Wrong Bed, Right Roommate (Accidental Love)

by Rebecca Brooks

  “The copy machine.” He put down his fork.

  “Yes.”

  “That’s what you’re worried about?”

  “Don’t make fun of me!”

  “I’m not.” But she could see his smile spreading. It was totally unfair that he wasn’t taking her seriously. “I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it.”

  “Marlene’s so focused on doing everything right. Which means the way she wants it. Publishing is hard enough to break into, but it’s even harder to stay in. Tons of places go out of business or can’t compete. She’s done a lot to get to where she is, which is why I have to show her I can do it.”

  To her surprise, he nodded. “Jean’s the same way, actually. She can’t run the business without an assistant, but then she doesn’t want to give up control. I swear, she thinks I’m going to fuck up the fermentation barrels just by looking at them the wrong way.”

  It was all too familiar. If she substituted pages for barrels, it would be the same thing.

  She raised her glass. “To being highly successful, competent, trustworthy, invaluable employees that our bosses don’t yet realize they can’t live without.”

  He laughed and clinked glasses with her. “And to not setting anything on fire.” He paused. “Yet.”

  …

  They finished eating, still talking. Shawn couldn’t believe it was this easy to spend time with her.

  Or that he’d told her so much about himself, basically admitting that he was a screw-up and maybe had been for the whole time Jessie had known him—no matter how many home runs he’d scored for his team.

  He wasn’t surprised that Jessie had heard things from Talia about the fights he’d had with his dad—over his grades, the fact that throwing a baseball wasn’t exactly a career path, and what was wrong with him that he never could stick to a plan?

  But that didn’t mean he wanted to spill every detail. When she asked how he started working in breweries, he said he stumbled into it after he spent so much time hanging around in watering holes, anyway. Which was pretty much true. He could always count on getting a job bussing tables. And, later, pouring taps. He hoped someday maybe actually making the stuff.

  But when she asked what he wanted to be doing, he just laughed and raised his glass.

  “Having a drink with lovely company,” he said, since I have no fucking clue wasn’t much of an answer. He liked what he was doing now, but would it last? Could he really make it work? It was better not to say anything, so no one would be disappointed if it didn’t come true.

  At least sidestepping her question showed how easy it was to make her blush. Had no one ever complimented her before?

  “I mean in life,” she protested. “Not just right now.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with caring about right now,” he said with a smile. It was kind of adorable how seriously she took everything. But he was done with things being so heavy tonight.

  “Yeah, but—”

  “But nothing. Don’t you want to enjoy yourself?”

  “I do enjoy myself!”

  He reached over the table and plucked out the pen that she must have stuck in her hair hours ago. “How are you going to enjoy your Saturday night?” he asked, twirling the pen between his fingers.

  “Give me that,” she said. She reached across the table to snatch it back, but he held it out of reach.

  “Now I’m the one who wields the power of the pen. Give me a satisfactory answer, and I’ll decide whether you get to keep editing.”

  She rolled her eyes. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “You’re about to tell me you have six packs of these back in your room, neatly filed with your paper clips and color-coded Post-its, so you can always get another.”

  Her lips pressed together.

  “Oh, God,” he said. “I was just kidding.”

  “You laugh, but those colored stickies are amazing.”

  “I know. Great for making dinner plans and ensuring we don’t run out of milk.”

  He was teasing her, but she couldn’t hide that she was laughing right back. He hadn’t realized until now how much he’d missed the sound when she wasn’t around.

  “Come to Thunder with me tonight,” he said suddenly. Impulsively.

  Maybe he shouldn’t have said it. He had work to do, and he couldn’t let Jean think he wasn’t focused.

  But it would be fun. And it would make it less weird to keep sharing this space if they spent some time hanging out together. And he wanted to hear more of that laugh, to get to know the Jessie his sister had been friends with for so many years, instead of the woman who bit her lip as she typed like a madwoman and only got up to make herself more tea.

  Besides, he wouldn’t be distracted. He’d still get everything done.

  That was, if Jessie even agreed to come with him.

  “Oh,” she said, blinking in surprise.

  “Oh?”

  “Thanks, but I can’t.” She pushed back her plate.

  “You have plans?”

  He could feel her hesitation. “I have all this work due for Marlene.”

  “On a Saturday night?”

  “I should get a head start so I’m not slammed with everything on Monday.”

  “Okay, but still. Saturday night?” He knew they both had a lot to do, but he was in actual shock.

  “I know it’s crazy.”

  “Saturday night!”

  “You said that already,” she said with a smirk.

  “Because! It’s—”

  “Saturday night, I know,” she said before he could say it again. “But I’m really busy, and I can’t fuck this up.”

  “Can’t you work on Sunday? Not that I approve of that, either, but it’s better than Saturday night.”

  “Besties brunch,” she said.

  “What?” He thought he misheard.

  “Besties brunch. Sorry, I should have warned you sooner. Every month, my friends and I have a standing brunch date. It’s a potluck, and we rotate whose apartment it’s at.”

  “That’s—”

  “Cheesy?” she said.

