Chapter 12 The Cheetah and the Dog #2
Lacey, did you tell Jacks I like waffles?
Lacey:
Tanner made you waffles?
Yes. What else did Jacks ask you?
Poppy:
Aw! That’s so sweet.
Lacey?
Lacey:
He said Tanner was making dinner and wanted to know what you liked. I didn’t think much of it.
It doesn’t mean anything, right? Like this is just our friend being nice. Not trying to get in my pants?
Poppy:
I’m telling you he’s not the guy you think he is. I think he wants to make you feel comfortable and feels really bad about your apartment. You can trust him.
Okay.
Lacey:
Poppy’s right. He’s a flirt and goofball, but I don’t think they’re fuck me waffles.
Gray:
Get back out there, get out of your head, and stop making it weird.
They’re right. They aren’t fuck me waffles. They’re platonic roommate waffles. Now, get back out there, and be an adult.
I wash my hands and then walk out of the bathroom and down the hall toward the kitchen.
“Sorry about that,” I say.
“You don’t have to apologize. Hungry?” He gestures to the table, and I see two plates sitting across from each other. Both are stacked high with freshly made waffles, bacon, and eggs prepared my favorite way—scrambled with cheese.
“Starving.” I take a seat in front of one of the plates, but he remains in the kitchen.
“What do you want to drink? Mimosa?”
“Oh, I don’t like orange juice.”
“Then it’s a good thing I wasn’t planning on making them with orange juice.” The corner of his mouth tips upward.
I watch as he walks over to the fridge, and pulls out strawberries, elderflower liqueur, champagne, basil, and something I can’t identify.
“What’s that?” I point at the little jar filled with pink liquid.
“Strawberry juice that I made earlier,” he says nonchalantly, pouring a little into each glass. He tops each one with some champagne and a shot of St. Germain.
I don’t know how to describe it, but he seems so natural at making it. Practiced even. He tops each one with a basil leaf and a sliced strawberry.
“Are you some type of secret mixologist?” I ask as he hands me one of the glasses.
“Just a hobby,” he says, taking the seat across from me.
“So, you wear suits to work and make cocktails in your spare time? Who knew you had a secret double life?”
He laughs. “No, I’ve just taken a couple cocktail making classes for fun. It’s nothing. I also don’t usually wear suits to work.” He takes a long drink of the cocktail. “So, tell me about you. Any secret double life I should know about?”
“No secret job, but I do paint in my spare time.” I take a bite of my waffles. An accidental moan escapes when the mix of butter and syrup hits my tongue.
“You like them?” he chuckles.
“Sorry. Yeah they’re really, really good.”
“You don’t have to apologize. It was hot…I mean cute…no, funny. It was funny. I’m glad you like them.”
I offer him an awkward smile. “Shall we talk about the move in plan?” I suggest.
“Yeah. Let’s do that.”
“Okay, well I was thinking there’s really no need for me to wait until the end of next month. Your company was so kind to offer to let us cut our leases whenever we want, so would it be weird if I moved this weekend?”
“This weekend?”
“Is that too soon? It’s just that most of my neighbors have already left, and I’m certain a ghost has taken up residence in the apartment above mine.”
“A ghost?”
“Yes, a ghost. My upstairs neighbors moved, and Dolly and I heard footsteps last night. How else would you explain it?”
“Do ghosts walk? I thought they floated.”
“I don’t know what they do, but I know what I heard.”
“Okay,” he chuckles. “That’s fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“It’s perfect.”
“Thank you. I’ll just need to crash for six months max, but hopefully I’ll be out in three. I’d like to pay you rent. I don’t want to be your charity case.”
“I’m not accepting your money. I fucked you.”
I choke on my drink.
“No. Shit. I meant I fucked you over with the apartment.”
He takes another large sip from his glass, and I try to stifle a laugh. The slightest hint of pink colors his cheeks and the tips of his ears.
Is he really this awkward or am I making him nervous?
“Let me try again. We’re friends,” he says. “I feel bad about you getting kicked out of your apartment. Letting you stay here for free is the least I could do.”
“I appreciate that, but I want to at least pay my half of utilities and bills. Just tell me how much I owe you a month, and I’ll send you the money.”
“You know I’m, like, really rich, right?”
“No, you aren’t.”
“I’ve got a trust fund and a paycheck that says I am.” His eye shifts down to his shirt. “And I’m not telling you that to be a tool. It’s just I don’t need your money.”
He’s rich? I glance around his apartment. I mean it’s a nice place, but it doesn’t scream I have all of my daddy’s money at my fingertips.
“Well regardless, I can still pay you something.”
“That won’t be necessary.” He shakes his head.
“Tanner.” I put down my fork, looking him dead in the eye. “I know you feel bad, but I can’t let you pay for everything. It’s not right. I have a job. I’m a semi-functioning adult. I’m very appreciative of your offer, but I have to give you something.”
He takes a huge bite of food, and I can see the gears turning in his head.
“Hang out with me one night a week, and we’ll call it even.”
What the hell?
“I’m not dating you,” I say a little too quickly—and harshly.
His jaw ticks.
“No, they wouldn’t be dates. Hang out with me as my friend. Let me get to know you, and let me show you I’m not the douchebag you think I am.”
“I’ve never called you a douche—”
“You didn’t have to.” His shoulders sag, and he tries to hide the downhearted look on his face behind another bite of his food. My whole face heats with embarrassment as guilt radiates off of me.
“I don’t think you're a douchebag. You just remind me of someone from my past.” The minute the words come out of my mouth, I wish I could take them back.
“I’m guessing he wasn’t the best guy?” he asks, totally defeated.
“No,” I say quietly. “He wasn’t.”
