Chapter 21
JAMIE
I glance at the computer clock with growing irritation.
This is the third time this week that I’ve had to stay behind at work.
I swear we have a poltergeist, because something always stops working at the most inconvenient of times.
If it’s not the printer, it’s the WiFi. And if it’s not the WiFi, it’s the dryer.
Today, it’s the final report that doesn't match the daily total. This one I can’t really blame on a vengeful ghost, that’s my fault, but the point still stands!
And as if that’s not enough, I start to notice the telltale patpatpat sound of rain drumming against the roof.
Just perfect. With a bit of luck, it will have stopped by the time I finish.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Standing in the open door twenty minutes later, I can barely see through what might as well be a waterfall pouring from the sky.
The street’s already half-flooded, water rushing along the curb, bouncing off the asphalt in a steady roar.
The kind of rain that soaks you through in seconds.
The kind that makes you question every decision that led you here—namely, not checking the weather before leaving the house.
“Just perfect.”
I dig my phone out of my pocket, holding out hope despite knowing better. The surge pricing, while expected, makes my eyebrows lift.
To be wet and poor, or dry and poorer? That’s the question…
I could also wait it out, but, you know, there’s a good chance I wouldn’t get home until the wee hours of the morning. Might as well just sleep here.
That’s an idea. The massage tables are pretty comfortable.
Just not so comfortable that I’d wanna risk my job for it.
I fiddle with my phone, my thumb hovering over the Contacts icon. I could call Tyler. I know he’d pick up, and I know he’d grab his keys and jump in the car even before the call finished.
But that’s the problem. I’ve been relying on him too much lately—and by lately, I mean since I moved in with him. He’s come to my rescue one time too many, and while he doesn’t show it, I’m sure that saving my ass is becoming a little stale.
I’m just his roommate, his fuckbuddy. He shouldn’t have to be at my beck and call just because I constantly find myself in unpleasant situations. That’s a great recipe for making him fed up with me and my antics in no time.
I don’t want that. I know that what we have is temporary, but even temporary can last a good while, right?
It’s only been two weeks since we started this arrangement, and I’ve never been so happy and so anxious in equal measure.
To my relief and delight, we’ve been at it non-stop.
The second one of us gets home (usually me, since I have to actually leave the apartment to go to work), we are all over each other, shedding our clothes and looking for the nearest surface to fall onto.
Sure, the floor is always there, but once Tyler spotted the rug burn on my knees, he’s been adamant the surface needs to have proper cushioning.
I don’t mind. Yeah, I have to wait a little longer to get that thick cock inside me, but I also get carried around like royalty.
It’s great. If Tyler gets this desperate when he sees me, it means he’s been waiting for me.
It means he hasn’t been with anyone else that day.
Sadly, that doesn’t stop me from spending the time we’re apart agonizing over whether he’s with someone right now.
Even when we’re tangled in each other, my senses look for the signs of a woman’s presence.
My nose searches for a distinctly feminine scent; my eyes for marks on Tyler’s body not left by me.
I haven’t found either…yet. But that absence only amplifies my anxiety, because I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.
So I need to hurry home, before Tyler decides he’s been waiting for me for too long.
I exhale, shoving my phone back into my pocket. “Wet and poor, it is.”
I step under the overhang and lock the door.
The hood of my hoodie goes up, which is mostly symbolic at this point.
I dig my backfoot into the ground ready to take off, as if I’m a professional sprinter and not an idiot who forgot his umbrella and is too broke to call a cab. Well, you live and learn.
A horn cuts through the static sound of the rain, startling me. It sounded very close. I squint through the torrential downpour. A familiar car comes into blurry view.
Oh.
The window slides down, and there he is. The reason why I’ve been waking up lately with a smile on my face and an ache in my chest. And in other places.
“Planning on swimming home?” Tyler calls, raising his voice just enough to carry over the rain. I can hear his smile in it, and it pierces through me like a knife dipped in honey.
Taking an instinctive step forward, I backtrack when rain immediately catches on my sleeves.
“What are you doing here?”
“It’s raining,” he says matter-of-factly. It’s very…Tyler.
I want to run to him.
As if reading my thoughts, he says, “Hold on.” Then he’s pushing the door open and unfolding an umbrella.
He walks over quickly, tilting the umbrella over both of us, even though it’s dry where we are.
“Were you actually gonna make a run for it?” He sounds amused. “Brave.”
