Chapter 7
RAFE
My cute albeit ineffectual attempt at creating space for myself and reminding the hockey player that he wasn’t the only one living in this house was a bust. I should have known better.
I’d thrown a party and made it everything I’d assumed my idiot roommate would hate, and the whole ridiculous thing had blown up in a big ball of stupid. A wellness gathering was an original idea, but I didn’t know most of the people who’d actually shown up.
Oh, yes…and I was sure they had a lot to say about me sneaking pinky snogs with Eli, who’d later been seen flirting with my terrible, horrible roommate.
Ugh. This was what I got for trying to change the status quo.
I stayed as far from Gus as possible for the rest of the evening.
If he was outside, I went inside to whisper-chat with Jackson and watch strangers contort themselves into pretzels in the living area or morph into human statues in the family room.
And because I was a glutton for punishment, I couldn’t help noticing Eli hovering in Gus’s orbit like a gnat.
Okay, maybe I was overreacting. Eli had sought me out for one more pinky moment before he left. I wasn’t sure what that meant. Probably nothing, ’cause that was the last I saw of him.
I was counting on Gus to disappear early. With any luck, Kelsi might entice him to leave with her. The night was young and according to Celine, there was a must-see band playing at The Tavern tonight. Everyone was going.
“Leave the tidying for later,” Celine had cajoled. “Come with us. This was fun and everyone loved it, but let’s go have another kind of fun now.”
“You go. I’ll join you later.”
She gave me a stern once-over, made another plea for my immediate riveting company, but finally gave up and told me to change and text her when I was on my way.
Not happening.
All I wanted was for everyone to go home so I could sulk in peace and quiet. I had big plans for a Sex and the City marathon on my laptop under oodles of covers in a completely empty house with me, myself, and—
“I checked outside for trash, but there wasn’t any. And I moved the sofa and the coffee table back, so everything is where it’s supposed to be,” Gus reported. “Let me do the dishes. You can chill.”
I did a double take.
Oh, God. He felt sorry for me. Just what I needed.
“No, thanks. I’ve got this. My party, my mess.” I grabbed a dish towel and headed for the sink.
“Dude. I’m helping.” Gus shrugged, his beefy shoulders straining the seams of his T-shirt with the effort.
He wasn’t built for small gestures. Everything about Gus Langley was loud and larger than life, and frankly, it was exactly the opposite of what I wanted.
“No, th—”
“Yes,” he countered, snagging the dish towel from my hands.
I snatched it back. “Why?”
“You’ve done it for me.”
True, but…
“No, I mean…why to all of it? Why are you here? Why are you being nice? Why are you talking to me at all? I called you names and told you to buzz off hours ago. I’m not even sorry about that.
Nonetheless, it can’t be my charming personality and it can’t be—oh!
Oh no, you’re not planning on calling your friends to come by for a real party, are you?
Please don’t. I’m begging you. And no, I’m not above begging. ”
“Whoa. Relax. You’re spinnin’ hard for a guy who just had a mojo reset.”
“My mojo did not reset,” I snapped, wrapping my fingers around the edge of the dish towel.
“You losin’ your marbles, Rafe-man?”
“I’m fine.”
No, I wasn’t fine at all. I was one kind word away from a mental breakdown.
Or maybe one kind look.
Gus leaned against the counter, studying me, his expression soft, contrite, and… vulnerable. It almost ruined my long-standing impression of him as a self-serving, obnoxious hockey jerk and made me wonder if I’d gotten it all wrong.
Maybe the universe had been telling me I’d never belonged at Smithton, and I’d stubbornly ignored the warnings.
Maybe trying to prove that if I could survive injury and a year with Gus Langley, I could do anything had been an exercise in futility.
Sacrifice and hard work were one thing…I didn’t have to be unhappy too.
But I was unhappy. It was so obvious that even my terrible roommate felt sorry for me.
And standing next to a pile of dirty dishes in a kitchen with bad lighting, scuffed, ugly cabinets and chipped ivory tiles with a guy I could barely tolerate had to be some kind of rock bottom.
I sniffed noisily and picked up the sponge.
Do not cry. Do not fucking cry.
“I’m sorry,” Gus said softly.
“For what?” I ran water over the dried remnants of baba ganoush.
