Chapter 6
WAYLON
Sweat drips from my brow and onto the box of books I’m carrying.
Who made books so heavy? Has no one tried to figure out how to make them lighter?
It does not help that Lyric has what I can only assume is approximately one million books.
I’m not sure how I didn’t notice all of them when I was at her house before, but she owns all of them. All of the books.
“Fuck me, dude. The pizza and beer better be unlimited,” Banks muffles beneath his breath as he passes me in the hallway.
I roll my eyes but agree, actually. She has a lot of things for just being one person.
And all those books? Romances. Some of the boxes were open, and I peeped the titles and covers.
Now, I’m not one to judge, but I’m pretty sure she’s just reading softcore porn.
And in broad daylight, no less. All I have to say is I might have a few questions.
When the last box off the truck makes it inside, Killian shuts the front door and slips his boots off by the door. Banks follows suit, and ten minutes later, we’re all sock-footed and standing around the island in the kitchen waiting for the pizza to arrive.
Lyric produced two cases of beer from her trunk, already cold and ready to drink.
“Lyric, show me what you’re doing in here,” Darcy says, motioning to the sunroom.
The two disappear through the door, and murmurs of furniture can be heard.
“I’m thinking we’re going to end up spending more time here,” Ridge says, pointing the tip of his beer bottle toward them.
The two are disgustingly in love and go everywhere together. If I weren’t so happy for him, I would hate it. But the three of them, Lou included, are the cutest little family.
“Speaking of, when the hell are you proposing?” I ask in a hushed tone.
“Yeah, dude. Shit or get off the pot,” Banks says.
“Gross.” Killian’s one-word comment makes me chuckle under my breath.
“Guys, chill. I’m working on it,” Ridge says. “Actually, now that Lyric lives here, I’m going to recruit both of you to help me.”
Right at the end of his sentence, the girls walk back in.
“I’ll text you,” he quickly says.
The thought of working in cahoots with Lyric to bring Ridge’s proposal plans to life fills me with an odd sense of anxiety. It’s a very romantic thing, proposing. It could get a little uncomfortable.
Pizza, wings, and breadsticks all arrive five minutes later, and everyone digs in like none of us has eaten in days. All this moving has us starved, and no one talks for a full twenty minutes as we all shovel food into our mouths.
Everyone hangs out for a few more hours.
Darcy helps Lyric put away her clothes, and Banks helps me assemble her bed and move it where she wants.
Killian took to arranging her plants in the sunroom, saying he knew what should go where and something about their sunlight needs. That kid is seriously weird.
We say goodbye to them at the door, and amidst the hugs and handshakes, I realize that she won’t be leaving. It’s not like other times, where we’ve all disbanded. I’m distinctly aware of the shift.
The door shuts and I lock the deadbolt behind them.
“This is probably a good time to show you the alarm system,” I say, waving her over.
“Before I go to bed, I set it, and I always disarm it when I wake up to take Tater out. You can go into the sunroom, but if you want to open either of the doors, make sure you turn this off first. The code is one, seven, nine, three, and then you push pound.”
“Got it,” she says. “That feels a lot safer than the baseball bat I usually keep under my bed.”
“Well, I don’t know. Both have their merits.”
Lyric laughs and it makes me feel good to have been the cause.
She never really scowled at me or anything.
It was always more of a blank stare that came off cold and distant.
Somehow being completely unbothered by me feels worse than if she were bitter or hateful toward me.
Because at least then it would be an emotion.
“I think I’m going to grab a shower and lie down,” I say, yawning.
“That’s probably what I’m going to do as well. And I’m going to the grocery store in the morning, if you want anything special. I do a lot of meal prepping on Sundays. I can make you some too.”
Maybe on its face, offering to make your roommate a few meals isn’t a big deal. But since we’re not talking about the night we shared, maybe it’s an opportunity to start over as friends. This could be her version of an olive branch.
“Can I be completely honest with you?”
She nods, swallowing.
“The main point Darcy made when convincing me to move you in was that you would cook for me. I didn’t really need any more convincing after that.”
Lyric laughs. “Honestly, it’s easier to cook for two than just for me.”
“Well, I’m grateful for any food you want to make me. I’m a typical guy. I like red meat, fried things, and would rather starve than eat a salad.”
“You’re kidding. Waylon, that’s so unhealthy,” she says.
“I’ll be fine. I come from a long line of cowboys. It’s baked into our DNA.”
She lets loose that laugh of hers again and starts down the hallway.
“Good night, darlin’,” I call after her.
Her footsteps halt and she turns on her heal, walking back toward me. She squares up right in front of me and pokes me in the chest.
“Listen here, Waylon. There is one rule for this roommate business that has to be respected,” she says, poking me again.
“What’s that?” I try to be serious, but she’s cute when she’s bossy.
“There will be absolutely no hanky-panky,” she says firmly.
I rub my chin, narrowing my eyes. “What if we just did the hanky and not the panky?”
Lyric stares at me without a word.
“You want the panky? Might be hard without the hanky first, but I can manage.” In case you haven’t noticed, I like teasing her.
“Good night, cowboy,” she yells back.
And that’s how I know she must be in a hell of a good mood. She called me that once or twice that night, and I remember liking it very much. I’m surprised to hear it now. It’s also worth noting that she didn’t punch me for my panky joke.
I’m not going to read into it. She’s got a few beers in her, and her friends were just here. She’s riding the high of a good day. That’s all. I’ll gladly accept all the kindness she wants to give out though.
“Come on, Tater,” I say, nodding my head to where he’s sitting on the chair in the living room.
He barks and hops down, then stretches and trots toward me. Oh, to be a dog. Little dude sleeps in the chair, gets up, sleeps in the bed, eats treats, gets belly rubs, and then does it all over again.
I walk past Lyric’s door, pausing for a moment to listen.
I hear the faint sound of water running and know she’s probably getting undressed to take a bath right now.
And fuck, I would’ve been just fine not knowing that.
Now, I’m thinking about soap. Slippery, wet skin and good-smelling shower gel and all the suds. Christ, the suds.
Yep, I definitely would have preferred to step into my shower without that knowledge. Now I have to touch myself.
I don’t let Tater into the bathroom with me. He can’t see this. It ain’t right. No sooner than the water hits my face, I grab my dick. The idea that Lyric is just through that wall and naked is maddening to me.
I stroke myself thinking about that kiss. She told me we didn’t need to talk about it, that nothing happened and it was no big deal. But it was a big deal to me.
The truth is, I fucking panicked. It’s why I broke the kiss, and it’s why I left the next morning. But there’s no way I can say that to her. Really, I should just consider myself lucky that she’s giving me a pass on this one. I’d hate to have to lie to her about it.
Still, I remember her soft lips against mine, the way my hands melted into her skin. The way hers felt gently clawing at my back, pulling my body into hers. And I fucking thought to myself, Holy shit, this feels big. So I pulled away.
I come into the bottom of my shower, grunting and feeling like shit for it. Yep. Good job, Waylon. She’s leaving never and this is your life now.