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He had nice eyes. Big and brown, but not dull. They looked warm, like they’d spent time simmering over an open flame. Cute but not handsome, she reminded herself.
“Well, okay. I was expecting a banal detail about your job, to be honest. But not bad for off the top of your head.” She wiped her hand across her mouth and handed him back the beer.
“Somehow I don’t think hearing about my job would reassure you.” He took a long sip from her discarded can.
Guess that answered the question of whether Josh was the kind of roommate who would eat her leftovers. “You’re not a mortician, are you?”
He shook his head. “I work in the entertainment industry.”
Figures. Clara immediately lost interest. The last thing she needed was some wannabe filmmaker asking her to read his screenplay.
Josh gave her a blatant once-over. “You’re not what I expected.”
Well, that makes two of us, buddy.
She’d expected to live with Everett. She’d pictured the two of them cooking dinners together, their shoulders touching as they worked side by side. She’d imagined watching action movies deep into the night like they did back when they were thirteen, only this time instead of separate sofas they’d curl up together under a shared blanket with glasses of wine.
This house should have set the scene for their love story. Everett should have written a song in that window seat inspired by their first kiss.
Instead, she got to share a toilet with a stranger.
Clara stood up and shook off her unfulfilled wishes. “What do you mean?”
“I’m surprised a girl like you”—he gestured to her Louis Vuitton luggage—“would slum it with a roommate in a place like this.”
Clara gathered her dark hair over one shoulder and smoothed the tresses. “I received the luggage as a gift from my grandmother.” She lowered her eyes to the carpet. “I took the room because I’m between jobs at the moment.” The lie sat sour on her tongue and she quickly swerved back into truth territory. “I’ve known Everett forever. When I graduated a few weeks ago he offered me his spare room.”
“Oh. A graduate, huh? What were you studying?”
“I recently completed my doctorate in art history,” she said with as much bravado as she could muster. As a kid, she’d dreamed about making work of her own, but eventually, she’d realized art required exposing parts of herself she’d rather keep hidden—her hopes and fears, her passions and yearning. Analysis and curation let her keep art at arm’s length while using school as a way to extend the exit ramp to adulthood.
Josh smirked. “Is that like a special degree they only give out to rich people?”
Clara ground her teeth so hard she thought she heard a pop. “Let’s keep the interpersonal chitchat to a minimum, shall we?”
She grabbed her purse and hunted for her move-in checklist, finding it buried underneath her airplane pillow and first-aid kit. Clara had compiled the six-page document to include all manner of questions and instructions on what to look for to know whether a new home was up to code in Los Angeles. Holding the document made breathing a little easier.
When she looked up, Josh hadn’t left. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but frankly, Everett didn’t tell me he had to go out of town until right now, and no offense, I’m sure you’re probably nice, but this”—she gestured to the space between them—“falls a little outside my comfort zone.”
“Hey, me too.” He put his hand to his heart. “I’ve seen a lot of made-for-TV movies, you know. You’re exactly the kind of pint-sized, tightly wound socialite who goes crazy and paints the walls with chicken blood. How do I know I’m safe from you?”
Clara cocked her hip and stared at the over-six-foot man across from her. His threadbare T-shirt, featuring a vintage picture of Debbie Harry, barely obscured his muscular chest and broad shoulders. “You’re honestly worried about me?”
His eyes sank to the move-in checklist in her hand. “Oh my God. Is that laminated?” He looked positively delighted.
“My mother got me a machine last Christmas,” she told him defensively as he took it from her for further inspection. “It prevents smudging.”
He pitched his head back and laughed. A loud rumble without a trace of mocking in it. “‘Check the water pressure on all taps for inconsistency,’” he read from the sheet. “This is too good. Did you write this yourself?”
“California is known for its propensity toward forest fires. You have to document pre-move-in conditions to arm yourself for possible insurance claims. The smoke damage alone—”
He laughed some more in what she deemed a rather overblown display of mirth.
Clara snatched back the sheet. “Should we discuss some house rules?”
Josh’s eyes twinkled. “Like no parties on school nights?”
“You’re right. Rules sounds a bit aggressive. I’m thinking more along the lines of guidelines for harmonious cohabitation. We might as well make the best of a bad situation.”
