Page 43 of The Roommate Subtext

Blake thought of the mystery woman in his phone. “I know.”

“I might even ask him to move in with me.” Andrew bit his lip. Before Blake could say anything, he added, “I know it’s too soon. And I’m not going to do it yet. But I think … I think we’re headed there. My lease is up in December. We could get a bigger place.”

Blake was ready to tell Andrew he was moving way too fast, but the expression on Andrew’s face—vulnerable, gentle, tentative—made the words die in his throat. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, maybe.”

Andrew checked his watch then chugged another few gulps of beer. “I should get home. Zane goes to bed early on school nights and I want to chat with him before bed.”

Andrew was on Blake’s mind a lot after leaving. He’d said it was a long time since he was silly about anyone, but in the years Blake had known him, he’d never been silly about anyone. Andrew had had dates, and a couple of medium-term relationships, but nothing like this. Andrew hadn’t used the L-word yet, but it was probably only a matter of time. And good for him, right? Andrew deserved all the happiness in the world. Blake wasn’t jealous.

OK, Blake was jealous.

Then stop feeling bad and do something about it, said the voice inside him. Blake hated that voice, because it was logical and reasonable and it sounded like him, since he was a logical and reasonable guy. When it came to relationships, though, the voice often told him the things he didn’t want to hear, like how he would never be happy closing off part of himself, and how he should date some people if he wanted to end up in a relationship. These things don’t happen on their own.

Maybe he should put himself out there again. But for now, he had to get through the gala and hopefully help PlantSeed raise enough money that they wanted to keep him around.

And for that, he apparently needed a date.

Right. Time to put in a bribery order at India Joy.

Maggie could smell the chicken tikka masala at the same time as she heard the door open. Holy shit, Blake had brought her home food from the board meeting. She hadn’t asked, knowing he’d be home late. It was a perfect distraction from everything she’d had on her mind that day.

“You brought me food?” She got up from the couch immediately.

Blake still stood in the doorway; he hadn’t even taken off his shoes. “You’re fast.”

“It smells amazing.” She went up to him, took the bag out of his hands, and immediately started pulling out dishes. “Oh my god, there’s naan in here too.”

“Of course.” He slipped off his dress shoes and lined them up on the shoe mat next to the door, his Oxfords neat next to the pile of Maggie’s shoes that she managed (barely) to keep to her half of the mat. “I knew you’d have already eaten, but I figured you could save it for tomorrow if it was too late for you to—OK, never mind, it seems like it’s not too late.”

Maggie was already spooning the rice onto a plate. “It’s never too late for this.” She leaned over and inhaled. “God, I love this place. Did you get any? Do you want some?”

“I ate earlier, but there’s extra naan in there. I knew I wouldn’t be able to watch you eat and not want any.” He set his wallet and keys in the dish by the door and unbuttoned his dress shirt. Maggie watched, spoon hovering between her plate and the takeout container of rice, temporarily transfixed by the slow reveal of his white T-shirt beneath the navy dress shirt. He caught her gaze and paused. “What?”

Maggie pulled her attention back to the takeout. “I was thinking that I almost never see you in dress clothes.” That was it, not the sight of him undressing in front of her. He looked good in his dress clothes, too, like he actually bought the right size and they fit well, not like those guys who wore everything two sizes too big. Blake disappeared into his room, then emerged a few minutes later wearing his preferred home attire: some gray sweatpants and a T-shirt. “That’s more normal,” she commented, and he rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, well. I can dress up sometimes.” He gestured to her as she carried her plate to the table. “You look nice.”

Maggie looked down at herself. “This?” She wore a plain cotton nightgown patterned with white and black flowers. “Are you making fun of me?”

“What? No!” He was flushed, weirdly, and maybe it was because of the temperature. “It’s pretty. Usually you wear those short sets.”

“Oh. It’s warm in here.” Maggie tucked a leg under herself at the table and adjusted the shoulder straps. “Thanks, I guess.”

“I didn’t mean to be weird.” He shook his head. “I just thought—never mind.”

Maggie unwrapped one foil packet of naan and handed the other to Blake, who joined her at the table. Rich, spicy, tomato and cream; undertone of pepper: everything about this dish was wonderful. She liked all the food at India Joy, but the chicken tikka masala was to die for. The pillowy soft naan made a perfect utensil for scooping up rice and sauce and chicken. She moaned around a bite. “Oh, fuck, that’s good.”

Blake pulled apart his naan and seemed content to watch her enjoy her food. “I’m glad you like it.”

“What do I owe you?”

He waved her off. “Don’t worry about it. You can get the pizza next time.”

“If you insist.” She took another bite.

“How was your evening?” he asked.

Maggie was suddenly overtaken by a feeling like she was chatting with her boyfriend at dinner after their busy days at work. She shook herself out of the jarring illusion. “I spaced out there with how good the food is.” She gestured down at the plate. “Anyway, yeah, I went over to Cora’s place for dinner. First dinner; this is second dinner. I got to hear all about Vanessa.”