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"My bedroom is over here." She motions to a sliding door. "And Zelda's is here." She motions to a non-sliding door on the other side. "I put new sheets on the bed before I left. If that's still okay with you, Archie. If not, you can crash in my room."
"No, of course it's fine." He jumps to keep me out of Val's bed. "Me casa es su casa."
This is good. Progress. He's basically admitting he wants her. I should be happy about this turn of events, but I'm not. I have to force my "thanks."
She moves to the second bedroom, pulls the door open, leads me inside.
The ex-roomie, Zelda, I guess, moved out when the semester ended, even though she'd paid through the summer. A lucky break. I don't mind the couch, but I certainly prefer a bed. And privacy. Say, for taking the edge off before I go out with Val.
Ahem.
The bedroom is almost as sparse as the main room. A queen bed with white sheets and an ivory comforter, a small wood desk, a bookshelf packed with Spain travel books, and a few Spanish movie posters on the walls. Some of Spanish language art movies. Some Spanish versions of American blockbusters.
I have a hard time imagining the dark, German film-loving Zelda staring at a Die Hard poster, but stranger things have happened.
I set my suitcase next to the desk, then I follow Val into the living room.
Again, she stretches her arms over her head. "I should do a better introduction, but I'm dying to shower." She lets out another yawn. "And nap before we go out."
"You want to go out tonight?" Archie asks.
"You're welcome to join," I say. See. I'm friendly. I'm a wingman. I'm killing it.
"I have work tomorrow," he says.
"How about dinner then?" I suggest.
"We'll still be out until ten," he says.
She laughs. "We can go to that pizza place you like. The one that's open all day."
She doesn't like pizza (I know, she's a weirdo), but okay, I guess she needs to sweeten the deal somehow.
She gives him a hug and turns to me. "There should be a towel in the bedroom if you want to take the next shower."
"Thanks," I say.
She rushes to the bathroom.
The ambient noises fill the space. The low chatter of nearby conversations, traffic outside, running water.
Absolutely nothing from Archie or me.
After a long, long stretch of near silence in the joyless space, he attempts small talk.
"How was your flight?" Archie asks.
"Long," I say. "But otherwise fine. Watched a few great movies, drank a few gin tonics, slept a few hours."
He nods. "I put on a pot if you want something."
"Coffee?"
"The dark roast Val likes," he says.
That's considerate. He cares about her needs. And I appreciate that. Really.
See. I like him. I want this for her. I help.
"Sure, thanks." I follow him into the kitchenette (only a few steps—the space is bigger than my apartment, but not by much).
He pours two mugs.
I find half-and-half in the fridge and sugar in the pantry. Ah, it's not up to Val's standards, but it's not bad.
Drinking coffee after so many hours of waking feels odd, but I need the energy.
"Do you two have an itinerary?" he asks. "For your trip?"
"Just here and Paris." About a week in each. Enough to see the major sights and the smaller ones. Not that I care about climbing the Eifel Tower or touring the Louvre. As long as I can wander the cobblestone streets with Val, I'm happy.
"Beautiful cities," he says.
"Romantic too."
"If you say so." Sure, Paris is called The City of Lights, and sometimes, The City of Love, but no one is talking up Barcelona as a sexy or sweet spot. People know the city for two things: weird architecture and cheap sangria.
"Are you and V looking for a romantic mood?" His voice stays all business.
But I catch the jealousy anyway. And, well…
Jealousy is the best way to force someone to realize what they want.
Or a way.
Because if it was the best way, that would mean some unfortunate stuff for me. And I'm not adding those things together at the moment. Math isn't my strong suit anyway.
"I'm even less romantic than Val," I say.
"So you two are…"
"Old friends."
He nods and takes a sip. "She told me she has a crush on someone."
Right. That's the story. That's what I told her to say.
"Did she drop any clues?"
He studies me carefully. "She said, he's someone she trusts."
And he can see I'm someone she trusts. Right. I need to tell him that's not it. But then, I can't make him jealous if he’s sure she’s not into me. So I do what I usually do: I adopt a poker face. "Anything else?"
"Nothing I could piece together." He keeps his voice steady and matter-of-fact. "She wasn't talking about you, was she?"
He's direct. I'll give him that. "You'd have to ask her." I shrug like I have no idea what he's talking about.
