by Emma Hart
“Yeah, but then that puts me in Betsy’s debt, and I don’t think I have enough money to buy all the Fireball she’d demand.”
We shared a smile. Jay’s grandmother’s obsession with Fireball wasn’t exactly a secret in town, and it’d caused her to remove her shirt in public more than once.
I did not want to be the person who was responsible for that.
The entire town was still getting over the last time. Especially since Betsy, uh, favored letting the girls go free, if you know what I mean.
“Well, at the very least, you need to lay down the law,” Brie replied, slicing her burger in two. “Lay out some rules or something that you both agree with. And, for the love of God, find out if he’s going to stay permanently to get his ass on your lease.”
With a sigh, I swirled a fry through the ketchup on the side of my plate. “I know. But I don’t want him to think I’m forcing him to stay or kicking him out.”
“Just tell him that you need a roommate. That’s why you allowed him to stay anyway, wasn’t it?”
“That and I’m not a heartless bitch who’d put him on the streets.”
“Well, yeah, but it wasn’t like he didn’t have notice. He just thought everything would fall easily for him like it always has.” She shrugged and sat back. “You need a roommate, and he clearly doesn’t want to leave. But you have to make it official and set some rules.”
I tapped my nails against the table. “All right. I’ll give him two options. Sign onto my lease and live here properly with rules, or he has a month to move out. Or is that not enough time?”
“A month is fine. In the meantime, I’ll find you a safe to store your Oreos in, just in case.”
New drinks were placed in front of us, and we both grinned.
Now that was a best friend.
• • •
The apartment was deathly quiet when I got back. I checked the time and saw that Jay would still be at work for another hour, so I wouldn’t see him until some time closer to ten.
If he remembered to stop by the store for my Oreos.
Not that it mattered. I’d wandered to the store on my way back walking home from the bar where Brie and I had met for dinner. I was now the proud owner of three different packets of Oreos, which meant I no longer got to wonder why my shirts were getting a little on the fitted side of life.
Look, writers didn’t wear fitted shirts. We barely even wore pants unless they were sweats or yoga pants. We weren’t here to look pretty; we were here to write until our fingers bled and we cried into our wine.
Nobody said it was a glamorous life.
Still, I’d gotten my work done before I’d gone for dinner with Brie and now I was happily under a blanket on the sofa in the living room. My shorts were made of soft fleece and were probably a little on the indecent side, but they had a super-stretchy waist, so they paired exceptionally well with my Oreos and my tank top that, for once, didn’t have a cuss word on it.
And on the screen was a healthy dose of The Big Bang Theory. Namely, Sheldon Cooper and his spot.
I could relate.
I had a spot.
There was a puffy chair in the corner of my bedroom with a little footstool that was my most comfortable writing spot. It’d once been in the living room, but after I’d found men with sixty pounds of muscle on me using it as their seat, I moved it.
The cushion was molded to my ass, thank you very much. I didn’t need someone with some tight-ass buns ruining the squishy mess mine made.
I tore open the second packet of Oreos—no, I had not eaten the entirety of the first one—and lay back on the sofa cushions. My introvert reveled in the silence of the apartment in these moments.
It was just me, my greedy ass with my cookies, and my favorite TV show.
This was the life.
You know, if I didn’t have to pay rent.
Damn being an adult.
I settled in comfortably and watched as the episode rolled onto the next one. There’s something so relaxing about watching a show you’ve seen a hundred times before. That was how I felt right now—relaxed.
I could easily fall asleep right here, but that would be pointless. Jay was the loudest human being known to man and he’d just wake me up when he came in.
I sighed. How was I supposed to sit and broach the subject of him still living here? Not only was he loud and messy, but he had the attention span of a hungry ant. Unless it was football, then he had an uncanny ability to sit still for the entirety of the game, blocking out everything but whatever the Dallas Cowboys were doing wrong in his humble opinion.
It was a weirdly impressive skill.
I pulled another Oreo from the packet and focused on the TV screen. Turning off my brain was hard, mostly because fictional people lived there and liked to tell me what to do, but I was also a chronic over-thinker.
Which was why I could barely focus on what I was watching.
Groaning, I put the cookies on the coffee table and rolled onto my side. I reached for my water and, right as my fingers made contact with the bottle, knocked it off.
Damn it.
I picked it up from where it’d landed just underneath the sofa and returned to my lounging just in time to hear four words from the TV.
“Screw the roommate agreement.”
It came followed by a sharp gasp—and not just the one from Sheldon.
There was one from me.
The roommate agreement.
That was it. That was what I needed with Jay. A roommate agreement that laid out the rules, that worked in both our favors, and that finally drew the line between what was acceptable and what wasn’t.
Hot damn.
I ran to my room, grabbed a pen and a notebook, and got to work.
CHAPTER THREE – SHELBY
The Washer Will Not Kill You
I sat on the stool at the kitchen island and waited for Jay to wake up.
I’d gone to bed before he’d gotten home last night, and since he’d gotten in so late, I’d been able to run to the library to print out the agreement I’d spent half the night working on.
Yes, I had a printer and no, it did not like me. The feeling was completely mutual, it should be noted.
