Chapter 3
WAYLON
This probably isn’t the best idea. Or even a good one. In fact, it’s probably terrible. But that Darcy can be very convincing. I can even go so far as to say I understand why Ridge fell for her so hard the way he did. She’s got spirit.
She sold me on Lyric as a roommate when she mentioned she’s really good at cooking and likes to prep her meals for the week.
And how she used to do it for the both of them.
And then sprinkled bonus points all over it by mentioning how she really loves dogs and would be more than happy to dog sit for me.
How do I argue against those excellent points?
But… there are points in the negative column too.
A certain evening that feels both long ago and just last week.
I really biffed it when I went dude on her and left things the way I did.
It was a night where technically nothing happened.
An almost that never came to fruition. Sure, that’s my fault.
Possibly. But it’s been too long now. The more time that passed, the more it felt stupid to try to explain.
Was there much to explain? I don’t know.
I was a guy and she was a girl, and fuck did I want that kiss to lead somewhere, but we were talking and it was flowing.
I told her things I’ve never told any of the guys. And quite frankly, it scared the shit out of me. I panicked. Possibly. Have I said that out loud to anyone? Of course not. The guys all still think nothing happened. And she said the same. The end. Nothing happened.
Part of me wonders if that moment has passed us up completely.
It totally has, right? Which means there shouldn’t be any issues with us being roommates.
Moment is gone. Done. So perhaps there isn’t all the much listed in the negative column.
She’s Darcy’s friend; in the circle already, sort of; I know she’s a good person.
So really, it makes perfect sense. I feel like I’ve been talking myself in and out of this for two days, and she’s going to be here to look at the place in…
I check the time and realize she should be here any minute.
I jump up from the couch. I’ve been neck-deep in my thoughts for longer than I intended. That’s what happens to me. I decide to take a minute to sort myself out, and nearly forty minutes later, I snap out of it and realize I’ve been in my head for too long.
My phone buzzes in my back pocket. I already know it’s Lyric, considering this is exactly what time she’s supposed to arrive.
LYRIC
I’m here.
After the other day, when Darcy played mediator between us, she got fed up, gave us each other’s numbers, and told us to figure it out ourselves.
I don’t blame her. Lyric didn’t want to talk directly to me just yet, so she told Darcy to ask me what day she could come see the place.
I told Darcy whatever worked for Lyric was fine.
Then she asked me if Saturday, also known as today, was fine.
I asked what time, Darcy said Lyric didn’t care, and that she was over going between us.
“Here’s her number,” she’d texted. “Y’all better get your shit together. ”
But I didn’t text first, oh no. I waited. And waited. And waited. And then I fell asleep. I woke up to exactly this text: I’ll be there at one. To which I said, “Ok” and that’s it, ladies and gentlemen. Until now, of course. I’ve been given the two-word gift of “I’m here.”
I scramble to my feet, jostling Tater awake in the fuss. He grumbles his many sarcastic thanks and hops down from the couch, stretching his short legs out in front of him as far as they’ll go. Which is not far at all.
He pads behind me, his little nails clicking and clacking on the hardwood floor. He never knows where we’re going or why, but his tail sure does wag like he’s happy as pie about it.
I swallow back the bit of nerves I’ve been trying to keep at bay. The only times I’ve seen Lyric since that night have been in group settings where she didn’t so much as give me a nod hello. And now we’re about to be alone without the buffer of company, forced to speak to each other.
My hand pauses on the doorknob for one more second, and then I swing the door open.
There she is, wearing that sourpuss face she’s almost always wearing when she’s looking at me.
It’s the damndest thing. The minute she’s no longer looking at me, the sourpuss face washes away.
It’s nearly instant, which I believe to be a hell of a talent.
“Hello, darlin’.” I plaster on my biggest smile. Because despite the sullen expression, her face still makes me do it. I have zero control over it.
“Hi,” she says. Her arms are crossed tightly over her chest. She’s holding her elbows like it’s frigid outside, when it’s actually a very warm sixty and sunny.
“Come on in. Have a look at the place.” I step back from the doorway, giving her a wide birth so she feels comfortable coming in. I don’t know what it’s like to be a woman, but I imagine considering moving in with a guy, stranger or not, might give you a little anxiety.
Lyric steps over the threshold, but she’s not looking around at the place like I’d expect. Her eyes are fixed on my feet. Well, the ball of fluff standing to the right of them, I should say.
“Oh, this is Tater. He’s a very well-mannered dude. Tater, go.”
On cue, he lunges forward, standing on his back paws and jumping against her leg. If he were a big dog, I’m not sure I’d let him. But considering he doesn’t clear your kneecaps, you’re not in any real danger of being toppled over.
