The Duets

by Quinn, Meghan

  Noted, she has a lot of lingerie.

  Hearing the oven beep, I make my way out of the bathroom, past her makeup lineup and pile of laundry. She’s sitting on the couch filing her nails, polish spread over the table, a chick flick playing on the TV, and bags of open chips in front of her with copious amounts of crumbs scattered everywhere. And to top it off, the girl isn’t wearing a damn bra again. Would it kill her to grab one from the multiple hanging places and put it on?

  Christ, her nipples are hard as rocks, pebbling against the fabric of her shirt. I’m a man, and I can only take so much before I get fucking horny.

  I take my frozen pizza out of the oven and set it on a trivet, letting it cool before I break into it. I asked Ryan if she wanted some, but she shook her head and said she had her chips. Chips for dinner doesn’t seem filling to me, but hey, she’s a grown-ass woman and can do what she wants.

  Which brings me to my burning question for the week: is this what living with a woman is like?

  I grew up with brothers, and given that my mom isn’t really the strong confident type, I’ve never experienced living with an opinionated and self-assured woman.

  It’s kind of insane and a fucking shock.

  I have to wake up extra early so I can get a shower in before Ryan. The amount of beauty products this girl has is crazy. There is cream for shaving her legs, “coochy cream” for, well, I read the label on that one and you can only guess what it’s for. Then there is night face cream, morning face cream, sunscreen . . . how can she keep track of it all?

  I use a bar of soap and shampoo. I keep it simple. When I want to, I wear cologne, but that’s it.

  Should I have some sort of cream in my life?

  I shake my head. Don’t even go there, man.

  Once my pizza has cooled, I slice it up and put a few pieces on my plate with the intention to go back for more.

  Taking a seat next to Ryan, I look at her as she’s examining her nails. “Sure you don’t want any?”

  “I’m good. Thank you, though.” She nods toward the TV. “Have you seen this movie? It’s so funny.”

  Lips scrunched, I answer, “Can’t say that I have.”

  “What?” Ryan seems seriously offended. “But Ryan Reynolds is in it, and you get to see his naked chest.”

  I take a bite of my pizza. “Yeah, that’s not a way to win me over with a movie. Couldn’t care less about Ryan Reynolds’s naked torso.”

  “Okay, what about Sandra Bullock? She’s practically naked in this movie as well.”

  “Now that I can get on board with.” We sit in silence, the movie playing in the background, neither of us really paying attention. My fingers itch to change the channel to the Rockies game, but I hold back. I’m a guest. I’m not in charge of the TV, even if Ryan isn’t paying attention.

  “So you’re going to Rory’s place tomorrow?”

  I swallow. “Yeah, after work. You have your date, right?”

  “Saturday I do. But I have a whole bunch of shaving I want to do before then.”

  Okay, seems like we’re that kind of friends now.

  “Shaving, huh?”

  She blows on her fingers again. “Yeah, there is a lot of prep that goes into dates that you guys don’t know about. You can slip on a T-shirt and call it a night. Girls have a whole checklist of musts that have to be done before we go out.”

  “I guess so.” I take another bite. “I’ve never lived with a girl before, but do you all hang your bras and thongs everywhere?”

  She chuckles and tilts her head in my direction. “Is my lingerie getting in your way?”

  “Sometimes it’s hard to shut the bathroom door when I need to piss.”

  She laughs some more. “You can move them if you need to, or just pee with the door open. Who cares at this point? It’s not like I haven’t seen a dick before. As you can see, I’m not very modest.” She gestures toward her barely covered breasts.

  “Yeah, I’ve noticed.” I turn away from her and adjust in my seat. “It wouldn’t hurt for you to put on one of the multiple bras you have hanging around.”

  “They’re wet. When it’s laundry day, I go braless. It’s easier that way. And any lingerie enthusiast will know you don’t put your delicates in the dryer, because it’s how they get ruined.”

  Delicates. That’s one way to describe them. More like scraps of fabric.

  “Ask Rory, she does the same thing.”