“Financially responsible,” I correct. “I wanted to call a cab, but the prices are outrageous.”
“And getting soaked running home sounded more reasonable than calling me.” It’s a statement, not a question.
I swallow. “It’s dangerous to drive in this weather.”
“Oh, but running in it and crossing the road is not?”
…He does have a point.
“Well—”
“C’mon, before it gets worse.” With that, he wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me in. “Stay close, or you’ll get wet.”
I don’t have to be told twice. I stay glued to him as we rush towards the car where he opens the passenger door for me, angling the umbrella so I can slide in without getting soaked.
“Wow. Princess treatment,” I tease, trying to hide how much I like it. Because it is. Princess treatment, that is. Not the treatment you give to someone you have sex with. Granted, it’s great sex, but still.
He grins down at me. “Of course. I’m your knight, remember?”
“Yeah,” I whisper as conflicting feelings turn into a tempest inside me. “I remember.”
And I also remember that this is Tyler, who never sticks to the societal script. So I have to stop reading into the things he does, because it doesn’t mean anything. This is just the person he is. Gentle, caring. Painfully considerate.
Shutting the door, he hurries to the other side and slides into the driver’s seat.
“Damn, ten seconds and my shoes are soaked,” he huffs incredulously. “And you wanted to run.”
Yeah, but then it would be my shoes getting wet, not his.
“Let’s go home quickly, so you can get changed.” Last thing I want is for him to get sick after he came all the way here for me.
“Nah.” He turns the key in the ignition. “This is ramen weather.”
“Huh?”
“There’s a nice little Japanese place not far from us.”
It does sound good… “Okay, but can we go home first? You’ll get sick if you don’t change.”
He laughs. “I’m not a weakling. Who do you take me for?”
“But—”
“And if I do get sick…” He shifts the gear into drive and smirks at me. “You’ll just have to nurse me back to health.”
The ramen place is packed, all warmth and noise and fogged-up windows, a sharp contrast to the outside. My stomach growls at the smell of rich broth, pulling a laugh out of Tyler.
We end up squeezed into a booth, knees bumping under the table. It feels cozy and natural, giving me all sorts of unwelcome ideas. Like that this is a date.
It isn’t, I know that. Kinda. In my brain, I know it. The rest of me, though?
Tyler scans the QR code on the table and scrolls through the menu. Oblivious. As always.
No, that’s not fair. He’s not oblivious. He’s just being himself. He’s never made me promises. I am the one assigning meaning to things that have none. I’m an expert at that.
I grab my phone and start to look through the menu as well.
It takes me a few attempts to actually pay attention to what I’m reading.
I pick something at random—it all looks good anyway—and stall a bit at the alcohol selection.
I’m not a drinker, because it takes so little before it goes to my head, but I do indulge on occasion.
Since there are other things that have got into my head, it might be a welcome reprieve to replace them with alcohol.
I end up ordering some plum wine spritz and get a raised eyebrow from Tyler when it arrives.
“What?”
“I don’t think I’ve seen you drink before.”
“I don’t. Much. Just felt like it.”
He hums, a glint of intrigue in his eyes. “I bet you’re a cute drunk.”
“Am not. I just babble all kinds of nonsense.”
“Like I said, cute.”
See what I mean by mixed signals? How am I not supposed to get confused? It’s fine if he says it during sex—people say all sorts of stuff when drowning in sex hormones—but what’s his excuse now?
I grab the glass and take a huge gulp. The sweetness hits first, the alcohol second. Both hit hard.
“S-shit.”
Tyler laughs so hard the table shakes.
“Fuck, you’re a delight.” He hands me a napkin when tears spring into my eyes and pushes a glass of water towards me. “Bad?”
“N-no.” I cough. “It tastes nice, if a little too sweet.”
“Good. Maybe sip it slowly from now on. And wait until the food arrives, you must be starving.”
Right on all accounts. Drinking on an empty stomach definitely wasn’t one of my brightest ideas. Not that I have many.
I practically inhale the noodles when they arrive, taking small sips of the wine to balance out the salty taste.
It goes down much smoother, and I can feel the comfy sensation of alcohol-induced haze starting to blanket me.
It’s warm and tingly, and the sensation amplifies whenever I look at Tyler.
Even the ache in my chest feels more like an echo of something that’s been left behind.
Oh, I like this. This was a great idea.
I order another one, despite Tyler’s attempts at stopping me.