The Roommate (4 page)

“What the fuck do you mean, ‘no’?”

“I know it’s a word you don’t hear often, Rosalind, but I’m not going with you.”

“You are the most ungrateful—”

“I’m an adult, same as you, and you don’t get to order me around anymore. You can treat me with respect as an equal or say goodnight.”

The calmer he was, the higher her blood pressure rose.
 
Her palms would have nail dents in them by now.
 
“I don’t need this.”
 
She opened her pocketbook, tossed some bills on the floor, and stormed out of my living room, slamming the door.

I winced at the loud bang.
 
“Was it like this the whole night?”

“Unfortunately.”
 
He ran a hand through his hair, twisting the curls in random directions.
 
“I’m sorry you got pulled into the middle of this family drama.”

“Hey, I’ve known
Ros
since kindergarten. I’m familiar with her moods. Are you okay?”

“You had to work late?”

“Uh…no.
I lied.”

“Oh. Why?”

“I didn’t want to explain it.”

“It’s none of my business.”
 
He started cleaning.
 
I think it was his default when he didn’t know what to do with himself.

Setting my purse on the counter, I put the cake in the fridge and took off my coat.
 
“I kind of went on a date.”

“’Kind of’?
How does that work?”

“We met, ate dinner, and realized it wasn’t going anywhere beyond that. So it was really more sharing a meal with a new friend than going on a date.”

“I see.”
 
He finished throwing away his and
Ros
’ trash.
 
“Are you disappointed?”

“Not really. We tried something and no one got hurt. At least we tried.”
 
I picked up the money and counted it.
 
She’d left three hundred-dollar bills.
 
“You can get a really nice room with this.”

“Keep it.”

“Patrick—”

“I don’t want charity from my sister.”

“That’s not what this is. She gave her word and broke it. This is payment.”
 
I held the money out to him.
 
“Take it. Donate it if you have to, but it’s yours.”

He sighed and stuffed the bills in his pocket.
 
“I should let you get back to your life.”
 
He reached for his things.

“Don’t. I mean, you’re welcome to stay another night. Tomorrow’s Friday, then you have the whole weekend to figure out what you’re gonna do.”

“I don’t want char—”

“It’s not charity from me, either. It’s me being good to an old friend. Please? Tell me about your first day at work.”

Another sigh.
 
“You’re good at getting what you want, too, aren’t you?”

“Don’t be sore that I’m right.”

He chuckled, and it sounded tired.
 
Then dropped on the sofa.
 
“She exhausts me.”

“Do you like chocolate cake?”

“Huh?”

I retrieved the small box and two forks.
 
“Trust me.”
 
I cut a bite with one fork and offered it to him.
 
He opened his mouth.
 
“See?
Already improving your day.”

His eyes closed for a second as he savored the taste.
 
“Night.
The day was fine.”
 
He took the fork.

I sat close enough for him to reach the box.
 
Mmm, Matt knew food.
 
“You like the new job?”

A shrug.
 
“It was the first day. I didn’t blow anything up or make them mad, so it was a success. This is good.”
 
He took another bite.

“Then cheers to your success.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course.”

“No,
thank you
. You’ve been beyond kind, and really, we hardly know each other.”

“I have to know you to be kind?”

“Obviously not.
That’s my point. You didn’t have to do any of this.”

“Well, I’m happy I did.”
 
More than he’d ever know.

“You have a little…”
 
He wiped a smudge of frosting from the corner of my mouth then sucked the tip of his thumb clean.

And now I was staring at his mouth.

Patrick cleared his throat and dropped his eyes to the cake, sinking his fork into that side of the piece again.

Way to make the poor man uncomfortable, Jess!
 
Every time I thought I’d put him in the Friend Zone, he did something sexy and made me want to kiss him all over again.
 
I had to get better at this willpower thing if he was going to stay.

I turned on the news, we finished the cake, and it was my bedtime.

Alone.

Again.

Maybe Lydia was right about seeking a little relief…

Chapter Five

Same routine in the morning, only Patrick let me blow dry my hair before he took his shower.
 
We ate cereal together at the counter, sitting on my bar stools.
 
Turned out, his commute from my building was only fifteen minutes including the walk to the bus.

“I still say you should leave some cushion for the bus to run late. They usually do in L.A.”

“You’re difficult to argue with when you’re so sensible, Jess.”

Tapping his bowl with my spoon, I asked, “When do you eat the
Cap’n
Crunch?”

“I don’t. I made an educated guess.”

“For me?”

He nodded.
 
“With all the times you slept over at our house, it’d be impossible to miss what you ate at the breakfast table.”

“Didn’t know you were paying attention.
Your nose was always in a book.”

“I multitasked.”

A light slap on his arm.
 
“You’re playing with me.”

“You were the only person at the table to not use butter
and
syrup when Mom made pancakes.”

My jaw dropped.
 