  My pizza pauses halfway to my mouth. Thankfully Ryan is looking at her nails and misses the color drain from my face.

  Fuck. I need to make sure I’m not at her place when that happens, because I won’t be able to survive “laundry day.”

  “But she’s boring,” Ryan continues. “She only wears red lingerie.”

  Errr . . . that’s boring?

  Immediately my mind pulls up an image of Rory standing before me, her gorgeous locks smoothly falling over her shoulders, her slender body encased in red lace, her green eyes staring at me, waiting for my permission to climb onto my lap. As if she’d need my permission.

  The image is torture, something I know will haunt me in my dreams tonight . . . and every night after.

  Clearing my throat, I try to break the tension building inside me. “So does that mean I get to hang my boxer briefs along with your lingerie?”

  “Have at it.” Ryan gestures down the hall. “We have plenty more places to hang them.”

  Yeah, not going to fucking happen.

  Ryan brushes off her nails and grabs a clear nail polish only to sit cross-legged and start applying the liquid with a tiny little black wand. “You know, I do worry about her.”

  “About Rory?”

  She nods. “Yeah, she’s been working herself silly, taking on more than she should. I don’t think she took the breakup with Colby well.” I lean a little more forward, edging toward Ryan, wanting to know the ins and outs of what she thinks about this. “I think she’s trying to distract herself so she doesn’t have to think about him. But she’s lost weight, she looks more pale than usual, and I really fear she’s overworking herself.”

  I could see that. If I was in a relationship with Rory and we broke up, I’d do the same thing. Work myself crazy and then end my day in a bar, trying to forget. Hell, that’s where I was a few days ago, trying to forget. And now I’m here, eating a frozen pizza, sucking in nail polish fumes, and watching Ryan Reynolds parade himself around in Alaska. Funny how things change.

  “Have you talked to her?” I ask, feeling awkward, because I’m not really good at this talking shit. My family was told how to feel, that was it. No feelings discussed. Period. And when I was accepted into the Academy, there was no time for feelings. The closest I ever got to talking about this kind of shit was with Colby, and I never had anything to say.

  Advice doesn’t come easily to me. I steer people away from what I think they should do, because taking my advice would most likely get them in trouble.

  “I haven’t,” Ryan answers, pulling me back into the conversation. “There hasn’t been a good time to talk to her because she’s constantly on the move, and when we’re together, all she wants to do is decompress, have fun, let loose. The last thing she wants to do is have a post mortem of her relationship with Colby.”

  “That makes sense.”

  See, not good at this kind of crap.

  “But I don’t think she is giving herself any time to breathe, especially with all the responsibilities she’s taken on with Special Olympics. It’s amazing that she’s doing it, but I think she needs to do something for her, separate from her brother.” Turning, she levels with me. “That’s where I hope you’ll come in.”

  Err. “What?”

  “She has a light work schedule this weekend, no massage clients, only some workout classes in the morning. Since you’re staying with her, make sure she has fun.”

  “Yeah, no.”

  “Why not?” she asks looking offended.

  Yeah, why not, Stryder?

>   Hmm . . . probably best I don’t share my deepest and dirtiest thoughts about Rory at this point.

  Instead, I say, “Colby would probably take it the wrong way.”

  And that’s also the truth. I know he must have caught me staring at her a few times, so there is no way he was completely blind to my feelings. Or maybe he was. We never talked about it.

  Ryan makes a who gives a fuck noise. “Sorry to inform you, Stryder, but I’m pretty sure Colby isn’t coming back and Rory isn’t leaving. I don’t think Colby is someone you have to worry about getting the wrong impression. You’re friends with Rory, I don’t think it would be an issue at all.”

  Of course she wouldn’t, because she doesn’t see my inner turmoil, she doesn’t know the kind of impact it would have on me.

  Then again, why the hell am I having a war with myself over this?

  Alone time with Rory. It’s what I want; it’s what I crave.

  But the only problem with is that I don’t think I would ever act on it.