  He felt the smile spread across his face. “Really nice.” He paused. “And kind of amazing that you all can plan something like that.”

  “We put it on the calendar. No excuses. Barring, you know, actual emergencies.”

  He tried to wrap his mind around something as simple as getting together with friends once a month, always knowing it was going to happen. Had he ever stayed in one place long enough to make something like that possible? To form the kind of friendships that could be sustained?

  “I’m the one hosting tomorrow,” she said, then bit her lip. “I feel really bad asking, but would you mind being out of the apartment for it? You know, besties and all.”

  He smiled. “I’ll tell you what.” A look of concern flashed over her face, and he grinned. “I’ll make myself scarce for besties brunch if you come out with me tonight.”

  He thought she was going to protest, but she stuck out her hand. “Only if you give me my pen back.”

  He extended it partway, then yanked it out of reach. “Only if you promise not to use it while we’re at Thunder.”

  “Deal,” she said, snapping her fingers for the pen.

  He laughed and handed it over. As their hands brushed, he hoped it wasn’t a mistake to have invited her. Not just because he was supposed to be working. But because he’d caused so much trouble for Talia’s friends in the past. Even though that was a long time ago, Jessie had plenty more reasons not to want to hang out with him now.

  She worked in some office in Midtown. He worked at a bar. A brewery, sure. But he’d only been an assistant brewer for half a second. Would she think less of him once she saw where he spent so much of his time?

  And then he wondered why he cared so much about what she thought of him at all.

  Chapter Nine

  Jessie watched as Shawn checked a bunch of gadgets on the enormous machines rumbl
ing on the brewery floor. One vat was for stirring and heating the grains, another for fermenting the mix. It was noisy and hot, and Shawn had to lean close to shout in her ear as he explained each step. She could feel the sweat through his damp T-shirt, see the shine of it on the ink across his arm.

  She was glad for the chance to watch him work as he skimmed yeast and carried the heavy dry hops bags. Because it was hot as sin to watch his biceps flex, obviously.

  But, even more than that, because it meant once again that this absolutely, positively wasn’t a date.

  Dinner was sort of safe, since they were cooking at home—it wasn’t like he’d taken her out. But hanging out with him at a bar on a Saturday night?

  Also not a date, she reminded herself when he told her he’d be back in a sec and went to push a keg into a cold room for storage. She should have stayed home working. She definitely shouldn’t have let herself keep accepting refills to her wineglass as they ate, so that her defenses were down. That yes had slipped right out, when she hadn’t meant to go anywhere at all.

  But coming to where he worked was the kind of thing a friend or a roommate would do. And it was actually kind of cool to be behind the scenes, even if the fermenting yeast did smell sour and strong.

  She’d never realized how much there was to brewing beer—or how much Shawn knew. She had to admit that, even now, she’d never really thought of him that way. She still remembered the high school guy she’d known, the one who was hot but knew it, and acted like that would be enough to get him through.

  This guy, though, was genuinely excited by what he was talking about—the process, the science, the way the flavors worked. She wondered if Talia had seen this part of her brother, or if there was something about Shawn that was unfolding for her right now, that no one else had seen.

  “This is awesome,” she said as he led her into the bottling room, where a conveyer belt rattled with bottles and cans getting ready for packaging.

  He pulled a bottle from the line and twisted it open. “It’s a requirement to do random samples for quality assurance,” he said with a grin as he passed it to her.

  “Tough gig,” she commented and took a sip.

  “You like it?”

  “Yeah, actually. It’s kind of…lemony? Not too much, but just a kick.”

  He couldn’t hide how happy he looked when she said it. “It’s the Lemon Wheat Summer Special. They do seasonal rotations year-round. I keep thinking about what we can do for fall that might be different. That’s way beyond my pay grade, but still.” He grinned. “It’s nice to dream. Want to try the other specials on tap?”

  “You don’t have to stay out here?” She nodded toward the brewery floor.

  “I did everything that’s time-sensitive. And I’m supposed to be backup in the taproom, since it’s open, so I should see if they need any help. But you don’t have to,” he added quickly. As though she’d really rather go hang out at the bar alone.

  “I’m in,” she said, and followed him back to the tasting room, the only part of the brewery most people got to see. The crowd was steady but not a mob, and she hopped on a stool while he got out a bunch of small glasses.

  He looked so confident behind the counter as he poured. She needed to stop watching. She needed to stop staring. What would Talia say if she saw her mooning around like this, lighting up when he placed a row of different colored brews in front of her and started patiently describing each one? She’d seen what happened when Talia’s friends got that look on their faces around him, and she knew that it didn’t end well.

  “I’m not boring you?” he suddenly asked, breaking off in the middle of a description of a chocolatey stout. Oops. She could only imagine what kind of faraway look was on her face.

  But it wasn’t because her mind was wandering. If anything, it was the opposite. Her problem was that she kept paying too much attention. To his words, his gestures, the way his hands moved when talked, how he scratched at the stubble along his jaw as he was thinking.

  She took another sip to collect herself, trying to focus on the caramel notes he was talking about and not on how close they were, leaning over the bar, his lips on the glass after hers. “It’s fascinating,” she said. “It’s like this whole other world I never knew about.”