Tater barks his hello, and Lyric immediately drops to her knees, running her hands over his back and stuffing up his hair.
“Hewwo, pwetty dawgie,” she says in a very appropriate dog baby voice.
“Aren’t you just the pwettiest boy, oh my goodness.” She scratches behind his left ear, causing him to stomp his back right leg over and over, the way Thumper on Bambi did.
“It’s the damdest thing.” I laugh, rubbing the back of my neck. “Not sure how his left ear and right left got cross wired, but he’ll tap that foot every single time.”
“Aww, we wuv that tapping boy, don’t we? Yes, we do,” she says to him.
She’s spoken more words to him in the past thirty seconds than the entire year we’ve known each other. Great.
“He’ll let you pick him up and carry him around while I show you the place, if you want. He’s kind of a ham like that.”
Lyric’s eyes grow wide with excitement as she adjust hers arms to scoop him up.
And just as predicted, he flops back in her arms and lets her hold him like a damn baby.
This dog, I swear. He’s the picture of calm, with a slack head and floppy paws.
It’s his tail that betrays him. It’s flicking back and forth at a good pace.
Truth be told, I do use Tater as a thermometer for people.
If he trusts them, so do I. For example, he does not like our next-door neighbor, Mr. Talbot.
And let me put it this way: if the cops suddenly swarmed his house and dug up bodies in his backyard, I wouldn’t be not one bit surprised.
He’s got those “too nice” vibes, if you know what I mean.
“This is the living room,” I say, motioning to the couch and surrounding area. Yeah, great. Like she doesn’t know what a fucking living room looks like. “Over here’s the kitchen, and really, I have just about anything you could need. You’re welcome to use any of it.”
I watch her eyes roam over what I consider to be the cherry on top of this house.
When I bought it, I pretty much stripped it down to the studs in every room.
I mean, hell, I bought the thing. I wanted it to be perfect.
I put a thick butcher block countertop in, painted the cabinets white on top and sage on the bottom, with stainless steel appliances and a clean white subway tile backsplash.
“The oven is gas, six burners. The kitchen wasn’t as big as I wanted it to be, but I managed to make it work.”
“Wow,” she says, her eyes still taking it all in. She catches sight of me looking at her and blinks several times, seemingly snapping out of a trance.
“But before I show you the rest of the place, maybe we should talk? And pardon my manners, can I get you something to drink?”
Lyric’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly, likely surprised by both questions.
“Oh, um, what do you have?”
“Sweet tea, beer, and water.” Wow, those are not a lot of things.
“Sweet tea, please.”
I round the corner of the island and grab a glass from the cabinet next to the fridge. I push it into the door to fill it with ice, the silence behind me deafening. Ice clinking into a glass has never been so fucking loud.
“So what do you want to talk about? I brought references and my ID, if you need me to fill out an application?”
I spin around slowly with her glass, slide it onto the counter in front of a stool, and invite her to sit. She does, to my relief, after putting Tater down. “Uh, no, nothing like that. I mean, about the thing.”
“What thing?” she asks, picking up her glass. She presses her bottom lip to the edge, eyes still on me as she sips.
I do not miss the knot in my throat I have to swallow or the fact that my dick just jumped a little. I quietly shift my weight from one leg to the other.
“Well, the night we—”
“Oh, we don’t need to talk about that,” she says, tossing it out so casually, I’m unsure if we’re talking about the same thing for a minute. But I know we are. There are literally no other things we could be talking about.
“We don’t?”
“There’s nothing to talk about. Nothing happened.” She shrugs, taking another sip.
“Well, we almost—”
Lyric’s hand flies up between us, halting me.
She gulps from her glass, then sets it down, exhaling slowly.
“Listen, Waylon. Before you get all feelings and emotions on me, I’m fine.
I’ve been fine. Nothing happened between us, and we can move on.
It only got weird for like a second because you literally never talked about it.
” She huffs and starts again. “I mean, did I want to know why you got up and left after the next morning and then ignored me? Sure, I did. But that’s in the past. I don’t still wonder about it.
” She pauses, looking around. “And to be quite honest, it wasn’t even that big of a deal.
It was a single kiss. I’m going to need a lot more than one little kiss to feel something. ”
At some point during her rant, I folded my arms over my chest in pure amusement.
My mouth has involuntarily lifted on the left side like it does when I’m enjoying myself.
And I know she knows that. If she were a mythical creature, she would be a baby dragon.
But because I don’t want to get kicked in the manhood, I don’t tell her that.
The night in question was a doozy. She knows it. I know it. But it would seem we’ve reached an impasse.