“Taking your food, throwing too many parties, being too loud, too…me. Take your pick—I’m guilty.”
“Thanks. It’s okay.”
“It’s not, and we both know it.” Gus sighed, pushing a hand through his hair. “I guess I should—hey, don’t cry. I’m—shit, I’m so sorry. I—”
“I’m not crying,” I growled, blinking furiously.
“Okay, but your eyes are kinda watery, and if I had anything to do with that, I—”
And there went the last of my marbles.
“Ugh! Stop! Just stop. Stop talking, stop trying to be nice, stop being so…you! It’s terrible, the worst. Everything is a joke to you, every day is a party, and everyone gets to be your best buddy.
Well, I don’t want to be your buddy. I don’t want anything to do with you.
I’m sorry I came up with this absurd idea in the first place. It was dumb and mean and—”
“Mean? How so?”
“Because I wanted to make you uncomfortable. And I failed. So now I feel ridiculous and small and ashamed. And you’re still you—everyone’s pal, including the guy I sort of have a crush on. So excuse my candor, and if possible, let me enjoy my mental collapse in peace. Thank you very much.”
I poured too much liquid soap on the sponge and proceeded to clean the hell out of the baba ganoush bowl.
My shoulders tensed, and my jaw hurt. I wished he’d leave so I could properly fall apart, but no…
Gus picked up the dish towel I’d thrown on the counter and dried the bowl.
He put it away and reached for the next dish.
We worked in silence. I’d said more than enough, and since I couldn’t physically shove his gigantic butt out of the kitchen, I was stuck with him.
Buzz buzz
Gus glanced at his incoming message and slipped his cell into his pocket.
“Sounds like the whole campus is at The Tavern tonight,” he commented as if I hadn’t spent the past ten minutes oversharing and embarrassing us both.
“You should go.” My voice was rough with pent-up emotion.
“Nah. Not tonight. I’d rather fix this.”
I handed him the last dish and sighed. “I don’t think personality transplants are a thing, and unfortunately, ours aren’t compatible. It happens. Let’s agree to be respectful for the remainder of my lease and call it a day.”
“Fuck that. I know an apology won’t cut it. You’re tired of me, and nothing I say will change that. Talk is cheap, right? It’s all about action.” He paced to the fridge and crossed his arms. “So here’s what I’m gonna do.”
“Gus…no.” I rolled my eyes and rubbed them. The urge to sob like a baby had passed, but I still wanted to throttle him. “This is not a game, and—”
“Wrong. It’s the roommate game.”
“No, no, no.”
“Trust me. This will be good. We’re gonna get to know each other for real.
Like a guessing game, but better. See, when you don’t know someone, you’re supposed to ask questions, break the ice.
I’ve been doing it badly for five months, and I want a chance to fix it.
Get it right, ya know?” He looked nervous for a beat before continuing in a rush.
“You’re sick of me and my shit and I don’t blame you, so maybe this is a one-sided game for now.
Or always. That’s okay. First up, I’m gonna go out on a limb, and say you don’t like messes, empty fridges, and loud parties.
Or maybe just not too many loud parties in a row. How am I doing so far?”
“Good, but—”
“Cool, I can fix those things. As for Eli…” He blew a strand of hair from his forehead and narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t know you had a crush on him. I swear I wouldn’t have flirted…not even a little. I’m not that guy.”
“I believe you. Let’s just—”
“So I’ll be your wingman,” Gus pronounced.
“Huh?”
“You heard me. Eli is a good-looking, confident dude and my take is that the finger action means he’s into you. But if he’s leaving you in pinky land, you gotta make some sexy moves and let him know you’re serious about gettin’ down.”
I widened my gaze. “Lovely offer, but hard pass. And please don’t say finger action again.”
Gus snickered like a loon. “I know what I’m talking about. I betcha he’s not sure what you’re selling.”
“What I’m…selling? Are you high?”
“No, and it’s been a long fucking week,” he replied, almost inaudibly.
“Well, I’m not a ho, and I’m not selling—”
“Untwist those panties, Rafester. Everyone is selling something, and if they tell you they aren’t, they’re lying.
Let me give you an example. Say you meet a guy at a bar, and you hit it off.
Ka-pow!” Gus made a fireworks gesture. “It’s a cosmic connection.