  Because even though I’m jealous of Colby and where his future is heading, he’s been like a brother to me. We were there for each other through thick and thin, acting as each other’s support system. And there will be a day when Colby returns to the Springs—even if it’s to see his gramps—and I don’t want him to believe I would betray him.

  He’s too important to me to hurt like that.

  “Come on.” Ryan nudges me with her foot. “At least go see a movie or something like that. I’m sure it will keep you busy too. Instead of getting lost in a bottle, maybe you can chow down on endless popcorn. That’s good old-fashioned fun right there.”

  “Is that what you plan on doing with your date this weekend?”

  “Ha,” she says. “No. I plan on doing some dirty things that don’t involve eating popcorn.” She looks at the ends of her hair and sneers. “Which reminds me, part of my primping is going to the salon. I’m dying my hair brown tomorrow.”

  “Brown? Really?”

  She smiles and caps her nail polish. “Yup. I’ve been blonde for far too long, time to switch it up. Don’t worry, you’ll still be able to tell me and Rory apart.” She tips my chin playfully. “I’m the one who doesn’t wear a bra around the house.”

  And I am grateful for that.

  Chapter Forty-One

  RORY

  Knock, knock.

  I pause Netflix and hop off my bed. I don’t why I’m excited, but I am.

  I open my front door to find Stryder standing in front of me, decked out in his uniform, cap on his head, duffel bag in hand.

  His body fills the doorframe, shoulders broad and sturdy, his height towering over me, those blue eyes of his staring intently. Colby was tall, strong, cut in all the right places and looked so damn good in his uniform, but I have to be honest, Stryder fills out his uniform just a little more.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey.” His deep voice rumbles over me, a smile at the corner of his lips. “Please tell me you’re not as messy as Ryan.”

  A burst of laughter pops out of me. Oh Ryan. She is a hot mess. I know exactly what he’s talking about, and I can only guess at how bad it was with her upcoming date this weekend.

  I gesture for him to enter the apartment as I say, “Don’t worry. There isn’t enough room in here to be messy.”

  “Thank God.” He steps into my apartment and somehow makes it seem even smaller than it is.

  I move toward the small corner I tried to make into a “bedroom” for him. A crate for his nightstand, an air mattress for a bed decked out in some of my best linens, and an extension cord so he can plug his phone in and still have it close to him at night.

  “Uh, this little area is for you, unless . . .” I think about it for a second and take a look at my king-size bed. “You know, I can take the air mattress and you can have my bed. You’re much bigger than me and would be more comfortable on my bed.”

  He passes by me and brings his duffle bag to the corner, plopping it next to the air mattress, claiming it as his. “I’m not sleeping in your bed, Rory. I’m grateful for the opportunity to stay here, no way in hell I’m taking over your space. This air mattress is perfect. Thank you.” He removes his cap and tosses it on his duffel bag and then removes his jacket, revealing the tightness of his sand tee against his defined body.

  Oh my.

  That doesn’t hide anything. And I already know what he’s got going on under that shirt from my visit to Ryan’s the other morning.

  No wonder Ryan wanted a piece of Stryder Sheppard.

  Hands on hips, Stryder looks me up and down and says, “You have the right idea. Pajamas. Mind if I change out of this stuff?”

  “No, go right ahead. Bathroom is behind that door. It’s small but it will give you some privacy. I have some mac and cheese in the oven if that’s okay for dinner.”

  His face softens, a light smile playing at his lips. “You don’t have to make me anything for dinner, Rory. Staying here is enough.”

  I shrug my shoulders. “I have to eat too, so might as well make enough for both of us.”

  Nodding, he turns away and shuffles through his duffel bag, pulling out a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. I’m guessing he usually doesn’t wear a shirt after work—he seems like the kind of guy who goes shirtless—but I’m sure he’s trying to be as polite as possible.

  Since the apartment is so small, I talk to him while he’s getting dressed. “Did you see Ryan’s hair? It’s so pretty.”

