“What’s up with you?”
“What’d you mean?” he questions, sitting up straighter.
“You obviously ran here, but like, why?” I push the coffee mug in front of him and lean against the bench opposite him, warming my hands with my own mug.
He just shrugs and tastes the coffee. “Needed to get out of the house. Feel like I’m always stuck between those walls,” he mumbles and avoids eye contact. The enjoyment of watching this six-foot-five, tatted Italian get all twisted up over a twenty-two-year-old girl honestly kept me going most days.
“Not working out with Riley?” I query but can’t fight back my smile.
“What?” His head snaps up with a firm frown in place, like I just insulted him. “Of course she’s working out.” He drinks hiscoffee and then huffs a huge breath and leans back against the chair. “She…man, she has so much energy.” He breathes. “She talks a mile a minute and has an incredible amount of word vomit. She seems so comfortable all the time, and the other day I saw her walking around in nothing but those weird little panties that are kind of like shorts and a ratted dude’s T-shirt.” I lean forward, elbows resting on the bench, enjoying the fuck out of this story. “I guess I’m just not used to it.”
“Have you fucked her yet?”
“Fuck off. Of course not. Damen and I agreed she was off limits, we don’t want to ruin the housemate vibes.”
“So why are you over here getting all twisted up and frustrated, having to exercise no less, in order to avoid her?”
“She brought a guy over,” he mumbles, drinking his coffee and avoiding eye contact.
There it is.
“Ahh, and you’re jealous.” Straightening from my lean on the counter, I head to my room with Lucas following close behind.
“I amnotjealous. The guy is a loser and an asshole. She is blinded by his looks…or whatever. I didn’t think about the fact that having a young female housemate meant I was going to also have a bunch of fucking idiots through my house.” He trails into my room, walks over to the window, and gazes out at the city while I head into the walk-in closet to change.
“Why don’t you give her a taste of her own medicine and parade women around. I’m sure she isn’t going to like that.” I laugh and walk back out, dressed in a running shirt and shorts. I’m up early, might as well join him on a run.
“I tried that,” he says gravelly under his breath and then delivers me with an incredulous look. “They became friends. Riley made her pancakes and they exchanged numbers.” Lucas has wide eyes, like he still can’t even believe it. “Do you knowhow hard it is to tell a one-night stand to delete your roommate’s number because you don’t plan on seeing them ever again?”
I have to cover my mouth to stop the laughing. He throws his head back and covers his face with his hands. “Honestly, man. Who does that?” At his exasperation, I can’t fight the laugh anymore as it tumbles out of me.
“C’mon, you can work the frustration off, let’s round the block a couple times and we can swing into JJ’s for a brew.” Lucas grunts an agreement and walks into the kitchen. I grab my AirPods and load up my playlist, but, of course, it starts playing before I connect them properly.
“What is that?” Lucas asks with a playfulness in his voice.
“It’s my Pump playlist,” I mumble back, trying like fuck to get the AirPods connected.
“No, no, no, that is Beyoncé.”
“Yeah, so what!” I respond with confidence, keeping my back straight. I’m a man who loves Queen B, sue me.
“She has fucking bangers that are great for running and pumping you up.”
It’s Lucas’s turn to laugh, raising his hands in defense. “I didn’t say anything.”
I grunt, rolling my eyes. “You didn’t have to.” I finally get the music connected and pop an earphone in. “Here. I’ll prove it to you.” I hand the other AirPod to Lucas and he looks at me like I’ve poisoned it. “What? You’re so insecure you can’t share music with a buddy?”
“Bro, you’re so weird,” he mutters, but takes the AirPod I hold between us. He tucks it in, heading for the front door as I load up the first song: “Formation.”
Lucas looks over his shoulder at me with a scrunched-up face and wide eyes like he can’t believe I’m forcing him to endure what is, arguably, pure magic.
“Jesus. You’re soboring.How about this, then?” I change the song to one I know will probably get him, “Rock and Roll, Pt. 2”by Garry Glitter.
“Better. But you’re still fucking different, man,” he mumbles, and we take the elevator to the ground floor, ready for a run.
Despite the early wake-up call, I feel super energized. It’s Friday morning, and I have the meeting with Christopher Andersen today. I am ready to rock his world so hard, I practically skip into my office this morning.
“Ready, Smith?” Noah asks from over the phone. I don’t like that he feels the need to call and check up on me. I want him to trust that I can run this thing without his watchful eye, but I get it. This company is his baby, and the livelihood for his future. I know he trusts me enough to run with my pitch, given that he had no notes on the first draft, but I wish he had enough faith in me to go in guns blazing without the pep talk.
