Page 37 of The Roommate Subtext

As if on cue, the door swung wide. “I’m back!” Maggie announced. She was already kicking off her shoes and tossing her keys into the key bowl when Blake looked up from the dishes. With her windswept hair and broad smile, she looked like a character from an advertisement for fall: rust-red oversized sweater, plaid skirt, gray tights with ankle boots.

He took in her appearance with a smile and raised eyebrows. “How are you not hot in that big sweater?”

“I am! But I wanted it to be fall.” She pulled the sweater over her head. The blouse underneath rode up as she did so, exposing a slender strip of pale peach skin below the hem of her yellow blouse. Blake couldn’t look away, mesmerized by that glimpse of belly. She tugged her shirt back into place. “Cute, right?” She struck a pose, and he wouldn’t think about the soft-looking skin beneath.

“Like an autumn postcard. Or a Dunkin pumpkin spice commercial.” He put another glass in the dishwasher and imagined her unbuttoning that blouse. What was with him lately? He and Maggie had a good thing going. Their friendship was easy and non-threatening, generally platonic with an undercurrent of harmless flirtation. His latent feelings for Rose were bleeding into this real, in-person relationship, and if he wasn’t careful, he was going to make a mess out of this roommate situation.

“I’m ordering pizza tonight,” he said, glad his voice sounded normal and not guilty. “You want in on that, or are you going out?” She’d been going out with friends a lot, which was probably why she appeared happy lately, too.

“Hook me up with the pizza. I’m staying in tonight.” She grabbed a beer from the fridge. “You didn’t have to do my dishes.”

“I was already loading the dishwasher. It’s no trouble.” He rinsed out the sink.

Maggie took a long swig of beer, then stifled a burp, making Blake grin. “I’m a couch potato tonight,” she said over her shoulder, heading to her bedroom. “My favorite show has a season premiere.”

Blake perked up, wiping his hands on a dishtowel. “Marigold Murders? I’ve got it on my calendar.”

“Fuck yeah, Marigold Murders! I didn’t know you watched that.” She spoke loud enough to be heard from the bedroom. “It doesn’t seem like your kind of show.”

“I’ve watched every season.” From where he stood, he could barely see into her room, but not see her. “What makes you think it’s not my kind of show?”

“No reason,” she called back, her tone evasive. “Where are you getting pizza from? New episode drops at seven, right?”

“Lukulo’s. And yeah, seven.” He glanced at the clock. “What do you want on it?”

“I like everything. Except black olives.” Muffled noises came from her room, drawers opening and closing. She came out a few minutes later in pajama pants and a tank top, still drinking her beer. He wouldn’t think about how she’d changed with the door open.

Blake parked on the couch and ordered a pizza on the app. What a world they lived in, being able to order pizza on an app.

Maggie took the recliner. “What do I owe you?”

He told her. “Technology is great sometimes,” she said, tapping her phone screen. “I love that I can push a few buttons and send you money.”

They were on similar wavelengths. “We really do live in the future.”

“I know. I try to remember that when I’m annoyed at spam email,” she said. “Or dating apps.”

He’d just been talking about that with Rose that weekend. “The worst.”

“Do you think it was better when people went to bars to pick up randos?”

Blake shrugged. “You can still do that. The bars are full of randos.”

Maggie made a face. “No thank you. Definitely worse.”

“I don’t know that I’ve ever had a good first date.” Blake had been on a few, and even his last relationship started with an awkward dinner. “It takes time to get past the weirdness.”

“You sure it’s not because you’re weird?”

Blake opened his mouth to retort when the twinkle in her eyes gave her away. “Ha ha. If I’m weird, you’re weird, too.”

“Never said I wasn’t. Here I am, in all my weirdness.” She spread her arms wide, still holding the beer bottle, then seemed to remember it was there and took a sip. “It’s what makes us good roommates.”

Yes, their complementary weirdness. They’d moved from strangers to friends in the last few weeks, and he looked forward to seeing her. Sometimes friendship snuck up on a person so gradually, it was easy to miss.

Maggie started tapping away at something on her phone, so he opened his laptop while they waited for the pizza. His story was nearly finished, and he only needed to skim it over before posting. He started rereading. That was a mistake with Maggie visible in his peripherals. He started imagining her in this scenario … no, that wouldn’t do. Not picturing Maggie in sexual situations had become a full-time job. He had to turn away to get his piece finished and finally posted.

The door buzzer indicated the pizza, and they shuffled around getting everything ready in time for the seven o’clock start of their show. He got his first beer and Maggie got her second, then she moved from the recliner onto the couch with him, the pizza box open on the coffee table. Blake had gone with a supreme minus the black olives. They settled in with their first slices while the menu screen played silent scenes from last season.