“Then let me prove to you that I’m nothing like him. One weekly roomie night, and we’ll call it even,” he repeats.
I turn over his offer in my head. It would be much more affordable than paying him, but it still doesn’t feel like enough. Plus, now I feel like a total asshole, so I’m going to have to do so much more than one measly roomie night a week.
“What will we do on these roomie nights?”
“Whatever we want. No rules. Just two friends hanging out.”
I study him for a few more seconds.
“I have no ulterior motives. You said you want to pay me back, so give me your time. You can trust me,” he says. “I promise.”
“Alright,” I agree. “You have a deal.” I put out my hand, and his large hand envelopes mine completely. My eyes lock on where we connect. My skin buzzes under his touch, and I quickly tug away.
“Deal,” he says as a goofy grin spreads across his face. “Now that that’s settled, I bought us a game to play.”
“A game?”
“Yeah, we don’t have to play if you don’t want to, but I thought it was important that we get to know each other better since you’ll be living here.” He gestures to a box of cards in the middle of the table. I pick it up and read the back.
“So they’re just like icebreakers?” I ask, setting it back in between us.
“I think so,” he says. “If you think it’s dumb we can skip it.”
“It’s not dumb.” I pop the lid off the box, grabbing the top card. “What’s your favorite conspiracy theory?” I read.
“Aliens are real, and the government is hiding them from us,” he says with no hesitation.
“Aliens?”
“Yeah. You don’t believe in them?”
“I’ve never really given them much thought,” I say, taking a bite of waffles. “But maybe.”
“What conspiracy theory do you think is real?”
“That’s tough. I don’t think I believe any of them. Maybe that Princess Diana was really murdered.”
“Oh that’s a good one.”
I shrug. “I guess we’ll never know. Your turn to pick a card.”
He digs down in the box, grabbing one halfway down the stack. “What’s your favorite color?”
“Easy. Orange.”
“No, it’s not,” he says.
“What? You don’t think orange is a good color?”
“No, I think it’s the best color.”
“You don’t.”
“I do.”
I study him, not sure I’m buying the whole we have the same favorite color move, but I let it slide. I grab a card off the top. “What’s your favorite animal?”
“Dogs.”
“That tracks.” I laugh. “So basic.”
He sips his drink. “I bet my reason isn’t what you think.”
“I imagine you like them because they’re man’s best friend or something. Doesn’t every guy like dogs?”
“I mean, Jacks is obsessed with birds, so no.”
“Okay, then why do you like them?”
“I went to the San Diego Zoo as a kid, and they have this program where they pair cheetahs with dogs. It’s so funny because the friendship makes no sense, but they become best friends despite their reputations.”
I put my fork down and stare at him.
“The cheetahs aren’t used to living in the new environment, and despite their power are really anxious animals.
It’s their instinct to run because they’re so damn fast, but the dogs help make them comfortable.
I just think it’s really cool that a dog can befriend anything, even something as beautiful and wild as a cheetah,” he explains.
“Are you bullshiting me right now?”
“What? Why would you think that?”
“Is this some sort of metaphor? Am I the cheetah?”
“That depends. Are you saying you’re wild and beautiful?” He smirks.
My face heats.
“Forget it.” I take a bite of waffles.
He begins to laugh. “Oh, I get it,” he says. “You’re the cheetah and I’m the dog. Our friendship doesn’t make sense, but we’re going to be best friends. Is that right?”
“Forget I said it.” I roll my eyes.
“No, I like it. I know you’re nervous about moving in with me, but I’ll help make you feel comfortable.
I promise.” Another goofy grin spreads across his face, and my stomach flips.
I stuff another bite of waffle in my mouth, pushing whatever the hell that feeling is as far away as humanly possible.
“So what’s your favorite animal?”
“A cat,” I say around the bite of food.
“Ha!” he laughs. “And you called me basic. Why do you like cats?”
“I don’t know; I’ve just always liked them.”
He chuckles and grabs a card. “What’s your favorite food?”
“You already know it’s waffles, but what you don’t know is that I usually like to eat them with mini marshmallows on top.”
“Mini marshmallows?”
“Yeah,” I smile at the memory that pops into my head. “When my brother and I were younger, my dad used to cover them with butter, mini marshmallows, and syrup. It’s delicious.”
“Noted,” he says. “Next time I’ll have mini marshmallows.”
A small smile breaks across my face.
“What’s your favorite food?” I ask.
“Tacos.”
“So basic,” I say, giggling.
“Tacos are a superior food,” he argues. “Don’t tell me you’re anti-tacos. I will have to rescind the roommate offer.”
“No, I’m definitely not anti-tacos.”
“Thank god!”
We finish eating, asking a few more rounds of questions. I’m surprised to find out that there might be more to him that meets the eye.
After helping him clean up the kitchen, he gives me a quick tour, and despite my prior thoughts, there is no lost and found closet full of clothes from hookups past to be found, and the apartment is really clean.
We measure the room that will be mine, and I jot down notes in my phone. When we’re done, he walks me to my car.
“I’ll see you this weekend for the move,” he says.
“Sounds good,” I say. There’s an awkward pause, and he gives me a weird side hug. “Thanks for dinner.”
“Anytime, roomie,” he smiles, and I climb into my car, unsure of what to make of our evening.
The Tortured Therapists Department
Update: They definitely weren’t fuck me waffles. But we are on for the move this weekend! Y’all want to start Saturday morning? Is 8 too early?
Lacey:
Not for you.
Poppy:
Yay! We’ll be there.
Gray:
Count me in!
Chloe:
Me too! I’ll head over once I get Ava settled with my mom.
Y’all are the best!