Chapter 5
Felix wrenched the pot off the stove, turning his face away from the plume of smoke.
“Fuck,” he yelled over the smoke alarm. “What do I do?”
Jack Smith grabbed the cutting board from the drying rack and slammed it down on the counter, dry side up. “Put it on this. Don’t touch anything else.”
Felix complied, then he stood back and watched guiltily as Jack opened windows and hauled a chair over so he could stand on it and hit the smoke alarm.
“Shut up!” Jack scowled as he stabbed the button. The alarm went silent.
Felix sighed in relief. “Thanks. I’m really sorry, I swear I was stirring it.”
Jack glared at him as he dragged the chair back to the kitchen table. “You were on your phone.”
“Someone was sending me really funny memes,” Felix said.
This was true. Jacob might not be a big joke guy IRL, but he sent the best memes.
Shane said they weren’t that funny, but Shane never got Jacob’s humor anyway.
Plus every time Jacob’s name showed up on Felix’s phone, it sent a thrill up his spine.
Every text could be another invite to cross something else off that list.
Jack stalked over and took the pot off the chopping board, wrinkling his nose at the smoking gravy before dropping it in the sink and turning the faucet on. Steam hissed up from the burned pot as it filled with water.
“You should wait for it to cool,” Jack said. “Otherwise it does stuff to the metal. But this pot’s already wrecked, so who gives a shit.”
Felix nodded obediently. Jack’s cooking style was a lot like his kitchen: functional, but not very pretty.
Jack Smith lived in a shitty little apartment a few blocks from campus. The door stuck in the winter and spring. The fridge had to be held closed with tape. The stove had several knobs that had snapped off and had to be operated by a wrench.
Still, it wasn’t a total hellhole. There was no mold or mouse shit.
There was an assortment of weird magnets and photographs stuck on the fridge, giving it a homey feeling.
Extension cords were taped to the wall, safely out of the way.
The cupboards, from what Felix had glimpsed during the food-making process, were more or less organized.
Jack bent down to peer into the oven. “Lucky there’s nothing you can do to fuck this part up. How’s the timer?”
Felix checked his phone. “One minute to go.”
Jack sighed and straightened, rubbing his damp hands on his jeans. “That’ll work. You grab plates, I’ll get Robin.”
Felix turned off the alarm and gave him a flimsy thumbs-up. Jack eyed him warily then stomped into the hallway.
“ROBIN,” Jack yelled. “DINNER! GET IN HERE!”
Felix went through the cupboards, opening them to the glassware and the mugs before he finally found plates. Then he paused. How many was he getting? Was this a dinner invite or was he taking his portion home in an old container?
Jack nudged him with a fork. He’d gotten the utensils while Felix was staring into the cupboard.
“What’s the holdup, gravy-burner?” Jack said. “Go on, get the plates and then come over to the oven. I’ll show you how to cut the roast.”
“Cool,” Felix blurted. He grabbed three plates.
Jack followed him to the table and set down three sets of utensils, which answered Felix’s dinner question.
Even with his gravy fuckup, he was getting excited.
He hadn’t had a home-cooked meal since he went home for Christmas, and his parents weren’t the best cooks.
The stuff in the oven smelled way better than what he’d had a few weeks ago.
Even better than Jacob’s Christmas dinner leftovers, which Felix ate to help him get rid of them faster.
Jacob’s mom always made too much and complained if they had to throw it out.
Eating Christmas leftovers was the only time Jacob’s parents approved of Felix.
Jack took the roast chicken out with two ratty dish towels wrapped around his hands, then the tray of vegetables below it. Then came the process of moving the chicken onto the cutting board, which surprisingly wasn’t burned from the gravy pot fuckup.
“We’re technically supposed to let it rest for a few minutes so it’s juicier or whatever,” Jack said as he sawed at the chicken breast. “But it’s the same as the stuffing and the shit you rub over the skin—you don’t have to.
Anyway, you gotta cut these slices right.
Not too thick, not too thin. Here, try it out. ”
He handed the knife to Felix.
Felix took it awkwardly, scrutinized the chicken, and started cutting from where Jack had left off.
