The Roommate (7 page)

“This is where you got the cake from,” Patrick said.

His memory still astonished me sometimes.
 
“Yeah.
That was over a week ago.”

He shrugged.
 
“Good cake.”

“You know… This is the first time we’ve sat down in a restaurant for a meal.”

He nodded.
 
“I think you’re right. And I’m officially moved into my room.”

“We might need two pieces of cake.”

He laughed.
 
A waitress came by with menus and tripped over her feet.
 
Yeah, he had that affect on a girl.

“Can I get you a drink?” she asked him.

“Jess, what will you have?”

“Coke for me, please,” I said a little too loud.
 
Yeah, he’s hot, but it’s no excuse for ignoring me.

“A Coke for the lady and I’ll have water, thank you,” Patrick said.

The waitress walked off with a pout.
 
He’d barely glanced at her.
 
He rarely made eye contact with strangers, though.
 
“I think she likes you,” I said.

“Who?”

“You are so oblivious.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The waitress making goo-goo eyes at you.”

“Very funny.”
 
His nose was still in the menu.

“I’m serious! You’re a good-looking guy and women are going to notice, including that one.”

“I’m not interested in a waitress.”

“Because of her job?
How snobbish of you.”

“What? No.
Of course not.
Don’t be silly, Jess.”

“Then what does interest you?”

“Programming language, books, cooking, you already know these things.”

I nudged his foot.
 
“Not what I was asking about and you know it.”

An eye-roll.
 
“If I was looking, it’d be the inside that mattered. Intelligence, similar values, kindness…”

“You really don’t have a visual type.”
 
Every guy had a type.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Come on…”

The waitress came back.
 
“Ready to order?”

“Yes.”
 
“No.”

I glared at Patrick.
 
That girl had the worst timing!
 
I ordered the same as last time.
 
He looked to be skimming the whole menu again.
 
“Ricky, pick something. I’m sure this girl has other customers to help.”

He finally put in an order, and she went away.
 
“You were a little rude.”

“She interrupted our conversation. Good service knows to wait for a pause.”

“Did you hear it might rain tomorrow? We lucked out today.”

Okay, left turn.
 
“Nope.
Don’t count on that rain until you actually see water fall out of the sky. Will you answer my question?”

“Which one?”

Don’t play innocent with me
.
 
“What is your type?”

“Why are you so curious about this?”

“What, we’re friends. We can’t talk about the opposite sex?”

“Neither of us has a love life, so I don’t see the point.”

“Okay…you don’t have to get testy about it.”

He sighed.
 
“Sometimes I think you argue just to argue.”

“That makes no sense.”

“You push my buttons.”

I did.
 
I wanted to peel the onion layers.
 
“Hadn’t noticed.”

He stared at me.
 
“Jessica, you know damn well what I mean.”

Ooo, I’d made him swear and use my full first name.
 
“Maybe I want to see past that careful reserve you show most of the time.”

“I’m always myself.”

“You’re guarded, Patrick. I’m not asking you to change, just loosen up a little. Haven’t we gone through enough for that?”

“A week and a half.”

“A very
eventful
week and a half.”

“Be that as it may, I move slowly with people. Some can connect like lifelong friends in a single day. I’m not wired like that. You’re free to accept it or not, but this is the way I am.”

“Fine.
I won’t push.”

He was too stubborn and it wouldn’t do any good.
 
We had to get along to live together.
 
Just wish he trusted me.
 
Or wanted to know me the same way.

Dinner was filled with innocuous small talk.
 
I’d made him uncomfortable, so he would retreat until he was ready to engage again.
 
All I could do was wait it out.
 
But we did order cake.

Chapter Eight

The morning was a reset.
 
Dark clouds had come in overnight, but it still might not rain.
 
Patrick made breakfast (omelets).
 
I’d slept in, so he got up from watching the morning news to cook for me.
 
Guess I hadn’t alienated him too badly.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Huddled in my fluffy robe, I focused on my food.
 
He went in his room for a while.
 
I changed the channel.
 
Hoped he’d leave me alone.

He came back out with his bicycle.
 
“I’m going to run some errands.”

“Okay.”

“Are you feeling alright?”

I’d usually gotten dressed by now in his experience.
 
“Maybe I’m getting a cold or something.”

“Ah. Feel better, Jess.”
 
He rolled the bike to the door.

“Yeah.”

The only thing sick was my heart.
 
Or my head.
 
Whatever part of me it was that couldn’t stop wanting more from Patrick than being a good roommate.
 
It felt desperate, needy…at least I hadn’t turned full-on stalker, yet.
 

I needed a life.
 
No more pining!

With that resolve, I dressed and left the apartment.
 
Maybe not the best day to seek fresh air, but at least I was out of my pajamas and outside.
 
