“Sorry about the mess,” Mike says, even though he doesn’t sound particularly sorry, lighting a joint that appears out of nowhere before gesturing at the room. “Had a littleget togetherlast night.”
He takes a drag, exhaling toward the ceiling, not a window open in sight.
“Slept through my alarm this morning.” He pauses, tilting his head, pursing those perfect pink lips. “Or forgot to set one. I’m not totally sure, now that I think about it.”
I nod, my tongue heavy against the roof of my mouth.
“Either way.” He waves a hand. “It’s usually cleaner than this. Notclean, but don’t let the mess dissuade you. Oh! You want something to drink? I think I have soda.”
He’s already moving toward the kitchen without waiting for an answer, and I follow him because I don’t know what else to do.
He talks the entire time. Tells me about his old roommate Joel, who moved out last month when he got engaged, and the get together, and how the dishwasher makes a scary noise but it still works, and do I go to Jeff’s bar because he thinks he’s seen me somewhere, and what’s my major.
I registersome of it,for sure.
But most of my processing power is still busy with the fact that he’s not wearing a shirt and he has little stars tattooed on his hips, and I’m in a kitchen with him and the kitchen is not very big and—
“Still undeclared,” I say, the answer to the last question. I think.
He nods. “Well, that’s okay. You’re still young, aren’t you?”
I shrug, suddenly embarrassed about that fact for an unknown reason. “I guess.”
“I’m doing my master’s in music theory,” he continues, pulling open the fridge. “Which, yeah, I know. But it’s what I like, so.” He lifts one pale shoulder, his hair bouncing with the movement.
“There’s no soda, actually. Sorry. Want a beer?”
“Um. No. I’m fine.”
“Okay, suit yourself.” He lets the fridge close and turns around, leaning back against the counter, joint still between his fingers, studying me like he’s trying to figure something out.
I wait, fighting the urge to shrink.
“You seem normal,” he says finally.
“Oh. Um. Thanks.”
“That’s a compliment, by the way. The last three people who came to see the room werenotnormal.”
He doesn’t elaborate.
“You got a job?” He asks, but doesn’t stop talking long enough to let me answer, and that oddly makes my heart flutter—
“I bartend at Jeff’s. It’s good money. Rent’s not a big problem for me. Pay what you can. But I need someone reliable, you know? Joel was reliable. He was also boring as hell, but that’s fine, boring is fine.”
He takes another drag before looking me directly in the eye. “You’re not boring, are you?”
I think about my life.
Boring would be an overstatement.
“Honestly?” I say. “Kind of.”
My cheeks go warm the second it’s out of my mouth. Great job, Alex. Very cool thing to admit.
But Mike surprises me when he laughs, throwing his head back, giving me a view of his perfect neck— “Honest. I like that.”He pushes away from the counter, stubbing his joint out in an ashtray sitting on the windowsill. “Come see the room.”
He heads for the stairs, and I follow, fixing my eyes to the back of his head on the way up. His hair. The way it hits his shoulders. Anything to avoid looking at his ass in those pants.
