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“Absolutely not. I dress like this for a reason. Wear whatever you feel best in.”
“Thanks. I only need, like, twenty minutes.”
“Perfect.”
As I walk down the hall, my instincts poke at me. There’s something different about Michel that goes far beyond his looks. Maybe it’s confidence? That could be it. I’m not used to the assertive version of him. It’s sexy as fuck. The crush I had at sixteen was cute, but we’re men now, and the tingling in my body isn’t just puppy love. It’s lust.
Rubbing my forehead, I push those thoughts away while searching for my favorite pair of dark wash jeans. Michel is a friend, and now my roommate. I can’t fuck things up by telling him I’d really like to see what he looks like underneath that perfectly tailored suit, or get him mad again so I can hear the deep pitch of his voice and feel the heat pouring off his body. I want to sit and memorize every new detail, like I often did when we were young.
Gah, I’m totally fucked.
When I come out to the living room dressed and ready to go, Michel is sitting on the couch, hunched over a laptop on the coffee table. It looks like he’s reviewing video footage.
“Ready?”
He looks up, closing the lid to the computer. “Yes. Did you pick a place?”
“Uh, no. I’m not really familiar with the options.”
“Oh, right. I’d love to take you to a place that wasn’t here before. A French restaurant.”
“Is it authentic?”
“Almost as good as my mother’s cooking, but don’t tell her I said that. She wouldn’t like the close comparison.”
We both laugh at that. “I won’t say a word.”
As we walk to the door, I glance at the kitchen to find it all tidy again. All the bags are folded neatly on top of a counter.
“Did you get the kitchen put away already?”
“Oh, yes.” He smiles again, but his cheeks flush. “I used the task to burn off some of my energy.”
“Cool. Hey, uh, that reminds me. Something I never told you.”
“Oh?” He opens the front door for me, gesturing for me to pass. “I thought I knew all your secrets.”
I chuckle, rubbing the back of my neck. “Not all of them.” We enter the elevator, Michel watching me curiously. “You know how I had trouble focusing sometimes on homework and in class?”
“Yes.”
“And how I would get upset when my Mom cleaned my room?”
“I do.”
We exit the elevator and walk over to his Maserati. Yeah. A Maserati.
I settle in the passenger seat, just inhaling the smell of leather for a moment before continuing.
“Go on,” Michel says.
“Well, I was diagnosed in middle school with ADHD and a touch of OCD. I didn’t want anyone to know, not even you. My parents didn’t accept it either. They just kept saying I didn’t do well because the work didn’t interest me. It was too easy.”
Michel nods, watching me with a concerned expression.
“Anyway, I’m on meds now and did some therapy to help. It’s not really a big deal anymore, but if I get really stressed out, the OCD shows up.”
“So you’ve been struggling recently then?”