Wandered until I ended up in Griffith Park.
 
Even on a day like this, one could still enjoy the view.

The breeze was cold on the hills.
 
The air smelled damp.
 
Probably would rain in parts, after all.
 
Shivering in a long-sleeved tee, I headed home.

He was still out.
 
Silly boy was risking getting soaked.
 
I changed into a thick old sweater, sweatpants, and Uggs, and cranked up the heater.
 
Put in a favorite movie and cuddled the fuzzy decorative pillow on the sofa.
 
My roommate came home ten minutes later a little damp.

He handed me a bag.
 
“Egg flower soup.”

“Thanks.”

“Next best thing to chicken noodle.”
 
He went about putting his things away and drying off the bike.

Damn his sweetness.
 
Every time he did something unexpected and nice, the teenage girl inside me chanted
he likes me, he likes me!
 
Remember being young enough to think every boy that was pleasant around you might like-like you?
 
That.
 
Especially if they were cute.
 
Too young and hormonal to tell the difference between friendship and a crush.
 
That was my stupid heart right now.

Patrick went in his room and didn’t come right back out, so he was probably on the computer, doing whatever it was nerds did.

You need to make plans, Jess.
 
Be home less.
 
Meet new people.
 
Get over him!

At work the next day, I asked Lydia for advice.

“How do I stop feeling like this?”

“Time.”

“No, seriously.”

“Okay, it might help if you focus on his flaws. Look for anything that annoys you, bugs you, turns you off. Make him unattractive in your head.”

“Tall order.
The only thing that really bugs me is he’s so reserved. Otherwise, he’s pretty much perfect.”
 
I groaned.
 
“And the reserved thing just makes me want to reach the gooey center.”

“You need to twist that. Instead of it being intriguing and mysterious or whatever, think of how you’d never know what he was feeling. No PDA. No romantic gestures. The sex would probably be boring, even.”

“Hmm, I see what you’re getting at. I just wish I knew for sure that it wouldn’t work.”

“None of us gets that guarantee.”

“I know.”

“Jess, you’re a smart cookie. I think you’d know deep down if this man had no interest in you.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, but I’ve been trying to figure out exactly that for almost two weeks and I’m no closer to an answer. What he says and does can easily fit in the friend zone.
Or…not.
But because he’s so hard to read, I feel like I’m making it all up in my head and grasping at straws because I’m lonely or whatever.
Driving me crazy.”

“So ask him,” Lydia said, like it’d be so easy.

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?
You want to know for sure.”

“Because I live with the guy!
 
If he’s never thought of me that way, it’s going to make things super awkward. I’ll be humiliated.”

“So don’t ask him. Go out and find someone new to crush on.”

“I did go on a date.
Didn’t work out.”

“
One
.
And you haven’t been out since.”

“How would you know?”
 
Though she was right, of course.

“I have eyes. You haven’t come in to work with the ‘I have a new boyfriend’ glow, so it’s been dead obvious. Have you tried wearing something sexy around the house?”

“
Lydia
.”

She rolled her eyes.
 
“Not talkin’ about lingerie, though that’d definitely get a response one way or another. Let me guess—you go home from work and put on your baggy comfy clothes like you did when you lived alone.”

“Geeze, I’m not a slob.”

“Jess, you know what I mean. How is he supposed to see you as a sexual being if you don’t make a little effort? You have a cute figure. Use it. Or, you know, find another guy.”

“Easy for you to say…”

“Now get back to work. Lunch is over.”

“Yes, boss.”

 
 
Lydia had given me a lot to think about, and I could go two ways—up the flirtation factor with Patrick and see if he responds, or put my full energy at dating new guys.
 
Could combine the two…see if he’d get jealous?
 
What would it take to break that calm, composed façade?
 
The only time I’d seen him emotional was the fight with
Ros
.

Changing up my wardrobe was the easiest action.
 
Immediate.
 
Show a little more cleavage, a little more leg.
 
Skirts instead of pants.

Instead of going straight home, I stopped at the coffee bar again.

“Hey, Jess!
Didn’t see you last week.”

“I was moving. But it’s all done now.”

“You’re usual?” Matt asked.

“Please.”
 
It was allegedly a coffee drink, but light on the coffee, heavy on the chocolate.
 
I needed chocolate.
 
“How was your day?”

“Busy enough for good tips, but not crazy, so pretty much perfect.
Made even better by you walking in.”

“Flatterer.”

“I don’t get many friends in here. You look like your day was not so hot.”

“No, it was fine. Work is fine.”

“Personal trouble, then.”

“I have a dilemma I don’t know how to solve, yet. What’s a good place to have fun? You know, to meet good people, not a meat market.”

“What are you into? You’ll probably have better luck if you have mutual interests.”

“Yeah.”

