by Hayes, Lane
“No.” I let out a half laugh and shook my head. “It’s nothing but…”
Eric growled. “I’m gonna kick your ass if you don’t just tell us what—”
“I have a roommate,” I blurted.
“And…” Nick made a comical face and gestured for me to keep talking. “Anyone we know or did your family descend from Toronto and move in for good?”
“Ha. No. It’s, um…” I paused to peel off the label from my bottle before adding, “Miles.”
Silence.
I took a moment to gauge each of their reactions. Zane and Nick seemed surprised. Eric looked suspicious and Josh—
“Oh, fuck. What did you do?” Josh sighed heavily and stared up at the ceiling.
I shot a quick glance at Eric and knew my time was up.
“Miles didn’t mention he was moving in?” I tried.
“No. Not a word.” Eric observed me keenly then paced the length of the area rug and stopped at the far corner. “How did you go from assigning someone to help find a moderately priced lease to inviting my secretary to live with you for…how long exactly?”
“Uh.” I scratched my head and squinted. “We didn’t specify. A month, maybe longer?”
“Are you fucking him?” Nick asked, expertly catching the chip Zane threw at him. He shot everyone an irritated gaze before continuing. “What? Don’t pretend that isn’t exactly what you wanted to know.”
“He’s right,” Zane conceded. “Are you and Miles doin’ it?”
I rolled my eyes. “Doin’ it?”
“Well?” Eric prodded. “I had to beg you to be civil to him a month ago, and suddenly you’re shacking up. What happened between then and now?”
I stood and walked to the other end of the rug and faced Eric while Zane, Nick, and Josh watched us square off like cowboys in a Western.
“Miles needs a place, and I have a room. He’s moving in today. At least, he’s supposed to.” I motioned toward the rain outside and shrugged. “I met him for coffee at the beginning of the week and gave him the key. He said he was keeping his place in Mountain View for now and that he only had a few suitcases of clothes so…he may or may not be there when I get home. You’re all welcome to come by tomorrow or the next day or whenever, but…I figured I’d give him some space today.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” Zane reminded me matter-of-factly.
“You mean my question.” Nick frowned before tilting his head toward me. “So…did you have sex or not?”
“Really?” I huffed in exasperation.
“You don’t have to answer that,” Eric replied. “In fact, I’m not sure I want to know. But you should know he’s not in a good place right now, Grant. Miles puts on a good act, but he’s gone through some tough times and…”
“And what?”
“I don’t want either of you to get hurt,” Eric replied.
“Thanks, but we’re fine.” I shoved my hand through my hair and sighed. “I’m helping him out. That’s all. Miles and I don’t fit in a real way and we both know it.”
“Right. I guess my real concern is that you don’t expect him to solve your problems,” Eric said gently.
“I wouldn’t—”
“I know you wouldn’t on purpose, but he’s as complicated as you are in a completely different way. I know letting him stay with you doesn’t necessarily signal trouble or wedding bells but if I could offer a bit of advice…” Eric smiled wanly and waited for my nod of acquiescence before adding, “Be mindful.”
“Eric, I like him. This isn’t anything serious. We’re just roommates. So can you please not worry?”
Eric pointed at his chest. “Me? I’m chill. I never worry.”
Zane, Josh, and Nick hooted at his deadpan delivery. Eric was a natural-born worrywart. I chuckled along with their group effort to right the ship and restore equilibrium.
“Of course not,” I agreed sarcastically before pulling my phone from my pocket and waving it above my head. “So what do you guys want? I’ll order.”
“Let’s order from that Greek restaurant on Chestnut,” Josh suggested with a straight face.
I snorted in amusement. “I don’t think so, asshole. Try again. Pizza, chicken wings, sandwiches…”
“Pizza,” Nick said. “Make it a pepperoni, sausage, onion, green pepper, olive and—”
“No olives.” Josh pleaded. “And don’t even think about anchovies.”
“What about pineapple?” Eric suggested.
