7. Dee
Chapter seven
Dee
“What’s all this?” I ask, standing in the doorway to Dylan’s bedroom. He doesn’t answer, and it’s then I realize he’s wearing headphones…and he’s not wearing a shirt.
I clear my throat, taking in the muscled definition cutting sharp lines over his back as he moves, my greedy gaze roaming over every inch of skin.
Jesus. Get a grip, Deanna.
“Earth to Dylan,” I say louder.
Still no acknowledgment until he suddenly turns toward me, swiveling in his chair. I was too distracted by his lack of clothes to notice that he’s setting up some kind of weird arrangement of circular pads and metal stands.
“Hey.” He catches sight of me, pulling his headphones down until they fall around his neck. “Sorry, did you say something?”
Well, this just got worse. Now, he’s facing me and the sight is…perfect. Fuck.
“Help. I can’t stop objectifying you.” I hold up a hand to cover his perfect fucking body from my line of sight and look at the ceiling. “Please put a shirt on, you sweaty, sweaty man.”
“This old thing?” he jokes. “Okay, fine.”
“Thank you.” I drop my hand and watch as he tugs his white T-shirt over his abs. Goodbye, friends. I’ll miss you.
The smirk on his face is obnoxiously cute. “Did you need something?”
“I heard a lot of banging around. I was curious if you were installing a sex swing or a stripper pole or something.” I shrug. “Thought I could borrow them for some extracurricular activities. You know, sharing is caring and all that.”
He laughs that easygoing laugh I’ve come to expect from him.
“Sorry to disappoint, just my drum kit. He holds up his hands in a placating gesture. “They’re electronic, so there shouldn’t be a noise issue, but let me know if they bother you.”
“I knew you played drums.” I step into the room, reaching out to tap on one of the electronic pads. “I didn’t realize they made renter-friendly ones.”
“Yeah, my full set is stashed away in Dom and Ellie’s basement.” Along with everything else. He’s going to have to start paying them a storage fee.
“That’s kind of a bummer to have all that and not be able to use it.”
“Eh, someday when I’m not sharing walls with a scary, five-foot-nothing roommate, I’ll be able to keep them with me, but it doesn’t seem worth the present risk.”
“Can’t be too careful.” I fold my hands behind my back, suddenly stricken by a wave of nerves.
Don’t be dumb. Dylan has been your friend for years. We just share a kitchen now. No big deal.
“So, should we come up with some sort of list of bylaws?”
“Oh yeah. We’ll be needing those,” he agrees with a laugh before standing, striding past me with a wink, leaving me standing alone in his room. I follow him into the kitchen, caught off balance.
“I know it was my idea, but I’m having a hard time not being offended by your nearly jubilant agreement. Do you expect me to be a shitty roommate?” I ask.
“Not at all. I just know you and I are experts at getting one another worked up.” He reaches on top of the fridge, pulling something down and shoving it into his mouth too quickly for me to see.
“What do you have there?” I nod toward the fridge.
The remnants of a chocolate chip cookie are stuck between his teeth as he lets loose a ten-thousand-megawatt smile before taking another exaggerated bite. “Nothing,” he mumbles around the too-big bite.
“It looks like something.” I cross my arms over my chest and raise an eyebrow. “A little early to make an enemy of me, don’t you think?”
“Ooof, you’re right. Especially one with a talent for vengeance.”
“You haven’t seen anything yet.”
“Neither have you. These are my emotional support cookies.” He places a palm over his chest. “I need them.” Another bite. “For stress management.”
“Trust me, you’re about to be very stressed.
Nonnegotiable part of the unspoken roommate agreement.
Desserts are shared. In fact, that will be the first unspoken rule to go into writing.
” I reach for the cookies on the fridge, but my fingers barely scrape the ledge.
I look at Dylan to find him biting his bottom lip, stifling a laugh.
I roll my eyes at him before giving an embarrassing hop.
Fuck. Still can’t reach.
He steps closer, his chest inches from my back, before reaching over me. The package crinkles in his grip. He brings it to my eye level, holding out the cookies for me.
“Consider this a peace offering,” he murmurs into my ear. He steps away, but the feeling of him hovering over my back lingers a moment longer.
I turn, tossing the cookies onto the counter. I reach past him, grabbing a notepad and a pen, clicking it in the air between us.
“You’re serious…” he says, amused disbelief coating each word.
“First rule,” I narrate. “All desserts will be stored at an accessible height for both roommates and shared. No exceptions.”
He leans back, crossing both his arms and ankles, relaxed already in our newly shared space. “Rule two,” he says, holding up two fingers. “All mail needs to go in the same place every day.”