“Great,” Jack said mildly. “Few more of those, then cut off a leg for Robin. She likes them, the little freak. Whose favorite part is the drumsticks?”
They loaded up the plates with the chicken and then the roast vegetables. Jack fetched the green beans, which were still draining in the sieve next to the sink.
“There,” Jack declared as they stood back to examine the three plates loaded with food. “You made a roast.”
Felix opened his mouth to say Jack did most of it.
But then again, it had been him who chopped half those vegetables.
And he’d snapped those little ends off the green beans.
He’d even poured oil over the chicken. He’d set the oven and the stove elements and yes, okay, he’d fucked up the gravy, but only because he got distracted.
If he’d kept stirring like he was supposed to, it would probably have been fine.
“Huh,” Felix said. “I guess I did.”
A chair scraped behind them. Felix turned to see Robin Smith, a spindly tween with big, serious eyes, sitting down and looking around the table expectantly before finally turning to her brother. “Where’s the gravy?”
Jack snorted, picking up two plates and heading over to join her. “Did you hear the smoke alarm? Or were you wearing your giant headphones again?”
“They’re not that big,” Robin replied snootily.
Jack sat down next to her and dug into his food. Felix took the seat at the head of the table, which felt weird, but there were only three chairs at the table, so it was this or nothing.
Robin eyed Felix curiously and twirled her fork with a clumsiness that made Felix remember just how awkward it had been to grow into his teenage limbs.
Robin turned to her brother again. “Where’s he from?”
“College,” Jack replied, muffled through a mouthful of chicken. “I’m teaching him how to cook.”
Robin laughed. “You’re teaching someone how to cook?”
“Hey!” Jack kicked her under the table, the thump audible from Felix’s seat. “I can cook. I just never have time to make it nice. Remember your birthday cake?”
“Yeah, that was pretty good I guess.” Robin grinned in a way that made Felix wonder just how often Jack got to come home. He was a student, a TA, and he had at least two part-time jobs off campus.
Including teaching a twenty-year-old mess how to cook, Felix reminded himself. He took his first bite of chicken, raising his eyebrows as he chewed.
“Holy shit,” he said, garbled. “This is actually really nice.”
“See?” Jack nudged Robin, none too gently. “I earn my keep. Unlike some people.”
“I’m twelve,” Robin said. “And you said I wasn’t allowed to apply for jobs until I’m fifteen!”
Jack started to reply, but Felix had just realized something about that cake comment. “Wait,” he said. “Are you gonna teach me how to bake?”
Jack grunted around his fork. “We’ll see how it goes. Basic shit first, then fancy stuff like baking. You want to learn, what, one recipe a week until you move out of your dorm over summer?”
“At the end of the semester, yeah.” Felix tore into his roast vegetables next.
He’d looked up “what vegetables go in a roast” when he was in the supermarket on the way here, since he blanked after potatoes and carrots.
He’d ended up getting parsnip, which he’d never had except mashed and awful at an aunt’s house.
It was actually pretty nice roasted and covered in herbs.
“Gotta be a halfway decent roommate,” Felix continued through his mouthful.
Jack made a face. “Roommate? I thought this was about being an adult. You know, one who can cook more than noodles.”
“That too,” Felix said. “But yeah. Figured I should know how to make dinner if it’s my turn, or whatever. You sure you don’t know how to clean? This place looks okay.”
Robin giggled. “He almost made mustard gas last year when he was getting us ready for the property inspection.”
“How was I supposed to know you’re not supposed to mix all that cleaning shit?” Jack demanded, tearing vigorously through a piece of crispy chicken skin. “Shut up and eat your food.”
“I’m trying, it’s just so dry without the gravy!”
Jack flicked a green bean at her. She flicked one back, still giggling. Not for the first time, Felix wished he had a sibling. Everyone always joked that he and Jacob were as good as brothers, but Felix felt weird about it due to the whole ‘being hopelessly in love with him’ thing.
He ate another mouthful of dinner, confidence growing with each bite. One recipe down. With enough of these, Jacob had to recognize that Felix was somebody worth living with.
He just needed to find someone who knew how to clean.