Everyone groaned on cue and somewhere in the buzz of familiar voices and easy company, I found my place again. I didn’t have to pretend here. I might be the only single one still standing, but they reminded me that in spite of family and work stress and my disastrous coping skills, including the potential dose of crazy I just invited into my life, I wasn’t alone.
* * *
My palms were damp when I parked my Audi in my garage later that evening. I thought about calling or texting Miles to be sure he got in okay and maybe ask if he needed assistance, but I wanted to give him space. He wasn’t my boyfriend, and this wasn’t a new relationship. Which left me with the gnawing realization that I didn’t know what I’d set into motion. I could tell myself I was ready for boas, kinky superhero socks, or whatever accessories he brought with him, but truthfully, I wasn’t sure I was ready for Miles. I swiped my hands on my jeans as I stepped out of the car then took a deep breath and pushed open the door leading into the house.
I expected loud techno dance music or one of his favorite divas to greet me when I climbed the stairs to the main living area. But it was quiet. Too quiet. I went perfectly still for a moment, hoping to figure out his whereabouts without yelling his name. Maybe he was on the phone or had a friend over. Or a lover.
Oh, fuck.
We hadn’t spelled out the rules about having anyone else over. Or had we? I didn’t really want to be the one to broach the subject, but it seemed kind of important. I made my way through the darkened great room to the hallway and stopped in my tracks. Light streamed through the second doorway on the right, sending a perfect triangular shape across the hardwood floor.
“Miles?”
Nothing. I listened carefully for footsteps before moving toward the guest room. The door was ajar but I didn’t want to invade his privacy so I knocked, called his name again, and then peeked inside.
Holy crap.
It looked like a bomb had gone off. There were clothes everywhere. On the bed, the floor, the desk, and piled high on the chair in the corner. And shoes…so many shoes. Shiny loafers, short leather boots, tennis shoes, slippers, flip-flops. It was the type of couture chaos that brought to mind backstage mayhem in a dressing room before a fashion show. I moved into the room unthinking and ran my fingers along the seam of a bright orange silk shirt. I studied the floral pattern then let my gaze drift over the sea of colorful garments.
Miles had great taste. I’d give him that. Every item was designer quality and no doubt, designer-label pricey. The brilliant hues intrigued me. I hadn’t spent a ton of time with him, but I’d only seen him wear neutral shades. His wacky accessories were the only flashy things I’d associated with Miles until he pulled that pink boa from his bag last week. There seemed to be a whole other side of him I knew nothing about. Very interesting.
I reached for an electric blue T-shirt with Japanese script on the front when a loud bang echoed from the adjoining bathroom. I dropped the tee and turned toward the sound just as Miles sashayed into the room, bopping his hips and mouthing the words to whatever song was blasting through his headphones. He twirled in a circle with his eyes lowered then fisted his right hand and lifted his chin and…screamed bloody murder.
“Oh, my God! What the fuck? You scared the hell out of me!”
“I’m sorry. I called your name and knocked and—then I got distracted by the wardrobe avalanche and…sorry,” I repeated with a wry grin.
Miles removed the headphones and set them on the bed then tugged the lapels
on his red terry-cloth robe and gave me a thorough once-over. “I didn’t hear a word you said. I thought you were on a date for some reason.”
“No. That was last weekend.”
“Oh.”
“Um…I was at Eric and Zane’s tonight,” I replied awkwardly. I tried another smile, but it fell flat.
“Hmm. Okay, well…don’t worry about the mess. I’ll have it cleaned up in no time.”
“Hey, it’s your room. I don’t mind.” I gestured toward the bed, searching for a topic to ease us from this clumsy exchange. “You have great taste.”
Miles cocked his head and studied me warily as though he was unsure of my sincerity. Then he smiled. It was really more of a slight curl at the corner of his lips, but it was so…pretty. Or maybe it was the gorgeous clash of his red robe and auburn hair with the pink tinge coloring his cheekbones. He looked innocent and yet sexy at the same time. And when his smile slowly widened and humor lit his beautiful eyes, I couldn’t find my voice. I hoped he didn’t ask any quick questions. I needed a moment to gather myself and ideally regain my ability to form full sentences.
