6. Beck
SIX
BECK
Grocery shopping with Donovan is surprisingly fun. Everything with Donovan is surprisingly fun.
I’m not sure how well I’m managing the little crush I’ve been developing on my roommate. I’d wanted to do something nice for him, and making breakfast seemed like the obvious choice, but eating elbow to elbow, breathing in his freshly showered scent and trying not to ogle his legs, dark hair covering firm muscles, while bantering over the shopping list, well, it felt intimate. Like boyfriend behavior.
My logical brain knows that whatever intimacy is growing between us is the byproduct of sharing a space and having to get to know each other quickly, not any actual chemistry. But my lizard brain hasn’t gotten the memo, because every time Donovan smiles at me, tiny little fireworks go off in my belly, and today I can’t blame the hangover.
We might be living together, shopping together, taking care of a dog together. But we aren’t boyfriends. And I need to remember that before I do something to embarrass myself.
I always do this—leap into things, relationships, schools, new towns, thinking this time I’ve found the perfect fit, the thing that will stick. And then the guy isn’t The One, it turns out I don’t want to be a teacher/nurse/lawyer, and the seemingly perfect little towns no longer appeal.
Nothing has stuck yet, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to stop looking for the right place to put down roots once Jack and Pete come back.
I’ve got to remember everything about this particular arrangement is temporary. If I keep my head screwed on, then Donovan and I can just have fun, and I won’t end up hurt and leaving Rosedale licking my wounds.
But it’s hard to stay indifferent when I go a little crazy in the baking aisle and he only lifts one thick black eyebrow and says dryly, “I’m going to have to start working out more, aren’t I?”
I sweep a critical eye down Donovan’s trim but muscular frame. He looks good. It doesn’t help he happens to be just my type. Handsome but flawed, a couple inches taller than my five-eight. All man. I force myself to keep my tone light. “If you want to partake of my baking guilt-free, then you just might. Aren’t there a couple of workout machines in the basement? And there’s the pool, of course.”
I’m fully intending to spend my afternoon poolside. Why the hell shouldn’t I? I’m in hyper avoidance mode. Pools were designed for procrastination.
“Right, the pool.” He sounds less than enthused.
“You don’t like swimming?” I try not to pout—maybe it’s better if I don’t have to see him half-naked and wet.
“Swimming is okay, but I’ve been living in Manhattan for twelve years. We do other things for recreation.”
“Oh, yeah?” I can imagine. Donovan has the air of a guy who indulges himself—when it comes to men, at least.
As if to prove the point, he says, “I was thinking of going to the gay bar in Midville tonight. Pete said it’s a good time.”
I tamp down the flare of jealousy. So he wants to go out. He’s got every right. I keep my voice neutral when I say, “On a Monday?”
He frowns. “I forgot it was Monday. Well, I’ll check their hours later. Do we need pasta?”
Almost an hour later, we get in the checkout line with a cart loaded to the brim.
“We’re only staying for two months,” Donovan says as he surveys our haul.
“And believe me, we’ll be back in a week to restock.” I start putting things on the conveyor belt, but he stops me.
“Wait. Should we split it up somehow—or just settle up after?”
“Oh.” I hadn’t thought about money. It’s typically my last concern. “So much of this is stuff I want. I’ll take care of it, and you can get the next grocery run.”
“Are you sure?” He looks doubtfully at all the food.
“I’m sure. You bag.” I shoo him to the end of the conveyor belt.
“New in town?” the woman scanning our purchases asks with a friendly smile. Her name tag reads Annie.
“Yeah. Temporary residents,” I say, smiling back.
“Welcome to Rosedale,” she says.
Donovan lets out something like a snort as he puts the celery in a canvas bag. I glare at him.
“Thank you, Annie,” I say, injecting my voice with all the Texan sweetness I can muster.
She finishes ringing us up, and I tap my credit card. I wait until we’ve pushed the cart out of earshot to admonish him. “You were kind of rude.”
He winces. “Sorry, but I don’t buy all this small-town hokeyness. There’s something in the water here that makes everyone overly chummy. I’m all for politeness, but I’m not here to be indoctrinated into the cult of Rosedale.”
“I think it’s nice,” I say. “Small towns are charming. Not like cities—all smelly and confusing and dirty.”
Donovan smirks. “What about the lack of—uh—options?”
I know what he means. “I don’t need a different guy every night,” I say shortly. I regret it as soon as I say it. Just because I’m not into casual hookups, it doesn’t give me the right to judge.
But he doesn’t seem to take it personally. “Different guy? There aren’t any guys.”
“Not true,” I say, arguing and not exactly knowing why. “Jack’s agent Kingston is gay, and he has a house here.”
“He doesn’t live here full time,” he counters.
“What about Shay?” I open the hatch and we load in the bags.
“Who’s Shay?”
“The guy who did the flowers for Jack and Pete’s wedding. He just moved here. I didn’t meet him, but Jack was going on and on about how great his eye was.”
“One gay guy in a town of, what, a couple thousand? Nice odds.”
“I’m here. You’re here,” I say, running out of patience.
“Yeah, but we’re not—” Donovan stops, the implication clear. I don’t count because he isn’t attracted to me. Which is totally fine and not at all demoralizing. I leave him loading the last few bags to drop into the driver’s seat and slam the door.
A few beats later, he gets in the car. “Look, as much as I like hooking up, I’ve never hooked up with a roommate. It’s just asking for trouble.” His voice is hatefully kind and mortifyingly apologetic. “I’ve had so many bad roommate experiences, and this one has been really good so far. So can we just?—”
“Of course,” I say quickly. “That’s not what I meant, anyway.” I hope the heat in my cheeks doesn’t betray me. “I just meant you might be surprised at the options in a town like Rosedale. Not that we should—” To avoid having to finish that sentence, I start the car and turn the AC up to full blast. “Anyway, Jack and Pete met here, didn’t they?” Why can’t I let this go?
“Turn left,” he says as we approach an intersection.
“I think I can get back home,” I say as I make the turn.
“Anyway, Jack and Pete are not normal,” he says flatly. Maybe he can’t let it go, either.
“Why exactly aren’t they normal?”
“For one thing, they actually seem happy.”
My heart twinges at the sour note in his voice. “I think they are happy.” I feel defensive on their behalf. “They have the whole package. Great house, great relationship, great career. Isn’t that what everyone wants?”
“No.” Donovan doesn’t elaborate, and I can practically feel the bitterness radiating off him.
“Well, some people do,” I say quietly, then switch on the stereo, effectively ending the conversation. The air fills with Top 40 radio and we drive back to the house on Wild Rose Lane without talking. The only good thing to come out of that excruciating exchange was the knowledge that if he doesn’t hook up with roommates, he and Pete probably never messed around, which makes me feel irrationally better.
Cleo greets us with a wagging tail, and I let her out into the backyard while Donovan unloads the groceries. By the time we get everything put away, it’s lunchtime.
“I think I’ll take a sandwich upstairs and try to work,” he says, taking the sliced turkey right back out of the fridge again.
“Sure,” I say breezily, trying to recapture some of the ease of the morning. “I think I’ll eat later. I’m going to try out the pool.”
I go into my room and change into my swimsuit, berating myself for harboring the silly idea that the mild interest Donovan had shown in me meant anything. His no roommate policy actually makes a lot of sense. Why would we want to complicate an already unconventional living situation with sex?
I shake off the melancholy that settles over me knowing that’s all I’ll ever be to Donovan—his roommate. But I take solace in knowing if he’s that touchy about it, he’s probably had some pretty crappy roommates. Well, challenge accepted.
I’ll be the best roommate he ever had.