Reddie oneshots

I Thought You Only Liked Me For My Pocket Worms

He only moved into the building a month ago, following his from his ex-wife, Myra. They'd split their assets evenly, per their pre-nuptial agreement, and Myra had gotten their main home while Eddie had gotten the summer house in Florida and cabin in Vermont. He'd sold both and put a down payment on his new apartment.

It was an odd situation he's ended up in. Technically, this floor of the building should have been split into six units, but Bev had purchased four of them, knocking down the walls between three on one side of the hall to act as a workspace and design studio, and the fourth, on the other side of the hall, served as a home for her and her husband Ben, a famous architect. Eddie's apartment is sandwiched between Bev and Ben's and a unit that serves as a home for a famous author, Bill Denbrough, and his movie star wife, Audra Phillips, for when they're in New York.

Eddie's never met them, as they haven't been here since Eddie moved in, but they're apparently very nice and good friends of Bev's.

At first, Eddie hadn't known what to make of Bev. Ben, he could read a little bit better. Quiet, but kind, always ready with a smile and a wave, he had a soft calmness about him that Eddie could get behind.

Bev on the other hand is always go, go, go, shouting at Eddie to hold the elevator as she runs towards it with her arms full of bolts of fabric and thick, glossy binders, talking a hundred miles an hour about work and Ben and far too comfortable teasing Eddie about the Fanny pack he wears for running or asking him about his personal life, her energy at odds with her sleek style.

Today's no different. As he enters the building lobby after grocery shopping, he finds her waiting for the elevator, a large black tote bag with a bolt of fabric and a baguette slung over one shoulder, one cellphone pressed between a shoulder and her ear, while she texts on another phone with her other hand.

She motions to Eddie in what he was pretty sure is supposed to be a wave, before continuing her conversations.

By the time they hit the third floor, Bev's hung up the call, but is still texting on the other phone. She raises her head to look at Eddie, somehow still texting without looking at her phone.

"You're coming to my house Saturday night for a dinner party," she says, still texting away. It's an order, not a question. There's no asking if he was free, or interested in going, just a demand that he be there at 7.

After spending his whole life up until this point being told what to do by controlling women, first his mother insisting that he take pills that he didn't need and he home by 7pm well into high school, then his ex-wife controlling his diet, going so far as to convince him he had a gluten intolerance, deciding where they would vacation, what wine they would order when they went out to dinner, and what they would watch on tv at night, he's hesitant to give in to the commands of yet another domineering woman, but something's different about Bev.

She's magnetic, exciting, and electric, bringing the kind of fun and spontaneity that Eddie craves but rarely gives int.

Most Saturdays, he eats his usual healthy dinner of a protein, grain, steamed vegetable with a side salad, paired with a small, measured glass of wine, and has the dishes washed and was in bed with a bowl of unbuttered popcorn and a trashy reality show, so this is a big change for him, but he finds himself agreeing to attend Bev's party almost immediately.

It suddenly dawns on him that he never asked if he can bring anything. "Wait!" He calls as he hustles through the door, dragging his bag of food along behind him.

Bev pops her head through her still open door. "Yes?" She asks, smile on her face.

"What can I bring?"