“Thank you. I’m a reformed shopaholic. My collection is massive. This is only a sample. I left a ton in my condo in Mountain View. Until I sell it, there’s no point schlepping all my possessions around.” He picked up the blue T-shirt I’d dropped and held it against my chest. “Do you like this one?”
“I do.”
“You can have it. You’re broader across the shoulders than me and your torso is thicker and—” He coughed and if possible, turned a deeper shade of pink.
Somehow that sweet flush of awareness evened the ground between us. We recognized the shift at the same time. The crackle of heat and energy in the room was obvious. It would have been easy to cover up with nonsensical words, but we didn’t bother hiding this time. We held eye contact and just smiled. No touching, no talking…just looking.
I wanted to push him onto the mattress and grind my half-hard cock against his at the same time I wanted to know everything about him. Why did he have so many clothes he never wore? What song was he listening to on his iPhone? And probably most important…what was he wearing under that robe?
I settled on, “What does this shirt say?”
Lame.
Miles’s grinned widened. “I have no idea. I just like the color. You look nice in blue. It can be yours.”
“Thanks, Mi, but you don’t have to give me your shirt.”
He frowned and then pointed at the orange silk one I’d noticed earlier.
“How about that one? I’ve never worn it for obvious reasons,” he commented, gesturing toward his hair.
“Then why did you buy it?”
“I liked the color. In fact…” He spread his arms to encompass the clothes strewn all over the room. “This is my color collection. Ta-da! My goal is to sort through everything and give away my impulse purchases from the last five-plus years. I tried stuffing them in the closet first, but there was more room for my everyday blah-wear, so I switched tactics. Like I said, bear with me. I’ll keep the door closed until I clear away the debris. It should only take a day or two.”
“Miles, it’s your room. Do what you want.”
“Really?”
“Of course. Why would I care?”
“Your home is clinically clean, Grant,” he snarked. “There’s not a speck of dust.”
“That’s not a bad thing.” I huffed.
“True but, why so black and white? I snooped around while I had the place to myself today and while I admit I’m in love with the space, I had to fight the urge to run to Pottery Barn and buy a few pizzazz pillows.”
“Pizzazz pillows?”
“Yeah. Something to brighten up the—what are you doing?”
I slipped my sweater over my head then gently pulled the T-shirt from his grasp. I took my time examining the artwork on the front. His wide-eyed admiration was too heady to pass up. His gaze roamed over my chest, lingering on my pecs before moving south. I cleared my throat noisily.
“You okay?”
Miles let out a sigh then sat on the edge of the mattress with his back turned to me. He mumbled something under his breath, then threw his left hand in the air and waved theatrically. “Shirt on, please. If you don’t like yours, borrow one of mine. There are about fifty here to choose from.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve been a color hoarder for seven years and—”
“I meant…never mind, that’s too goofy. I can’t say it without cracking up.” I pulled the blue T-shirt over my head then pushed some of the clothing out of the way and sat beside him.
“What were you going to say?” he asked, casting a sideways look at me.
“Something stupid about you staring at my abs.”
Miles barked a quick laugh. “That’s exactly what I was doing, but I shouldn’t and—”
“Did you ever wear the orange shirt?” I intercepted, hoping to distract him from my inept flirting skills.
“Yes.” He frowned then turned to survey the mess behind us on the bed. He rescued the shirt in question and then brought it to his face, waggling his brows comically. “See the problem?”
“No. It’s a nice shirt. Put it on.”
Miles gasped and gestured to his robe. “And expose my kibbles and bits? Never.”
I snorted. “If you’re referring to your dick and balls, I’ve seen them, you know.”
“Yes. But still…you can probably figure out a more creative way to get me out my robe than asking to see me in tangerine. Actually, don’t. I’ve been rethinking the sex part. Maybe we shouldn’t do it again.”
I squinted at him in a fruitless attempt to read his mind. He was spinning in a few different directions, and I wasn’t sure which way to go first. Or if I was up to the task.
