happily obliged, and I enjoyed the fact that she checked out my arms when I carried it. The other night, she asked me to open a pickle jar. I strutted into the kitchen, flexed my arms, and made a big show of it.
    â€œPeacock,” she muttered.
    I wiggled my eyebrows. “It’s really hard