“Thanks.” His dark eyes watch me steadily.
A nervous sound bubbles up my throat, and I almost trip over my feet as I back up. “Welcome to Casa De Shitraw—” I blanch. “I mean dickraw—ahh, Rickshaw. It’s Rickshaw.”
His laugh fills the space between us as he pushes the door to his room open. “Shitraw or dickraw … I’m glad to be here too.”
I smile until Payne disappears into his room, then flee into the living area. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I walk over to my keyboard and keysmash to let out some of the nerves. It wakes up my computer screen, but I ignore it and grab my phone to order Chinese instead. Maybe some takeout and a drink or two will help ease us into this roommates thing. The sooner we can get comfortable, the easier this will be.
I order a bit of everything and wait until it arrives before I knock on Payne’s door.
“Dinner’s here.”
The door opens suddenly. Payne’s changed into a soft-looking T-shirt and sweats. Black, unfortunately, but tight enough to hug his thighs. I swallow.
“You ordered something for me?” he asks.
“Yeah, I assumed you wouldn’t want to cook.”
“You assumed right.” He follows me out. “What did you get?”
“Chinese.”
“My favorite.”
I know. That part I keep to myself though. Payne helps me clear off the kitchen island before we open the containers and spread them out between us. There’s way too much food for us to get through, but the leftovers will do us for a day or two. Then I go for the bottles of beer. I crack the lid on mine before offering one to him.
“Is this to make things less awkward?” he asks, taking it.
“That’s the plan.”
Payne drops onto one of the stools, and I take the one beside him, pulling it out a little so we’re not touching. Even this feels too close though. Too … intimate.
I can see every hair on his forearm as he reaches for the chopsticks, and I let myself stare for a moment. Curing this crush won’t be an automatic thing, so in the meantime, there’s no point beating myself up over indulging in some eye candy, is there?
Hey, maybe he’ll be terrible at using chopsticks and end up covered in food?
Almost as soon as I have that thought, Payne loads his plate up with practiced confidence. There goes that theory.
He doesn’t talk with his mouth full.
He doesn’t get food stuck in his teeth.
He does talk to me in his low, smooth voice about how much he likes the room and how concerned he is over finding a job here.
This isn’t helping issues.
Not when his voice has one-way access to my cock.
I shift so I’m positioned farther under the counter.
“Can I ask how you are? Like, really?”
I regret the words instantly because his eyes immediately meet mine. “I told you I was doing okay.”
“It’s okay if you’re not though. And if you are. Like, there’s no right answer here, and if you wanted someone to talk it out with, I’m your guy. No judgment.”
“Thanks.” He turns back to his plate. “You didn’t like him, did you?”
“Umm, well, it wasn’t so much that as …”
“As?”
I deflate. “Okay, no, I didn’t.”
“Sorry. I always noticed when that fucker was around, you’d go quiet. I guess you were smarter than the rest of us.”
I drum my fingers, unsure whether to tell the truth or not. The problem is everyone liked Kyle. He didn’t seem like a bad guy overall, but he got to be with Payne, and I didn’t. I was bitter. “He … made me uncomfortable.” Not a total lie. I’m pretty sure Kyle could tell how I felt about Payne.
He straightens. “Why?”
“It’s nothing. Really.”
“Beau …”
“Just, you know … Some people you get along with, others you don’t. That’s all.”
The skeptical noise that comes from him makes it clear he doesn’t believe me. “Either way, I’m sorry he made you feel that way.”
“Thank you.”
He hums, turning toward me, one elbow propped on the counter. I greedily drink in his powerful, spread thighs and wish I could drop down and kneel between them. Everything about Payne that’s ever attracted me to him has amplified in recent years.
His broad back, his rough-looking style. His light brown hair has grown out from the short cut he used to keep it in, and now he has tattoos down both arms.
Being closed in those arms would probably make me pass out.
But more than his looks is the calmness that radiates from him. He’s the stillest person I’ve ever met. Where my hands are always busy and my knees bounce unless I tuck my legs underneath myself, it’s like his entire body owns the space it occupies.
He lifts the beer to his full lips and holds my stare as he drinks. “Kyle cheated on me.”
“I heard.”
He grimaces. “And then I did something I shouldn’t have.”
“Which was?”
“I threw his toothbrush in the toilet and unblocked his number long enough to send him a photo of it the next day.”
“His … toothbrush?”
Payne waves a hand at me. “I don’t want to get into it. But I shouldn’t have done that.”
The bitter, vindictive part of me rears its ugly head. “There was a lot he shouldn’t have done to you. Does it make me a bad person to like that you retaliated?”
“Do you?” His eyes are twinkling, and it makes my gut feel unsteady. “Maybe it does. But if so, then it makes me a bad person too, because smashing his laptop felt so fucking good.”
I can’t help it, I start to laugh. The thought of Kyle arriving home to a smashed laptop and Payne gone makes me so happy. Holy shit, I am a horrible person. A horrible, horrible person. A horrible person who almost wants to suggest that Payne use me as a rebound fuck. Maybe even tell Kyle about it.
When I glance back over, his smile is the one I remember from before all this heartache. Shit, he makes me weak.
I need to try harder to put my plan into action.
But then there’s that tiny voice that doesn’t want to.
I shake the conflicting thoughts away. “How did you find out?”
He chuckles. “You’re nosy, has anyone ever told you that before?”
“A lot. How else would I get ideas for my characters?”
“What?” His eyebrows shoot up. “I don’t want you writing about this.”
I hold up my hands. “Joke. I’m sorry, just a joke. I don’t write about real things anyway, but even if I did, I wouldn’t use people I know.”
“Yeah. Of course.” He shakes his head. “Sorry.”
I sigh. “I guess my jokes are an area I need to work on. Got it.”
He makes a noise I can’t decipher.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing.”
I cringe. “And now that I’ve epically screwed up a nice conversation, I’m going to spend the rest of the night going over and over it in my head, trying to work out what I should have said.”
“Really?” His gaze slides over me. “Why?”
“I can’t help it.”