“Let’s not talk about sex right now. You’ll just make me horny. Talk to me about tangerines,” I replied.
Miles rolled his eyes and pointed at his hair. “Come on, Captain Obvious. I’m a walking clash hazard. I love orange—it simply doesn’t love me.”
“Hmm. What about pink?”
“Same issue. Maybe worse, depending on the shade,” he said matter-of-factly.
“I disagree. You looked sexy in those pink feathers.”
He studied me for a moment then grinned. “Wow. You’re good. Keep talking like that, and I may lose my robe in spite of my best intentions.”
“I’m not gonna lie. I can’t wait to get you naked again but right this second, I’m just trying to understand you. You’re a whirlwind. Always twisting and turning out of reach. Stay still a minute and just…let me look at you.” I set my hand under his chin and lifted it slightly. “You seem sane. Are you?”
“Nope. I’m a fruit loop,” he quipped.
“Me too.”
“I know. That’s why I’m here. Our kind should stick together. I told you that was why I agreed to this. But now—”
“What do you mean ‘our kind’?” It was an obvious ploy to divert his attention from rethinking this weird-ass arrangement I’d suggested. Now that he was here, I wanted him to stay. If only for a little while.
Miles stood abruptly and set his headphones on the side table then bent to start folding his clothes. “We’re oddballs. You’re scary handsome on the outside, but you don’t see what other people do, so your inside is…messy.”
I gave a half laugh and winced. “Okay…”
“Don’t be offended. I’m the same. Maybe not in the looks department but I can fool anyone into thinking my photo should be featured under all your favorite ‘R’ words. Responsible, respectable, reasonable—”
“Ridiculous?” I suggested, nudging his shoulder playfully.
“That’s a given.” He snickered. “I have a soft spot for anything silly. Everyone needs some ridiculous in their lives.”
“What’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever done?” I moved to the other end of the bed facing Miles and cleared a space
for myself on the navy duvet. Then I toed off my sneakers and sat with my back against the dark wood headboard before patting the empty space beside me. “Come here.”
Miles transferred a stack of shirts from the bed to the floor. Then he flopped onto the bed and propped his head on a pillow and turned to face me.
“Gosh, the list is endless. Choose an era, and I’ll tell you a story.”
“Childhood,” I responded automatically.
“I think it’s any self-respecting kid’s job to be silly, but let’s see…” Miles tapped his bottom lip thoughtfully before continuing. “I started the mustache club in first grade.”
“The mustache club?”
“I used black marker to draw beards and mustaches on my fellow classmates at recess. I’m pretty sure I got sent home early for that. Then there was the zombie club. We had to move and talk like robots and—”
“I’m pretty sure zombies don’t speak,” I said with a laugh.
“Give me a break. I was six. I made up the rules as I went along. For a while, I had a good group of buddies willing to see where I’d go next. Collect rocks, play Ding-dong Ditch, lick leaves—”
“Lick leaves? Gross.” I made a face and rolled onto my side.
“Yeah. I don’t know why. Kids are weird like that. They act on whims and move instinctively. I had a great imagination. My mom thought it was funny that all these kids would follow my lead. Then I had to ruin it by pushing too far. Who knew painting fingernails with marker was somehow worse than drawing a mustache on your face? Not me.” Miles shook his head in bewilderment.
“Your club members drew the line at nail polish, eh?”
“It might have been that or the combo of coloring my eyelids blue and outlining my lips in red.”
I barked a laugh. “Six-year-olds are funny.”
“Yeah, but I was probably closer to ten when I hit my faux-makeup stage.”
“Oh.”
“ ‘Oh’ is right. Let’s just say I had a lot of free time on my hands in middle school and high school. Most of my friends were girls…but I didn’t get invited to many parties. I was the life of the party at recess and lunch and then, I was on my own. My mom was my weekend buddy. She and my dad have an unconventional relationship. He wasn’t around much, so Mom and I kept each other entertained. She loved a good impromptu fashion show. She’d open her closet and give me free rein. Shoes, hats, makeup…”