I’ve never been needy before, but I like having a friend, and his lack of attention makes me want it more.
I’ve got friends still around, and I’m catching up with Art again soon, but having someone in my own space to shoot the shit with is maybe my favorite thing.
I still think having a roommate at my age is pathetic, but maybe I want one anyway.
Besides, I like Beau’s nosiness. When some people ask about the separation, I can tell they’re after gossip, but Beau actually gives a shit.
Keeping the house clean isn’t enough for what he’s done for me. That part’s easy. Despite the epic mess I walked into, Beau isn’t actually a slob. Sure, I’ve had to remind him about garbage left on the counter a few times, but otherwise it’s not a big issue. He’d left the cleaning for too long until it had backed up to unreasonable levels.
I don’t understand him. But I don’t need to, I guess.
When I get off work, I swing by a Thai place on the way home to pick us up dinner. If he’s sleeping, he can reheat it, but I keep my fingers crossed he’s awake.
And when I get home, I’m in luck. Beau’s at his desk, frantically typing, and I like the sight of him working rather than staring off into space.
I try to keep quiet and not disturb him, but even when I pop the food in the fridge he doesn’t notice, so I assume that he’s deep into whatever it is he’s working on. I leave to shower and change, but he’s still going when I come back out again.
I have no idea what the etiquette is here. Do I let him know I’m home with food? Eat my half and leave his? Wait to eat together?
My empty gut groans its disapproval at that.
Yeah, I’m not waiting.
Before I can open the fridge, the steady, rhythmic typing stops, and Beau spins in his chair. “You’re home.”
He looks like he’s coming out of a daze as he blinks rapidly, glasses halfway down his nose and usually neat curls a frizzy mess. There’s food down the front of his shirt, but I hold off from pointing it out.
“Have been for a while, but you were clearly busy.”
His face flushes, which is interesting, before he hurries to switch off his screen. “It was nothing, just messing around.”
“Not on your book?”
“Nope.”
“Well then, I don’t feel so bad about interrupting you.” I grab the food from the fridge. “I picked up dinner and thought we could chill and watch a movie or something if you don’t have plans?”
“I don’t.”
I smile at how fast the words come out. His brand of awkward is fun. “Good. Well, I’ll plate up if you want to get us drinks?”
“The hard stuff? Because I have to say, I need it after this week.”
“You and me both.”
We grab everything and head through to the living area to eat in front of the TV.
Only, he doesn’t make a move to switch the TV on.
“You okay?” I ask.
Beau pulls a face. “Marty wants to set me up with someone again.”
“Well, that’s good.”
He doesn’t look any happier though.
“Right?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t like the dating scene. Of the last three guys he’s set me up with, the first one I forgot about the date and stood him up, the second was scared off by the end of the first date, and the third hung around for a few weeks of banging and then totally ghosted me.”
“Ouch.”
“Yes. See why I need your help?”
Annnnd we’re back on that. “How do you know my brother doesn’t have terrible taste in blind dates?”
“Just things they said. I really hate the getting-to-know-you part.”
“Well, that part is a necessity. You can’t build a good foundation with anyone unless you know them first.” And even as the words leave my mouth, I realize how ridiculous they are. “Actually, don’t listen to me. I spent seven years getting to know my husband before we took that step, and fat lot of good that did me.”
“That wasn’t your fault.” Beau’s tone is harsher than I’m used to hearing, and his cheekbones are going red the way they do when he gets angry. I shouldn’t enjoy him being pissed off on my behalf anywhere near as much as I do.
I manage a tight smile, because there are days where I wonder if it was. “I guess once I get in gear and have the paperwork organized, I won’t need to worry about it again.” I’m about to start eating when Beau responds.
“You deserved better.”
It makes me laugh. “Doesn’t anyone? I trusted him more than anyone I knew, and then he went and did that to me.” I swallow back my words. “My point is, maybe you’ve got the right idea. Relationships are too much work. Once I have a proper job, I’ll get my own place, then hook up all I like, but fuck dating.”
“You’re going to give up on relationships?”
“I’m forty.” I shrug. “I might not feel it or act it some days, but the older I get, the less time I have for bullshit. And after what I’ve been through, I’d like to do everything I can to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
Beau’s voice drops low. “Do you still love him?”
“Is this for another one of your characters?” I ask dryly. He ducks his head, and I take pity on him. “In some moments I do. In some weak moments where I wish he’d show up and apologize and we could go back to everything being the way it used to be.”
“And in others?”
There’s something in the way he asks, like he knows he shouldn’t but can’t stop himself, that amuses me. “You really can’t help it, can you?”
“Sorry.”
“Why don’t I believe you?”
His lips twitch, and it draws my attention to how full they are. “I might struggle with a brain-to-mouth filter when I’m curious.”
“Well, we can’t have you being curious, can we? Most of the time, when I’m not being a whiny moron, I know this is better, and I hate him for the choices he made. I’d be happy if I never saw him again.”
“Well, no one is going to tell him you’re here.”
“Another reason why moving from Marty’s was a good idea. You’re a total lifesaver, you know that?”
He rubs the back of his neck. “It’s just a spare room.”
“It’s so much more than that, and you know it.”
“Okay.” He bites his lip like he’s trying to hold back another question. It doesn’t work. “Since I’m a lifesaver, can I ask another personal question?”
“The last few weren’t enough for you?”
“I’m very, very curious.” His innocent expression has a mischievous tinge to it that has me folding like a clipped hurdle.
“Fine. One question.”
“Oooh, we could make a game of it. One question per day.”
“I’m not sure I’m interesting enough to get more than a week out of that game, but go for it.”
His excitement dims slightly as he drums his fingers on the coffee table we’re eating at. Then his blue eyes collide with mine. “How did you find out?”