It was a piece of shit, and I’d told it so.
Now, I sat, chewing on a piece of toast, waiting for his ass to get out of bed and read this over. I didn’t know how he’d take it, so I even had pancake batter waiting to make his favorite chocolate chip pancakes.
That’s right. I was that friend. I’ll kick you in the balls, but I’ll cook for you to soften the blow.
It helped that I was a pretty good cook and that Jay could, well. He could just about do a Pop-Tart where breakfast foods were concerned.
I mean, there was nothing like saying, “Good morning! You need to go on the lease so you’re actually liable for rent,” like making pancakes and bacon.
I tapped my nails against the top of the island. The sound of a door opening was shortly followed by the sound of a second one closing. I knew it was two different doors because the bathroom door had a horrible squeak that rang out whenever it moved.
I waited. The sound of the flush came as I knew it would, and I also wasn’t surprised when I saw Jay stroll into the kitchen in his underwear.
He yawned, reaching between his legs, and scratched at his groin.
I cleared my throat, clapping my hand to my eyes.
He froze. “Shit.”
“Please put some pants on. I need to talk to you.”
“Sorry. Hold on.”
I kept my hand where it was over my eyes until I knew for a fact he was back and wearing pants. There was only so many times I could see him in his underwear, thanks to my stupid little crush on him.
So he wasn’t wearing a t-shirt, but I needed him to wear pants. I could deal with some inner drooling over my best friend’s abs if I really had to.
Also, the view was nice. I’d pay for it the way people paid to visit a strip clu
b.
Pancakes and abs were the things dreams were made of.
Unless the abs belonged to your best friend and roommate. Then, they were off limits.
Sadly.
“What’s up?”
“Are you wearing pants?” I asked, relieving the pressure over my eyes just a little.
“I’m wearing what you call pants, yes.”
Against my better judgment, I looked.
He was wearing sweatpants.
“You’re a dick,” I said, pursing my lips. “Sweatpants are real pants. It’s literally in the name.”
“All right, but I’m still not convinced about leggings.” He leaned over the bowl full of batter mix. “Are you making pancakes? What bad news do you have?”
“Okay, first,” I replied, swiveling on the stool. “Leggings are pants, and if you can’t agree with that, you’re gonna need to move out.”
“Fighting talk.” He dipped his finger into the batter and licked it off.
I reached over and smacked him away from it. “Second, I don’t have any bad news. Well, I hope it’s not. I had an epiphany.”
“Well, fuck. We’re all in trouble.” He grinned, his green eyes glinting with laughter. “What’s up?”
I pushed the paper toward him. “I wrote a roommate agreement.”
“A roommate agreement?” Jay quirked an eyebrow. “Do I need to start rationing you on The Big Bang Theory?”
I knew he’d bring that up.
“There is nothing wrong with my enjoyment of The Big Bang Theory.”
“You say enjoyment; I say unhealthy obsession…” He trailed off and shrugged.
“Says the guy who watches sports all year round and acts like the players can hear him yelling,” I replied shortly. “No, this agreement is for real. It’s not some joke, Jay. You’ve been here three months, so unless you’re actively going to move out, we need to make sure the living situation is acceptable for us both.”
He dipped his finger back into the batter and jumped back before I could hit him again. “You mean I’m going on the rental agreement.”
“That’s one thing, yes, but otherwise…” I shrugged. “It’s how we’re going to co-exist. We’re different people. I like it to be quiet and calm and not have a club of bulking gym-rats yelling at the TV.”
His lips twitched.
“You like life a little louder and more action-packed. I like everything to be clean and tidy, and you have no problem living in something a little messier. If you’re going to move in permanently, we need something in place that keeps us both in line.”
He walked around the island, taking the agreement with him, and leaned over. “All right, I’ll bite, Shelbs. What kind of things am I going to find in here?”
I sat up straight. “Compromise. I won’t complain about your friends invading the living room every Sunday as long as it is only confined to one day a week, with prior notice, and you make sure to replace whatever food or drink they clear out.”
“You’ll complain.”
“I won’t. I’ll leave the apartment and work in Java Hut, or I’ll go to Brie’s or my mom’s or something.” I met his eyes. “I swear. That’s part of the compromise, Jay.”
He scanned the front page. “What else?”
“Little things. Like you picking up your socks.”
“Fine, but you’re going to have to make sure the drain in the shower is free of your hair.”
I held up my hands. “Deal. There’s actually a section in that for you to write down what you want me to do, and we’ll compromise from there.”
He made a low humming noise, one that sent a little shiver down my spine. “You’re not allocating bathroom times like that lunatic on the show does, are you?”
“Sheldon Cooper is not a lunatic. He’s a genius.” I paused. “And no. I reserve the right to take a shit anytime I want.”
He dragged his finger down the front page. “Ah, yeah, here it is. ‘Jay will use the air freshener to make sure the bathroom doesn’t smell like man after every visit.’”
It was my turn to grin because he’d made that whole line up. “You do stink.”
“You don’t exactly smell like roses after your morning trip to the bathroom. Neither does the damn room itself.”
