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El grimaced with a little shrug. “How do you feel about Mexican food, roomie?”
How I Met Your Mother played softly on the television as background noise—a nervous tic El developed in high school, usually reserved for when she wasn’t feeling well. One thing that always impressed me about this woman was how much food she could put down. I knew NFL players that couldn’t eat what she could in one sitting. Maybe it was growing up gorging during our football games, and maybe it was competing with eleven other mouths for food at the table. Eat it or lose it. Whatever the reason, her ability to inhale an entire combo platter and follow it up with dessert had always been entertaining.
Sometime during her nervous pacing, after she’d ordered takeout but before she flipped on the television, I’d remembered to go shower and clothe myself. She’d been marginally less frantic when I returned, the too-small bed covered in a towel and aluminum tins full of our favorites. We ate in silence, watching someone else’s shit show for a few minutes before returning to our own. She was playing it cool, like I was, but I could see those cogs turning.
“We should get some shuteye,” I stated, hours after I’d intended to pass the fuck out. She nodded, but her eyes were far away, and I waited, even as her long fingers nervously fluttered together.
“Ground rules,” she declared abruptly.
“Pardon?”
“We should set some, right?”
I raised a lone brow, equally amused and apprehensive about what was about to come out of her smart mouth. Nobody in Mistyvale could push my buttons quite like El. “I’ve known you for thirty-one years, but sure, yeah, ground rules.”
“No sleeping naked,” she blurted out as color stained her tan cheeks.
I barked a laugh, blinking pointedly. “You really feel like that needed to be stated?”
“Well, I don’t know,” she said, nibbling on her lower lip and motioning vaguely at me. “I don’t know if you sleep clothed. I do know that was plenty of exposure for my eyeballs for one week this afternoon. Which reminds me, if you bring someone back to the room, put a sock on the damn door.”
“Now, come on.”
“What?” she questioned innocently. The woman had one hell of a poker face—predictably learned from her brothers—and I couldn’t for the life of me figure out if she was being sarcastic or not. “My eyes would never recover.”
“You seriously think I’m voluntarily rooming with my best friends’ little sister and I’m going to bring back a hookup? Shit, El, at least pretend to have an ounce of faith.”
“Okay, my bad. I just…this is weird, right? This is weird,” she repeated, as if seeking my confirmation.
“Only because you’re making it weird,” I pointed out, shoulders tight as I fought the need to defend myself. Her brothers and I might have done the whole free-love thing in college, but it had been years since I’d been a casual hookup kind of guy.
“See! It is. It’s weird.”
“You afraid I can’t keep my hands to myself or something?”
“I didn’t say it was you I’m worried about.”
Something I couldn’t read flashed in her expression. That was odd. I could usually read everyone, especially El. “Are you insinuating I need to worry about wandering hands?”
“I’m notoriously…a cuddler,” she said. If she weren’t so clearly uncomfortable, it would have been fun to see the illustrious Elora Rhodes fumbling for purchase.
“Well, I’m notoriously a space heater, so that should mitigate that concern. Plus, I doubt you’ll be up for canoodling once I state my proposed bylaws.”
“Bylaws?” she yipped, a broad smile cracking through her discomfort.
“You get roommate rules, but I don’t?” I countered, smirking.
“I’m not saying that. Hit me, Professor.”
Shaking my head, I supplied, “Funny you should say that. I get one philosophical musing per day, and you have to deal.” She groaned dramatically and suddenly I was seventeen, standing back in the Rhodes’ basement, bickering about Hypatia and the value of philosophical freedom. Chuckling, I said, “That’s the price, El. I get to pick your brain on a concept a day.”
“Fine,” she said, rolling her eyes as she finally reached to unclip her sleek high heels. “But I’m not a teenager anymore. I need my beauty sleep. No midnight musings.”
“Breakfast, mid-toothbrush, all fair game.”
“Speaking of mid-toothbrush. You’re not like my brothers, are you? No clumps of toothpaste in the sink.” She wrinkled her cute little nose as I shook my head. “It’s disgusting.”
“I’ll give you that one.” Running a palm over my jaw, I suggested, “We trade shower days. Even dates for me, and you take odds.”