“I can’t believe you remember that.”
 
My phone beeped.
 
“Shit, I gotta go. Sorry to run out on you.”

He shooed me toward the door.
 
“I’ll clean up. Go.”

“Thanks.”
 
I had to say it or I’d have kissed him—at least on the cheek.
 
He was too sweet.
 
When I
did
meet a guy to start a relationship with, I was going to be spoiled.
 
I turned back and opened the door.
 
“It occurred to me I don’t have your number.”

“Jess, you’re going to be late.”
 
He wrote ten digits on the back of a receipt from his pocket.
 
“There. Go!”

“I’ll text you mine.”
 
And out the door again, running this time.

I’d have to speed on the freeway, but I still had enough time to clock in when I was supposed to.
 
Dropped my crap on my chair right on the minute.

“Still hosting your distraction?” Lydia said.
 
God, I swear she could pop up out of thin air.

“Thought we left our personal lives at the door, Boss.”

“Cheeky. Did you take my advice?”

“If you must know, I did not.”

“Then why are you in such a good mood if you didn’t get laid?”

“This is my normal mood.”

“Not first thing in the morning, it’s not.”

“I ate breakfast. That’s all that’s different.”

“With your houseguest?”

“Lydia!”

“Must’ve been some breakfast.”
 
She walked away shaking her head.

I sighed.
 
What had gotten into her?
 
She normally never showed interest in my life because of her #1 rule—you come to work to work.

I waited until lunchtime to text Patrick my number.
 
Didn’t want to seem eager.
 
He confirmed I was now on his contact list.

This morning’s conversation had given me a thrill.
 
He remembered me.
 
Sure, he could just have a good memory and it was a little detail that didn’t matter—except now it did, and I couldn’t stop smiling about it.
 
It’s silly, I know, I know.

I arrived before him this time, coming straight home, and changed clothes.
 
It was warm today, because Southern California, so I put on an old soft t-shirt and shorts.
 
Sat on my balcony with a bowl of ice cream.

He walked in at 5:30.
 
“Hi.”

“Hey. How was your second day?”

Since it was Casual Friday, he wore chinos instead of slacks with his shirt and tie.
 
The tie was loosened.
 
“My brain might explode.”

“What happened?”

He sat on the sofa.
 
“Nothing wrong.
My trainer is intense. I think he’s trying to stuff a month of knowledge in my brain in a week.”

“Oh.”
 
I walked inside and shut the door.
 
“Ice cream?”

“Before dinner?”

“We’re grown-ups. We get to do things like that.”

“You can’t tempt me with your Southern California ways.”

Was that a challenge?
 
“Soon they’ll be your ways, too.”
 
I licked another bite off my spoon.
 

His eyes focused on it.
 
“Crazy talk.”

I shrugged.
 
“If you say so.”
 
Sat next to him and continued eating Phish Food.
 
“Care to make a wager on it?”

“What do you have in mind?”

Now he asked
,
I didn’t have a clue.
 
“Um.
If you turn into a true Californian, you have to cook me dinner.”

“And if I don’t?”

“What do you want?”

“This is silly.”

“Spoilsport.”

“It’s a lopsided bet.”

“You’re such a square.”

“What?”

OMG.
 
“Have you never seen a fifties movie?”

His brow arched.
 
“You are a strange woman, Jessica Brookfield.”

“Fine, don’t play.”
 
I pouted.
 
“Just for that, I’m not sharing my ice cream.”
 
And put the pint in the freezer.

He laughed.
 
The tie had been tossed on top of his suitcase.

“So, Mr. Stick in the Mud, what are you going to do with your weekend?”

“Scope out apartments close to work.”

“There are a couple sites that can help with that.”

He reached for his laptop.
 
“Show me.”

I took it away from him.
 
“Tomorrow.
It’s Friday night, so you’re going to relax.
House rules.”

“Really.”

“Absolutely.”

“I don’t see any posted rules.”

“Because I’m a good tenant that doesn’t put nail holes in walls I don’t own. Do you have a suit? There’s a pool in the complex.”
 
And hot tub.

“No.”

“You’ll have to remedy that. Everyone in California owns at least one swimsuit.”

“Okay, Jess.”

“So?
Movie night in?
Movie night out?
Tourist tour?
See the nightlife? What’s your poison?”

“Do you know if there’s a 24-Hour Fitness nearby?”

I blinked.
 
“You want to go to the gym?”

“It’s been almost a week.”

“You can do that this weekend.”

He stood.
 
“No offense, Jess, but I could use some time to myself.”

“Oh. Okay.
Of course.
Have a good run or whatever it is you do.”

He nodded, grabbed some clothes, and went into the bathroom.
 
Obviously wasn’t going to work out in those chinos.
 
Speaking of, he was the first person I knew who didn’t wear jeans on Casual Friday—though maybe this was as casual as his company allowed.

Well, it was my usual Friday alone, which meant pizza and a movie.
 