Physical attraction, mental kismet, the whole nine yards.
You’re sure you’ve met your match. But it can go a few different ways.
A, you find a bathroom stall and get it out of your system within an hour. ”
I hung my head in dismay. “Oh, my God.”
“B, you go directly to his place and fuck like bunnies,” he continued, following me into the family room.
Unsurprisingly, Gus couldn’t take a hint.
“Maybe you exchange numbers, maybe you don’t.
C, you exchange numbers at the bar, he calls you.
A week later, you go on a real date. Sex or no sex…
who knows? It’s the connection that matters.
It gets stronger every time you see each other, and you finally clue in that this is your person.
Break it down like this…hot, medium, or slow and smooth. ”
I fluffed a throw pillow to give my hands something to do. This entire exchange was weird. Very weird.
“This isn’t about sex.”
“Everything leads there anyway, so why not?”
I threw the pillow at Gus’s head, grumbling as he caught it and waggled his brows.
“And what does any of that A, B, C scenario have to do with Eli?”
“He’s a guy looking for a signal from someone he’s attracted to, Captain Oblivious. That’s you, by the way. Eli likes you, but doesn’t know how to read you. Or maybe he doesn’t know how to behave with a scenario-C gentleman such as yourself. That’s where I come in.”
“This is preposterous, but you might as well keep going.” I flopped onto the sofa, letting the weight of the day pull me into the too-soft cushions.
Gus perched on the opposite side and faced me. “You want him to call you, set up a dinner date in advance, buy you flowers—”
“I don’t need flowers.”
“No, but you want ’em. Admit it. Nothing over the top. No roses for you. I bet you like sunflowers.”
“I—yes, I do.”
“Knew it.” He flashed a wicked smile, tossing the pillow back at me. “See where I’m going with this? I’ll coach you and help you read his signals.”
“Coach me? Wow…that’s truly convoluted yet shockingly thoughtful. Thank you for thinking of me.”
“No problem.”
“However, you forgot that he’s interested in you too, and—”
“Not anymore. I told him I’m seeing someone.”
I frowned. “Are you?”
“No, but you like him and I respect that. And let’s be real. The only reason I’m on Eli’s radar is because he knows I fit in the A-to-B scenario. No dinner or flowers required,” he replied matter-of-factly. “We could go straight to pound town.”
“God, you’re disgusting.”
Gus’s grin widened to epic proportions. “Attraction is easy. Sex is easy. Our buddy Eli doesn’t want to hold my pinky, but my dick is—”
“Stop.” I launched across the sofa and flattened the throw pillow over his face.
He batted me away like a fly, laughing. “All right, all right. You get the point.”
“I do. However, I’m not desperate, and I’m not so hung up on Eli that I need outside help to bend him to my will. If it’s not meant to be, that’s okay.”
I meant every word. Gus’s earnest apology and odd take on mending fences was sweet but totally unnecessary.
“Maybe it is meant to be. The finger action is a clue to—”
“I told you not to say that. It’s nasty.”
He made a lewd gesture with two fingers, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “He likes you, Rafe. Go get him. That’s all.”
I narrowed my gaze. “You think so? Don’t answer. That’s too high school.”
“I do. I’m good at anal-o-gizing.” Yes, he emphasized anal.
“Analo-gizing,” I corrected automatically, raking a thumb along the cushion seam. I must have been in a more dire frame of mind than I’d thought, because suddenly Gus’s suggestion didn’t sound downright mortifying.
“So…are you gonna let me be your wingman?”
“I don’t need romantic assistance,” I hedged.
“You do. Pinky limbo isn’t sustainable, dude. There’s no guarantee anything will happen, but something might if you give it a chance. And…if you give me a chance to show you that I can be a better roommate, the next few months of living together might not be so bad,” he added with a boyish shrug.
The problem with Gus was that it was hard to stay mad at him when he turned on the charm.
So…I slowly nodded.
“That would be nice,” I admitted.
He beamed. “Good. Hey, don’t look so worried. This is gonna be great.”
I highly doubted it. But this was the first real conversation I’d had with Gus in months that didn’t involve me nagging about food, noise, and general mess. I’d try almost anything to string three months of relative harmony together. Even taking on a wingman.
Oh…
No, this was a bad idea.