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I know I should push back harder, to force myself to turn her down. This isn’t a single night, this isn’t a motel room, and we’re definitely not strangers at this point. But I can’t. Maybe if I didn’t feel so drawn to her or like fate was shoving us together, I might be able to choose the storage room over her offer. But that just isn’t the case.
“Okay. I accept the terms,” I say and put my hand out to close the deal just like I would in business.
She understands what I’m doing, and takes my hand, but before she shakes, she reminds me. “The last part of the agreement is important, Phillip. Whatever happens, good or bad, cannot change how things work after you go back to being the head honcho at work. My position at Loughton House is the first step of my dream career, so don’t let my kindness mess that up.”
I nod my head. “I promise.”
“Good.” She turns as the subway pulls up in front of us, its doors sliding open. “Just so you know, you’re going to have to learn to sing karaoke.”
“As long as karaoke doesn’t count as a date, I’d love to.”
She glances at me, one eyebrow raised. “It doesn’t.”
Sixteen
ADDISON
What the hellwas I thinking? Buying Phillip lunch was one thing. Showing him how to shop at a thrift store was just like giving a stray cat some food and water. But letting him live with me? This is a terrible idea.
Somehow, I’m struggling to remember why it’s so terrible. Especially when he’s sitting at my dining room table without a shirt on, wearing nothing but a tiny pair of gym shorts I stole from the guy I dated in college.
“I feel like that night at the motel has really come full circle,” he says as he adjusts the shorts as they ride up even higher on his thighs. The washing machine spins loudly as his clothes are washed in the background. And I try not to stare at the rippling muscles that I still feel compelled to touch.Focus on the food, Addison.
Except it’s Phillip’s shoulders that are making my mouth water. Not the food. He picks up his fork and knife and cuts into the chicken.
“I’m sure it’s nothing compared to what you’re used to,” I say, cutting into mine.
He chuckles. “This smells heavenly. Do you know how many days it’s been since I had an actual meal? Other than the sandwich at lunch today, I’ve had nothing but vending machine snacks for three days.”
I gape at him. “And you’re not dead yet?”
“I was close,” he says as he takes the first bite. His face looks like I crawled under the table and started sucking his dick. “Holy shit, Addison. This is the best food I’ve ever had. Ever.”
“It’s just a basic chicken breast with some gravy. Don’t you normally eat stuff from professional chefs? Things that I couldn’t pronounce?”
He chuckles. “Maybe you chose the wrong profession.”
“I think it’s more likely that your taste buds died in that storage room, along with your dignity.”
Phillip just keeps grinning as he eats. My little comments don’t seem to bother him at all. “Maybe that’s true. At least about the dignity.”
At the same time, I can see him warring with himself. His knife cuts are just a little faster as time goes on. The etiquette I assume was drilled into him from birth is slipping as he has his first home cooked meal in a week.
“Well, thank you, regardless. It’s been a long time since I cooked for someone who appreciates a good home-cooked meal.”
His eyes widen. “There are people that would be disappointed with this? That’s crazy.”
I don’t go into the fact that my mom hates anything that doesn’t remind her of fast food. She’d prefer a box of corn dogs to this meal any day of the week. Then there was my boyfriend in college that was used to expensive meals and always wanted to go to a restaurant so he could pretend to be fancy.
Those things don’t need to be said, though. I may be sharing my apartment with Phillip, but he’s still my boss.
“I don’t get close to very many people is all I mean,” I say, brushing off the reality of it. “I learned a long time ago that getting close to people is the fastest way to get hurt.”
He nods. “My father has said the same thing for a long time. But instead of getting hurt, it’s more that they’ll take all my money and time and power. Close enough though, right?”
Not at all. But once again, I just let it go. It’s hard to remember that the homeless and shirtless guy in front of me is actually the guy who decides who gets fired. The last thing I want to do is let him see any flaws.
Instead of talking, I just pick at the chicken and gravy, and the room goes silent. Just the soft clatter of silverware on cheap dishes. If there’d been a clock on the walls, I’d have been able to hear its soft ticking.
