Chapter 10
Chapter ten
Liv
“Are you listening? Did you get all that?” The guy whose name I’ve not forgotten, unlike him, who has clearly not taken the time to remember my name at all tonight—leans forward with that practiced grin people wear when they think charm makes up for dull conversation.
I stir my drink, watching the lemon slice spin. “Mm-hm,” I hum, because technically I am listening. I just don’t care. I think I’ve proved to myself I can identify red flags if nothing else tonight.
Brad’s talking about crypto, then he moved on to CrossFit, and now he’s droning on about something else beginning with C and ending with me wanting to fake a phone call, and not once has he remembered my name.
My gaze drifts to the window, where the streetlights blur against the glass. I try to picture feeling something, anything, but the longer I sit here, the more it feels like I’m watching someone else’s life play out.
He laughs at something he’s said, and that gets my attention again. I smile automatically. Now actively not listening because I’m not sure he really needs me to listen; he just wants to think I’m impressed by all the things he’s saying.
And that’s when it hits me, like it always does halfway through these kinds of nights: I’m not lonely because I’m alone. I’m lonely because I’m here chasing something I don’t believe in.
An epic wave of what the fuck are you doing washes over me, and I physically have to stop myself from just standing and walking out. I’m not having fun. I had more fun with Jay today doing laundry, and I hate laundry.
He waves for another drink, oblivious to the fact that mine’s still half full. “You’ll love this place once you’ve been a few times,” he says, leaning back like he owns the room. “I’m kind of a regular here.”
I bite back the urge to say of course you are. Regulars love to be adored by the staff, and judging by how many times he’s checked out the waitress’s ass, I’d say he’s already looking past me anyway.
The server drops off his second light beer while he’s busy bragging about his gym routine, again, or his investments, or maybe his house. I’ve lost track. I check the time on my phone. Fifty-two minutes. Damn, it feels like hours.
He asks another question that I don’t quite catch. I nod anyway and sip the overly sweet cocktail he took the liberty of ordering for me. Another X in his column.
My brain starts cataloguing escape routes. Bathroom? Too obvious. Fake emergency? Tempting. Text Daphne? Always reliable, but she has Rosie, and I don’t want to risk waking her. My other option is… Jay, because he feels like the safest bet, and that alone should scare me.
His name is on my phone before I can stop myself, and I’m texting him under the table as my date orders food for me, not a second thought to what I want or if I have any allergies. What an ass.
Liv
I need you to call me with an emergency asap.
Thankfully, he doesn’t keep me waiting.
Jay
What kind of emergency?
Liv
Anything, it can be as dramatic as you like. If you loved drama at school, now is your time to shine, honey. Just please, hurry before I die of boredom.
Jay
Okay but like level one or ten?
Liv
Ten, I want out.
Jay
If you put me on speaker, I’ll cry and everything.
I snort under my breath.
The waitress saunters off with our orders, of which I am oblivious, and I make sure Brad thinks I’m listening to him, and when he’s mid-story about his “networking circle,” whatever the fuck that is, my phone lights up on the table. I don’t even try to hide my relief.
“Sorry,” I say, picking it up before he can finish his sentence. “I need to take this—it’s my roommate.”
“Everything okay, sweetheart?”
I force a polite smile at the generic nickname while simultaneously swallowing vomit.
On second thought, I’d probably throw up on his shoes to end the date faster than swallow it.
I have nothing against nicknames, but at least give a shit first, remember my actual name before you give me a new one.
Why have all my dates insisted on doing this lately?
I swipe to answer. “Hey,” I say, keeping my voice calm but loud enough for Brad to hear. “What’s wrong?”
Jay doesn’t miss a beat, he’s panting dramatically. “Liv, thank god you picked up. It’s—uh—bad.”
I sit up straighter. “How bad?”
“Really bad,” he cries. “There’s water everywhere.”
My eyes widen for effect. “Water?”
“The sink… It… exploded. There’s a flood. The kitchen’s under siege.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, fighting back a laugh. “Oh my god.”
“I’ve thrown all the towels we own at it. I’m losing ground, fast.”
A quiet snort escapes me before I can stop it. Brad looks startled.
“You need to come home,” Jay continues, tone perfectly serious. “Bring reinforcements. Maybe dessert, too.”
“I’m on my way,” I say quickly, standing and reaching for my coat.
“Good luck, roomie,” he says just before the line clicks off.
Brad’s staring when I hang up. “What happened?”
“Flood,” I say simply. “Blocked sink, I have to go.” I don’t even apologize because I’m not sorry. Brad deserves someone who will want to listen to his stories, and that’s not me.
He frowns. “Do you need help?”
I shake my head, forcing an apologetic smile. “No, I’ve got it. But thank you.”