Jack walked him outside after.
“Some people get stuck in this hallway,” Jack explained as he held the building’s back door open. “Piece of shit doors. Sure you don’t want to take any more of that chicken? You paid for it.”
“We don’t have a fridge,” Felix reminded him as he tucked the Tupperware container under his arm. “I might not be the smartest pickle in the jar, but even I know enough not to trust room-temperature chicken after a day. Anyway, thanks for the lesson. Bet you get enough of this shit as a TA.”
“Anything for my students,” Jack said flatly. “Where’s my money?”
Felix handed him the cash and glanced into the street self-consciously. “Don’t tell anyone about this, okay?”
Jack gave him a look like he thought Felix was being ridiculous, but he was too tired to care. He had looked decidedly younger around his sister, but it didn’t make the bags under his eyes go away.
“Whatever,” Jack said. “Same time next week?”
“You got it.” Felix gave him a salute and turned, already wondering how he was going to hide this from Jacob.
Jack continued, “Hell, if you up this to sixty bucks, I can do it twice a week.”
Felix banged his elbow on the doorframe in his haste to turn back. “Seriously?”
“Yeah, my mechanic gig is pretty slow lately.”
Felix stared at him, incredulous. “Dude, how many jobs do you have?”
Jack shrugged. “So what do you say?”
Felix paused, considering. Depending on what he got charged for cleaning lessons, he could probably swing sixty.
But if he was getting more cooking lessons, he’d have to buy more ingredients.
Maybe he could stretch them, make multiple recipes out of the same things?
Jack was thrifty, he definitely knew how to do that.
Before he could answer, his phone vibrated. He reached for it automatically, clamping the Tupperware container under his arm as he took his phone out to see the notification.
It was Jacob. hey want to come over tomorrow after stats class?
“Meme guy again?” Jack asked.
Felix looked up. He was smiling, he realized too late. Smiling like a schoolgirl who just got a text from her boyfriend.
“I’ll take you up on that, Mr. Two-A-Week,” Felix said. “Text me what to buy for next time. I’m gonna blow your tastebuds wide open!”
With that, he strode triumphantly out of the building and into the chilly air. Jack said something behind him, but Felix wasn’t paying attention: he had to see a guy about a list.
But before that, he had a guy to see about cleaning. And Jacob’s text about stats class had finally made him think of someone.
Felix peered around the corner, watching the classroom like a hawk.
Students piled into the hallway, looking as boring as most people who attended a stats class.
Jacob was among the first, plain but deeply hot in his button-down and jeans that he only stopped ironing because his dorm didn’t provide an iron, even after his parents called the offices and complained.
Felix used to despair over being so gone on a guy who kept his hair so neat and occasionally wore a pocket protector, but he was over it now.
Jacob might look boring but looks were deceptive.
And there was nothing boring about his tallness and his frown and his dark, deep eyes.
And his cock. Felix could wax poetry about Jacob’s thick, gorgeous cock, which he’d gotten glimpses of in high school but had never seen in its full glory until this week. Even thinking about it made his mouth water.
He was so busy daydreaming about Jacob’s cock he almost missed the person he was waiting for. He only recognized the guy because he’d spent so much time glaring at him when Jacob pointed him out across the campus.
David Stanton didn’t have a backpack. He had a satchel, all polished leather that made Felix roll his eyes even as he ran up to him.
“Hey, David,” he said breezily as he stepped into stride with him. “What’s up?”
David, to his credit, didn’t flinch. He only looked over uncertainly, as if he wasn’t fully convinced Felix was speaking to him.
“Yeah, you,” Felix said.
“Do we know each other?” David asked. His voice was shockingly gravelly. It was almost attractive, if Felix wasn’t sworn to hate him for taking Jacob away from him.
“Not yet, my man. Not yet.” Felix slung an arm around his shoulder, finally getting the bewildered look he had been expecting. “David, I have an important question to ask you. Do you know how to clean?”
“Yes,” David said, staring at Felix’s hand on his arm.
Felix clicked his tongue. “Correct. Now for the clincher: how do you feel about earning a weekly forty bucks?”