“But if you just want to get out for some fun, there’s a little joint with open mike nights. Drinks, good snacks, live music…”

“That sounds perfect.”

He put the address in my phone.
 
We chatted some more while I finished my drink, then I went home.

On the way, I let my hair down and retouched my lipstick.

Opening the door, I smelled butter.
 
“Oh my god, what are you making?”

“Fettuccine alfredo.
Seems appropriate for the weather.”
 
The storm had passed, leaving cold winds in its wake.
 
“Work late?”

“No.
Ran an errand.”

“Well, this will be done in another five minutes or so.”

“Cool.”
 
I put my jacket in the closet, but stayed in my work clothes and loosened a button.
 
Hopped up on a bar stool and leaned on the counter.
 
“I didn’t know you could make cream sauce, too.”

“You didn’t ask,” he replied, stirring the pot.
 
His eyes flicked from my face to my chest then back to the food.

“Got me there.
Patrick, what is your full repertoire of recipes?”

He smiled.
 
“Too long to list now.
How was your day?”

“Fine.
Yours?”

“Pretty good, actually.”
 
Explained him being talkative—for him.

“Oh? Did you come to their rescue again?”

“Nothing like that.
I just have the routine now. I’m contributing.”

“You feel useful.”

“Yes.
Exactly.”

“I’m glad. Be right back.”
 
I went into my bedroom and closed the door.
 
My blouse wouldn’t show a stain if I dripped any sauce—which was likely—but I’d just gotten my trousers back from the dry cleaner.
 
I put on a pair of yoga pants and left the shirt untucked.

Patrick was dishing up plates when I returned.
 
“How would you feel about putting a small table in here?”

“Like a dining table?”

“There’s more space than the other place, so I think a small one could work here. Then we wouldn’t have to risk staining your sofa.”

“I’m open to the idea. Tell you what—find some
pics
of ones you like and I’ll look.”

He grinned.
 
“It’s a plan.”
 
Well, look at that.
 
He wanted decorating input.

Us picking a table together.
 
Very domestic.

Jess, it doesn’t mean anything.
 
It’s a practical request
.

We sat on the sofa.
 
I’d be turning on
The Voice
at eight and he’d retreat to his computer, but the hours before my TV habits were our social time during the work week.
 
“I’ll be late tomorrow night.”

“Oh?”

“Checking out some music with some friends.
You could come, but I know crowds aren’t your scene.”

“Right.
Well, enjoy.”
 
Did he sound disappointed?

Nah.
 
I heard what I hoped to hear when we talked and I needed to stop doing that.
 
“Yeah, should be fun. With
Ros
away, I haven’t gotten out as much.”

“Of course.
Do you like it?” he asked, indicating my plate.

“Very tasty.”

“Thank you.”
 
He always took compliments on his cooking.

We ate the rest in companionable silence,
then
parted for the evening.
 
I changed into a tank top before my show, just in case he came out for a snack or drink later.

The following day, I wore a skirt and tight sweater to work.
 
If Patrick noticed before I left, he didn’t comment.
 
Met up with Matt and his friends afterward and got a pleasant buzz early in the night, though I made sure I was sober enough to drive home.

 
It was around ten when I put my key in the door.
 
To my surprise, Patrick was sitting on the sofa.
 
“Hey.”

“How was your evening?”

“Fun.”
 
I bent over to unbuckle my high-heel shoes.
 
“My feet are wrecked.”
 
I stepped out of them, picked them up, and sashayed into my room.

Felt eyes on my ass, and grinned once I reached my closet.
 
This skirt did things for my curves.
 
Nice to be noticed.
 
I could change in there without him seeing me, since I’d left the bedroom door open, and chose a bra-top
cami
and shorts to sleep in.
 
First time he wouldn’t see me in full-coverage pajamas.

“Much better.”
 
I flopped on the sofa and sat Indian-style.
 
“What did you do tonight?”

“You’d find it boring.”
 
He stared at the TV screen.

“What is?”

“Coding.”

“You bring work home with you?
Slippery slope, Ricky.”

A shake of his head.
 
“It’s not for work.”

“Oh. So, coding is fun for you?”

“Can be.
Depends on the project.”

“I’ll take your word for it. I don’t know how you can stare at ones and zeroes for hours.”

A little smile.
 
“I wasn’t working in binary.”

“Huh?”

“Ones and zeroes.
That’s binary code language.”

“Oh.”
 
I cracked my toes.
 
He flinched.
 
Ha.
 
“That stuff makes me feel very dumb.”

“You work with Excel.”

“Yeah, but the complicated stuff was already done by someone else. I just enter data into the appropriate fields.”

“Jess, you’re intelligent in other areas.”

“Thanks. I’d still like to know what you’re talking about sometimes.”

“Most people don’t even try to pretend.”