  “No,” he calls out. “Did she go through with the brown?”

  “She did.” I grab two glasses from my cabinet and fill them with Sprite from a two-liter bottle. “I’m jealous she looks good as a blonde and a brunette.”

  Stryder opens the door and brings his folded-up uniform to his bed where he sets it down and then walks toward me. “Let me see the picture.”

  I hand him his drink and then go to my bed where I find the picture of Ryan. He thanks me for the drink, and he’s right behind me when I turn around so I show him the photo. I watch him assess the picture, eyebrows drawn in, his expression curious, which is abnormal whenever a guy looks at a picture of Ryan. They usually show some kind of interest.

  Nonchalantly, he shrugs and says, “Looks good.”

  That’s it?

  Looks good?

  I expected a little more.

  “Different, but she totally pulls it off.” I toss the phone back on my bed and then look around. Yeah, this might not have been the best idea. My apartment is incredibly small and with another human in it, it feels even smaller, like there isn’t enough room to breathe.

  Breaking the silence, Stryder says, “This is kind of awkward.”

  I laugh and nod. “Just a little. It shouldn’t be, though. We know each other well enough that we should be able to make this work.”

  He scans the space again, taking it all in, the non-walls, the zero space for privacy, the only other room being a bathroom just as tiny as everything else. We are going to be in each other’s business . . . a lot.

  “I got us something.” Stryder goes to his duffle bag, the distance achieved in a few strides. From the side pocket, he pulls out a deck of cards and holds it up with a boyish smile on his face. “Wasn’t sure if you know how to play any games. Thought it could keep us busy.”

  “Oh, good idea. I don’t have any games or cards, because they’re all at my parents’ house. We can sit at the table.”

  Like a gentleman, Stryder pulls out the chair for me and then takes his seat. He sets his glass of Sprite on the floor to give us a little more space on the table. He opens the fresh deck of cards, pulls them out, and hands them to me. “Care to do the honors of the first shuffle?”

  “Oh, I would be absolutely delighted,” I answer with a slight British accent. Not sure why, just felt like the thing to do, although from Stryder’s raised eyebrow, he’s probably considering how strange I am.

  The cards are stiff to my touch, sharp on the edges, and smell lik
e heaven. I always like the smell of a fresh deck of cards. Brings me back to my childhood when my dad and I used to play when Bryan was tucked away in his room. My dad spent a lot of one-on-one time with Bryan, so when I had a chance to get him alone, we always played cards.

  I make the first shuffle, forming a bridge with my hands, letting the cards crisply slide down on top of each other. “What do you want to play?”

  He leans back in his chair, legs spread wide, casual and comfortable. “There is the obvious War or Kings in the Corner. But what about a little bit of California Speed?”

  I smile inwardly. I am amazing at this game. And I don’t mean amazing, like I was “amazing” when I bowled with Colby. I mean I am REALLY amazing. I am so quick on the trigger, Stryder is going to have his work cut out for him if he wants to win a game.

  “Love that game.”

  He must notice the giddiness I’m trying to tamp down because he says, “Uh oh, am I about to be shown up?”

  I shuffle some more. “You very well might be.”

  “Then bring it on.” Leaning forward now, he cracks his knuckles and for the first time in a long time, I see the Stryder I first met. Fun, outgoing, ready for a good time. It almost seems like some life has been breathed back into him.

  I glance at the clock on the oven. Twelve minutes left. We have some time. “We can get a couple of games in before dinner will be ready.” I begin dealing the cards. “Get ready to loooooose.” I drag the word out like a child, giving him my best version of trash talk.

  It doesn’t faze him. Instead, he smirks and gathers his cards, ready for what’s to come.

  * * *

  “My card got there first.”

  “Bullshit,” Stryder says, leaning forward, hand pressed down on the card he claims to have dropped first, despite mine being under it.

  “I think it’s obvious since my card is underneath yours.” I hate to be that person, but come on, it’s plain as day my card got there first.

  “It’s because you slipped it under mine once I put mine down.”