He hesitates, like maybe he knows this isn’t really about a flood, but he doesn’t care enough to ask. And that tells me everything I need to know.
I toss a few bills on the table—too much, but I want the clean break—and straighten. “Good luck with your… networking circle,” I say, offering a polite, final smile before turning for the door.
I rush outside. The city air hits cool and sharp, cutting through the cloying scent of the restaurant’s perfume and fried oil. It’s like breathing again after holding my breath for an hour.
I pause just outside, my pulse still racing from the rush of it—relief, amusement, the tiniest bit of pride. I glance back through the window. Brad’s already on his phone, probably trying to find someone else’s bed to warm tonight. Thank god it isn’t me.
My phone buzzes before I’ve even made it halfway down the block.
Jay
Mission accomplished?
Liv
The flood was inspired. You’re getting a medal.
Jay
Just doing my civic duty. Did he buy it?
Liv
He did. You’re a very convincing actor.
Jay
It’s the years of bailing Hudson out, it prepared me.
I smile at my phone, shaking my head as I type back.
Liv
Thanks, roomie. You saved me.
Jay
Anytime.
The message lingers on the screen longer than it should, warmth spreading through me despite the cold, and then I realize I’m more excited at the prospect of going home to someone like Jay, who actually makes me laugh, than going on any other dates with men like Brad.
I should probably feel pathetic for needing rescuing, but instead I feel lighter because I didn’t stay for the uncomfortable tonight.
***
The apartment is dark when I get back, with only the faint glow from the lamp in the living room. Jay’s shoes are by the door, his keys on the hook. The small, ordinary signs of him being here settle something in me I didn’t know was unsettled.
The sofa creaks. “You made it back,” Jay says, voice low, rough with sleep. He props himself up on an elbow, hair a mess, blanket sliding down his chest.
“Completely. You missed your calling in Hollywood.”
“Please,” he snorts.
The corner of my mouth lifts. “I mean it, you’ve played the role of my husband, now my rescuer… I think you’re more versatile than you realize.”
His mouth twitches, the hint of a grin surfacing. “Guess I’ll have to start charging for my services.”
“Oh, absolutely,” I say, dropping my keys in the bowl. “I can pay you in gratitude, or I can order us dinner this week, so you don’t have to cook.”
“Tempting,” he says, and there’s a teasing lilt in his voice that makes me glance up.
His hair’s still a mess; he doesn’t have his glasses on right now, so I can see all of his face, and my brain compares the man I just spent the last hour with to him…
the reality is, there is no comparison. Jay is kind, sweet, and thoughtful…
Brad is quite literally none of those things.
So it begs the obvious question: what the hell am I doing dating again?
“Well, I should probably let you sleep,” I say, backing toward my room. “Hero work takes it out of you.”
“Or,” he says, pushing the blanket off his lap, “you could come with me to get ice cream.”
I blink. “Now?”
“Yeah. Scoop Dogg’s still open for another thirty minutes. You in?”
“I…” The word trails off as he stands, reaching for his glasses on the coffee table.
The movement is unhurried, easy, but when he slides them on, the small adjustment of his hand at the bridge of his nose draws my eyes before I can stop them.
There’s something about the half-sleep softness of him, rumpled shirt, messy hair, that grin starting at one corner, that knocks my thoughts slightly off balance.
“Come on, Liv,” he says, voice low, teasing. “You can’t end a date without ice cream. It’s against the law.”
“Right, except you weren’t my date. Do the same rules apply?”
He stands, stretching, revealing a sliver of skin and dark hair that trails lower beneath the band of his sweats, and I’m completely unable to look away.
It isn’t until he steps closer that my eyes trail up the hard planes of his chest until they settle on his lips that I realize he’s grinning at me.
“I might not have taken you on the date, but I’m the one you came home to. I can still be the one to end your night right.”
There’s a promise hidden in his words, and the room shrinks to mold around him.
My heart does that annoying stutter thing, and suddenly it’s too warm in here.
I open my mouth, then close it again, because nothing I could say would sound casual.
His gaze flicks over my face, lazily, not rushing me to say yes to going with him.
The silence stretches. My pulse trips over itself, quick and uneven, and I’m sure he can see it thrumming in my neck.
“You make it hard to think,” I say quietly, more to myself than to him.
His mouth curves, not quite a smile. “Good.” He steps closer, close enough that I catch the warmth off him as he holds out his hoodie.
I take it without thinking, fingers brushing his for half a second too long.
“Rest that beautiful brain of yours,” he says, voice low, “and let’s eat ice cream.
” He moves past me toward the door, pulling it open with one hand, the other sliding into the pocket of his sweats.
“Mint choc chip fixes almost everything.”
I’m starting to think having Jay Oliviera as a roommate can fix almost anything at this point.