“Whatever. Anyway, the first thing in the agreement is the most important and actually related to this morning.”
He flipped open the first page and looked at it. “You wrote it out like rules?”
“Damn right I did.”
“Rule one: must wear pants,” he read. Slowly, he looked up at me with raised eyebrows. “Was it necessary to put that in capital letters?”
“Were you or were you not in your underwear when you walked into the kitchen five minutes ago?”
He clicked his tongue. “Point taken.” He continued to scan the page. “Really? You wrote about the Oreos as rule two?”
Getting up, I walked to the bowl of pancake batter that was on the counter and turned on the stove so the skillet heated up. “Yes, I wrote about the Oreos. They’re important to me. But look—rule four is all for you.”
“We’ll ignore the part where the washer apparently won’t kill me—you haven’t proven that either… Sundays are for football? That’s a rule I can get on board with.”
“You should. It’s not in there for my benefit.” I sniffed and ladled some mix into the skillet.
“Are those for me?”
I slid my gaze his way. “Depends. Are you going to use a duster?”
“This says it’s my friend, but I don’t think it is. I think that’s you trying to make me clean.” He raised his eyebrows and put the agreement on the island. “I have to work this morning so I can’t read it now, but I’ve got time to eat a pancake or eight.”
I rolled my eyes. For a guy who probably had zero body fat, he could eat like nobody’s business. He’d fit right in with The Rock on cheat day, except Jay would eat like that every day if he could.
“You’ll take four, and you’ll cut open the packet of bacon while you’re at it.”
“You want me to make the bacon?”
“Do I like my bacon crispy? Yes. Do I want it to be so burned not even Hell will take it? No. Get the frying pan and sit down.”
“Yes, Mom.”
There was a knock and the sound of everything in the pan cupboard collapsing seconds later.
“Shit.”
“I am not turning around. I am not turning around,” I muttered, flipping the pancake to do the other side.
I really wasn’t going to turn around and look. I already knew that the precariously-organized cupboard was a collapsing hazard, and that was the reason I never, ever asked Jay to get anything from it.
Apparently, I’d been wise.
Until today.
But really, the damn frying pan was at the front. How he created a landslide of bowls and cookware… That was a special talent.
I didn’t need to look to know how much of a mess it was.
Or that I’d be the one cleaning it up.
“I got it,” Jay said, leaning over and reaching to put the frying pan on the hob right as I lifted the first pancake from the skillet and grabbed the ladle to make the second.
“No, it’s fine. Just stack it on the counter, and I’ll re-organize it. I’ve to do it anyway.” I shrugged a shoulder and focused on the pancakes.
“You know you don’t have to do everything, right? I can put the pans back.” His tone held more than a hint of amusement. “You’re cooking. I’m capable of being an adult, despite what you may think.”
“It’s not what I may think, it’s what I’ve seen,” I replied. “Hence the reason we have a roommate agreement.”
“Can you stop making good points? It’s really hard to agree with you if you’re always fucking right.”
Laughing, I removed the second pancake from the skillet. “Buckle in, Jay. You’re always going to be wrong in this apartment.”
“I’m re-thinking li
ving with you.” He stood up, lips tugged to one side. “I’m used to being right, and I’m not sure I can deal with always being wrong.”
“It’s going to be like that forever. It’s in your DNA to be wrong. I’m sorry I have to be the one to tell you that.”
“No, you’re not. You don’t look sorry at all.”
I grinned, meeting his green eyes. “I’m not. Hey—look at that. You were right!”
His eyes shone with laughter, but he schooled his expression into one of annoyance. “If you weren’t cooking me breakfast right now, I’d storm into my room.”
“Ah, food. The great equalizer.” I bit back a laugh. “Can you start frying the bacon while I finish these pancakes? Just flip the rashers when I say, and you won’t cremate them like last time.”
Jay sighed, sliding between me and the island to the other side where the frying pan was. He splashed some oil into it, which immediately fizzed in the heat of the pan. “I did not cremate them. They were nice and crispy like they should be.”
“There’s a difference between crispy and burned.” My voice was dry as I added another pancake to the stack. “You burned them. I make them crispy.”
He snorted but didn’t say anything else. I kept casting glances over at the pan to make sure he didn’t burn my bacon—he could have his burned if he wanted, but he wasn’t going to sacrifice my bacon like that.
“Take mine out!” I flipped the final pancake onto the stack. “Now, Jay!”
“Wow,” he said, taking the pan off the heat. “Is this the kind of nagging I can expect now that I’m officially going to be a tenant here?”
I glared at him and split the pancakes in two, giving myself the extra one. “It’s the kind of nagging you’ve been getting since you moved your lazy ass in here; it’s just that you’re actually listening to me this morning.”
“Ah, so that horrible noise that sounds like cats fighting in an alleyway has been you nagging me this entire time?”
I set our pancakes on the small dining table and sent yet another dark look his way. “You know, I can poison pancakes when I make them.”
“Yeah, but then you’d have to pay all the rent again, and that’s the only reason you’re letting me stay here despite your better judgment.” He grinned and joined me with the bacon, then slid my plate across the table toward me with a wink.