“My mail has a place.”
“Places, it seems. I can spot five piles of mail without moving.”
“You’re exaggerating.” I wave him off. “Besides, I know where everything is.”
“I’m sure you do. But I’ve lived with someone with your organizational style before,” he smirks. “It didn’t work out well for me.”
“Dom?”
“Of course.” He shrugs, grabbing another cookie. “And I lost more mail in a year than I ever have in my life.”
“Are you saying my place is dirty?”
“No, it’s really clean. But I have a feeling this is one of those pile systems where you know where everything is, and I’ll never catch up.”
He’s got a point, reluctant as I am to admit it. So, I don’t.
“How important is mail, really? You should go paperless. Mother Earth would thank you for it.”
He ignores me. “You pick the spot. But just one.”
“Fine. We can use this.” I take a small basket from the counter that already has a few pieces of mail, plus some ChapStick and— “Hey! I was looking for these!” I hold up my earbuds.
“See? Wins all around.”
“Okay, rule three.” I move on, unwilling to give him credit for the discovery. “Keep any and all hookups contained to your room. I don’t want to come home and be forced to witness you trying your best to find it.”
He reaches back, rubbing his neck. I don’t miss the sliver of skin exposed across his lower abdomen with the movement. I have to fight to refocus my attention elsewhere.
“That shouldn’t be a problem,” he admits, chin tipping down.
“What do you mean? Do you have a secret wife I don’t know about? Are you done with casual? Gotta say, I’m honored you’d grace me with your presence, but you probably should have moved in with her.”
“Nope,” he says on a sigh, rocking onto his heels. “Things have been busy at work. I haven’t been going out much. That’s all kind of fallen on the back burner.”
“Hm…bit of a dry spell?” He hesitates for a moment before nodding. “Don’t be embarrassed. I’ve been living in the desert myself.”
“For a year?”
I scoff. “Try a year and a half.”
His eyebrows lift and he studies me, surprise evident in his features.
“What?” Defensiveness prickles at my skin. I hate the scrutiny.
“Why?” He sounds genuinely curious, no judgment in his voice like I expected.
“I don’t know.” I tug my hoodie down, tucking my hands in the slightly too-long sleeves, and cross my arms. “I guess it was getting old. The surface-level shit.” He nods, and I feel his stare everywhere. “What about you? Don’t use work as an excuse, we both know it isn’t one.”
Propping his hands on his hips, his shoulders sag. “Work is my typical excuse, but I guess if I were honest, I’d say…maybe a bit of the same as you. The last date I went on was fine. But it was just that. Fine. It didn’t make me feel…I don’t know. Forget it.”
“No, what do you mean?”
“I figured when I met the right person, it would be this moment. Like my veins turned to fire. Like I couldn’t drag myself away from them. Like I could stay talking with them until I passed out with exhaustion, but it was worth it to not have to say goodnight too soon.”
I reach for a cookie and fiddle with it for a moment. “That’s movie kind of stuff. Didn’t peg you for a romantic.”
“You haven’t pegged me at all.” His eyes dance with mischief. There’s that classic Dylan flirt. “Should we make a rule about that too?”
I answer his smirk with one of my own. “A no pegging rule? Sounds boring.”
We both laugh before I absorb what he’s saying.
“So, what then? No relationships for you until you find the one who sweeps you off your feet?” I pop the cookie in my mouth.
Goddamn, that’s good. “I think you’re putting a lot of expectation on yourself and the future Mrs. Brooks if you’re holding out for fireworks.
Maybe keep your eye out for the slow burn instead. The unexpected plot twist.”
Dylan grabs another cookie and tears off a small piece, popping that into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully before answering. “You’re right. That’s dumb.”
“No.” Shit. I’m an asshole. “Sorry, I don’t mean it like that. It’s just surprising. Charismatic, hotshot Dylan taking himself off the market for a chance at true love.”
“Ew. Don’t say it like that.”
“Like what?” Ignoring me, he turns away, walking into his room. When he turns to face me again, he leans his body against the doorframe.
“I’m going to take a shower. But I’m adding another rule. One of us cooks? The other one cleans.”
“I accept.”
He closes the door and I frown, feeling like we just breached the surface of the place our friendship has always stayed.
We’ve known each other for eight years. Not once have I ever seen him in a serious relationship. We’re both cut from the same cloth, I guess. We keep things lighthearted—teasing, jokes, and humor being our first, second, and third languages. Now I wonder if he uses them the same way I do.
I shake my head, willing the questions in my mind to quiet. I grab my earbuds and head to my room to charge them, knowing in my heart…I’ll never remember to put the mail in that goddamn basket.