  “Like uncovering the keys to a magic kingdom in a fantasy novel.” But he wasn’t laughing. He really meant it like that. She smiled.

  He drummed on the bar for a second, then stopped.

  “Listen,” he said. “Everyone behind the bar is going out after closing. You want to come? Don’t say you have work to do,” he said when he saw her falter. “It’s almost midnight. You’re not going to go home and edit.”

  Busted.

  She downed the rest of an IPA. “Fine,” she said, then wagged a finger playfully in his face. “But when I want to go home, you can’t make me stay. Deal?”

  He grabbed her hand and pushed it away. “Man,” he said. “You’re no fun at all.”

  But he was laughing when she stuck out her tongue and shoved him back.

  …

  It only took Shawn two beats into the first song to realize he shouldn’t have invited her. Jessie on the dance floor was trouble.

  It was the way she brushed by him, away from the bar and into the thick of the crowd, as though making it clear that she may have come here with him, but she hadn’t come with him. And how she danced, with this unselfconsciousness that completely surprised him. It was like when he’d listened at her door that night. Jessie in her regular life was neat, organized, composed. Jessie when she let herself go was pure energy and movement, a lightness he could practically feel.

  He wasn’t the only one who noticed.

  “Your roommate’s hot,” Alex, one of the bartenders, said to Shawn as they waited at the bar. “Is she single?”

  “You’d have to ask her,” Shawn said.

  “But you’re not…?” Alex let the question hang between them.

  “She’s my sister’s friend,” Shawn said. Like that answered it.

  “Nice,” Alex said, nodding to the beat of the music, not getting it at all.

  She’s my sister’s friend and you can’t touch her, Shawn wanted to say. But that would have been downright crazy. Just because she was off-limits to him didn’t mean he was going to cockblock her all night. Was he?

  They were standing there watching when it happened. Some random guy made a beeline for Jessie. He guessed it was inevitable, but it still made his hands clench into fists by his sides.

  “Looks like she has plenty of choices tonight,” Alex said with a laugh. “I’d better make my move if I want a chance.”

  “Don’t,” Shawn said, surprised by how hard the word came out. Surprised that he said it at all.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Pick someone else.”

  “Hey, sorry, man. I didn’t realize you were—”

  “I’m not,” Shawn practically growled. “But pick someone else.”

  “Jeez, relax.” Alex shot him a dirty look, then turned away to talk to someone else. Someone who wasn’t moody, possessive, and claiming a woman who wasn’t even his.

  He ordered a beer and sipped it slowly, standing on the sidelines, watching.

  The guy was a lot taller than Jessie. His body seemed to crush hers backward as he pressed into her, grinding onto her curves. His hands were on her hips, then the small of her back, and it didn’t look like he had any plans to stop. He bent down as though to whisper in her ear. But that was obviously just an excuse to get closer.

  Shawn waited for Jessie to break away. There was no way she was interested. Right?

  But then her hands went up his shoulders and around his neck. Shawn ground his teeth together. If Jessie went home with some stranger… Or, worse, if some stranger came home with her…

  She’s not yours.

  Talia would have been cheering Jessie on. And, as much as he hated to think it, if Talia had been there, she probably would have been the one
getting all the attention. It wasn’t that she was prettier—Jessie was absolutely riveting. But Talia was louder. Bolder. She was the person you noticed first when you walked into a room.

  But Jessie was the one you couldn’t stop staring at once you finally saw her.

  Maybe he wouldn’t have thought that way before. Maybe he’d never spent long enough looking at who was around besides the most obvious catch. Only now did he stop to think about what he’d been missing.

  Then the couple turned and shifted with the music, and he saw it. There was something in her face—the way her eyes flickered around the room, even as she was dancing. When she talked, when she listened, when she worked—hell, even when she made coffee—she was totally intent on what she was doing. Her attention was consumed. He’d never met someone so focused in his life.

  But not now. Immediately, it was obvious to him. Jessie was bored.

  He put his drink down on the bar and walked onto the dance floor.

  “Excuse me,” he shouted over the music as he approached them. “Jess?”

  The guy pulled away. He didn’t even put up a fight, or demand to know who Shawn was or what he thought he was doing. It just…happened. One minute, Jessie was dancing with a stranger and his wandering hands. The next minute, she was dancing with Shawn.

  He’d never been this close to her. He could smell her shampoo, feel the softness of her curls as she pressed against him. Her body was warm, full, her curves electrifying against him.

  She tossed her head back and said something.

  “What?” he shouted over the music. The bass was reverberating through the floor, the drumbeat echoing inside him. He’d forgotten, for a second, that they were in public, there were other bodies clambering all around them, they weren’t the only people in the world.

  “I said this is funny!” she shouted, straining up to get closer to his ear.

  “I know!” He tried to grin, to laugh, to act like this was all one big joke, the way everything used to feel like one big joke to him. Who cared about a test, a paper, the grade at the end of a course. Who cared about what job he was getting after college, or what he was going to do when his baseball scholarship was up. That was for the future, that was way too serious, that was no big deal.