Sometimes from my collection, sometimes On Demand.
 
This early in the evening, I’d start with popcorn,
then
order Dominos later.
 
Mmm, parmesan bread bites.
 
I started thumbing through the movie menu.

Patrick came out in a sleeveless tee and long gym shorts.
 
He sat briefly to lace up his cross-trainers, then grabbed wallet, phone, and key.

“Have fun.”

He nodded and waved on his way out.

Was he annoyed with me or was this some introvert thing?
 
Back when we were kids, he’d spent a lot of time in his room, but I’d assumed he just didn’t want to hang with a couple of girls he had nothing in common with.
 
Maybe I hadn’t understood.

Nothing caught my eye so far.
 
I dug the business card Lydia gave me out of my purse.
 
The store had a website.
 
I retrieved my
netbook
from the bedroom and looked it up.
 
The site wasn’t what I expected.
 
It looked like a regular storefront.
 
The one adult shop I’d been to with an ex was kinda trashy and really
porny
.
 
We’d had a laugh about all the things we hadn’t known existed at nineteen.
 
This…looked like a store that catered to women.
 
I set a search for a modestly-priced item that was quiet.
 
Discrete.
 
It was a relief when the page revealed several options.

Did I really need a vibrator?

An image of Patrick coming home sweaty and pumped popped in my head.

Yup
.

As long as my mind insisted he was the best thing since sliced bread, I needed a way to channel that energy elsewhere.
 
Maybe I should join a gym.

Finally, I made a selection and put it on my credit card.
 
This model was small, portable, quiet, and waterproof.
 
And would be here Monday.

Back to the movie list.
 
No
rom-coms
, but I needed something funny.
 
Once
Ghostbusters
was in the player, I dropped a bag of popcorn in the microwave for two minutes.

Did Patrick even like movies?
 
I couldn’t recall him being a fan of anything, not that I’d paid much attention back then.
 
He was
Ros
’ little brother that didn’t talk much.
 
Now, I had this incessant need to know everything about him, which was totally annoying.
 
He certainly didn’t have the same urges about me.
 
How long was this crush going to last?
 
I was twenty-five, not fifteen.

Pressed
play
.

He was gone for two hours.
 
It startled me to hear a key in the door.
 
A nod of acknowledgement and he went straight to my bathroom.
 
The shower turned on.
 
The door opened ten minutes later.
 
Dripping wet, in only a towel, he darted over to his luggage.

“Sorry,” he said, for crossing in front of the screen.
 
I wasn’t sorry at all.

Once he was back in the bathroom, I turned the AC down a couple notches.

Doomed.
 
100% fucking doomed
.

The credits rolled.
 
I could retreat to my bedroom, or put another movie in.
 
Also time to call the pizza guy.
 
Well, place my order online.
 
Modern technology was so handy.

Patrick exited the bathroom in a tee and the sweatpants he slept in.
 
Barefoot.
 
My stupid girly insides even liked his toes.
 
“Am I interrupting?”

“No. Movie just ended.”

“Ah.”

“Good work-out?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”
 
Kill me now.
 
“I was about to order pizza.”

“I’m fine, thanks.”

“Okay. Do you like movies?”

“Some.”
 
He went to the kitchen and retrieved leftovers.
 
Maybe he believed in eating old stuff before getting new stuff.

I followed the mood of my stomach.
 
“Like what?
Sci-fi?”

“Military dramas, mostly.”

“Like your dad.”

He nodded.
 
“Got me into them, yes.”

“Sorry if I’m being too nosy.”

“Jess, no…you’re not bothering me. I’m just…I’m not used to answering a lot of questions about myself. Honestly, not too many people bother to ask.”

“Do you prefer it that way?”

His brows met in the middle.
 
“I don’t know.”

“I’ve read that some people mistake shyness for being standoffish or snobby. You’re a reserved guy, nothing wrong with that, but some people will make assumptions.”

There was a mix of stuff on the plate he put in the microwave.
 
“You’d be with Rosalind if she was in town.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. I like you a lot more than
Ros
right now.”

“Why?”

I gave him my best
duh
face.

“Oh.
Right.”
 
A glance at the timer on the microwave.
 
“Thanks, I guess.”

“Any time.”

“Still…”

“Yes?”

“You don’t have to feign interest because you’re stuck with me, or for Rosalind’s sake.”

“You think I’d do that?”

A noncommittal shrug.
 
“I’m the little brother of your best friend.”

I stood.
 
“I’m not talking with you because of any of that, Patrick. I want to get to know you because you’re sweet and polite and you. I like you.”

He stared at me.
 
The timer dinged.
 
He shook off his surprise and turned to his food.
 

I touched his back so he’d look at me and offered my right hand.
 
“Friends?”

He shook my hand, dwarfing it with his.
 
The soft hand of someone who typed for a living.
 
“Thank you.”