“For your information, Meg is busy tonight. Her friend Karlo invited her to the movies.”
“Friend. Okay.”
“Friend.Okay,” I mimic. “What does that mean?”
He scoops another spoonful of chili. “It means, guys and girls can’t be friends.”
“That’s not true.” I’ve had a bunch of guy friends through the years. Like Matthew and David all through elementary and middle school. And my friend Chris from the church we attended for a while.
Empty bowl in hand, Elliott stands to load his dish into the dishwasher. “Any straight guy who is willing to put effort into a ‘platonic’ relationship with a woman, secretly—or not so secretly—would absolutely jump her bones if given half a chance.”
He can’t be serious. Men and women can totally be friends. I mean, look at us. Elliott and I have known each other for months, and he has yet to try to “jump my bones.” Who even says that, anyway? What is he, fifteen?
“We’re friends though, aren’t we?”
He turns and saunters down the hallway to his room, but not before I catch his smile tightening. “Yeah, Loren. We are.”
He literally just said…
Wait.
He lifts a hand in a casual wave as he slinks into his room. “Have fun on your date tonight.”
“Come back here. Elliot!”
Does he listen? Of course not.
I consider going after him and making him explain exactly what he meant by that cryptic little comment, but then I’ll be late for my actual date and that wouldn’t be fair to Paul.
Besides, like Meg has pointed out a thousand times, I shouldn’t have to decipher cryptic man-messages. If Elliott wanted to be more than roommates, he would’ve made a move.
So I escape the apartment and head off to meet what could be the love of my life.
The date is a disaster with a capital “D.” Not only is Paul twenty minutes late, he also doesn’t even text to give me a heads-up. Tardiness notwithstanding, his eyes are so lifeless. He smiles with his mouth, but not his whole face. Which I admit is a stupid reason to discount someone, but here I am, judging everything about this guy who could very well be super sweet and just have a tiny issue with punctuality and smiling.
Not only am I judging him, but also I’m comparing him to my freaking roommate—a man who I have absolutely no business thinking about in any capacity other than that he lets me live in his spare room.
Why did Elliott have to make that damn comment about men and women being friends right before I left? Why couldn’t he have said it tomorrow?
Or never?
Never would’ve been good.
It makes me wonder if maybe, just maybe, he thinks about me as often as I think about him. And not in the platonic, he-lives-down-the-hall sort of way.
No, what I feel for Elliott is decidedlynotplatonic.
It’s like I’m so desperate for love and affection that I think I see it in places that it cannot possibly exist. Like a mirage. A sexy, black-T-shirt-wearing mirage.
Which, unfortunately, means I need to move out as soon as I find a better place to live. It really sucks because I like living with Elliott. I was wary about the whole roommate thing, but it’s been nice having someone to hang out with in the evenings after work. Someone to talk to over breakfast.
And not just anyone.
Elliott Grant.
Loren Piper strikes again, romanticizing a relationship that has no right to be romanticized.
Now I’m offering to pay half of this dinner bill and brushing this guy off just so I can get home and yell at Elliott for ruining my night. He’ll probably be on the couch sipping a beer, watching reruns ofFrasierorFriends.
