Money Issues

JJ and I were going over the finances. He’d kept his bank accounts when he’d moved in, and I’d kept mine. Each month, we contributed to the rent, utilities, food, and miscellaneous. Our car payments and other personal expenses were our own.

“It’s going to be tight when I move,” I pointed out. “Rent on this place, compared to those in Manhattan, is extremely reasonable but it’s still going to push your budget some.” Teachers didn’t make as much money as they should. “You can afford it, but you might want to consider getting a roommate.” 

He made a face. “Ugh, no. It’s a one-bedroom. Where would he sleep?”

“Couch pulls out into a bed, remember? You could take turns.”

“I’d rather do without some stuff until I join you than take in a stranger. Besides, I’m too old for a roommate unless I’m sleeping with him.” He leered at me, an expression which on him made him look nearly angelic.

Laughing, I shoved the papers aside. I’d gone over my numbers several times and I wasn’t overly worried. I had money in savings and I was getting my apartment for free. As long as the job didn’t fall through, I’d be fine.

“Heard from any of the schools in the Twin Cities?” He’d sent his resume to several districts in an attempt to land a teaching position prior to moving.

“Not yet. Someone usually has to die or relocate to Europe to create a job opening first.”

“Don’t give up hope.”

“Right. How’s the editing going?”

I’d been working on an old novel, seeing if it could be made submittable, and I was halfway through. “Okay. It may or may not be accepted. It’s very different from my usual stuff.”

“Yeah, read some of it.” He smirked and poured himself a shot of scotch.

“Hey!” I protested. “I like it.”

“Fen, you wrote it first person…from a female’s point of view. What the hell possessed you?”

“I wanted to see if I could do it.” I got up and went into the bedroom, where I yanked back the covers. Mondays always made me tired. I raised my voice. “My last day was today. I’m finished with that job. I’m going to stay up late tonight and drink.”

He appeared in the doorway, bottle of scotch in one hand, our glasses in the other. “Figured you’d feel that way.”

“Babe, you work in the morning. You can’t get drunk.”

“I scheduled one bitch of a test tomorrow.” He set the bottle on the dresser and handed me my glass. “They’ll be so busy cursing me out, they won’t even notice me puking in the basket.”

Gawd, I loved him. Grinning ear to ear, I gave him a hug. “Pour, sweetie.”

 

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About Fenraven

Fenraven happily lives in south Florida, where it is really hot most of the year. Find him on Twitter, Google +, and Facebook by searching on 'fenraven'.
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