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Chapter 10
Twenty minutes later, I exited a town car after trying and failing to tip the driver, who had already been generously paid and then some. Brandon arrived a few more minutes after that, and rushed into the building as soon as I opened the door for him.
"Hey," he said with an awkward half-smile. "Thanks for waiting. I'm sorry about the run-around."
I shrugged. "It's fine."
We glanced around the homely lobby of my apartment building, one of the older ones around the North End. It might have been decent once, but the black-and-white tiled floors were covered with a thin layer of grime, and the once-white walls were equally dingy and cracked in places. A row of stained brass mailboxes lined the wall across from a staircase made of abused white granite. It was a far sight from the big, fancy house on Beacon Street.
Brandon, however, didn't seem to notice. He followed me up the two flights of stairs to my floor, humming with recognition while his sharp eyes took in everything.
"I hope your neighbors don't threaten to call the cops on me again," he said as I unlocked my door.
I giggled. "I doubt it. Just don't go yelling my name at two a.m."
"Only if you promise not to run away," Brandon said, reaching around my waist and pulling me backward against him.
His touch seemed to melt away a few layers of awkwardness, and I softened into his warm body against my back. I didn't know what we were doing, exactly. In the space of an hour things between us had gone from being defined, if miserable, to completely nebulous, although hopeful.
"Deal," I said, and opened the door.
I flipped on the lights inside, and Brandon looked around curiously.
"Roommate?" he asked, nodding at Eric's bedroom door, which stood open and revealed a plain, queen-sized bed made up with gray linens. His bed was even neater than mine. Eric was nothing if not fastidious.
"Yes," I said as I removed my coat and hung it on the small row hooks by the door. "He's a new associate of yours, actually."
"He?"
I turned around to find Brandon now frowning in the direction of Eric's bedroom, as if he expected Don Juan de Marco to walk out of there.
I smirked. "You're not going to turn into the gorilla-jealous type, are you? Because I'm not the one who had a secret wife for four months."
Brandon exhaled heavily through his nose. "All right, all right," he relented. "I guess I deserve that. But if he tries anything, he's fired."
"Oh, he'll definitely try something. Just not on me. He's practically my brother."
Brandon didn't appear comforted by the thought. After pulling off his suit jacket and hanging it next to mine, he examined the tiny living area, taking in the sofa, the TV, the kitchenette, and two-person table. It didn't take long. He turned back to me.
"It's nice," he said. "Smaller than your last place."
I glanced around and shrugged. "It's temporary." I had promised Eric we would only be in this situation until my dad was done with his treatment and I could afford a place of my own.
"When did you move in?"
"Last weekend."
It took Brandon exactly five seconds to walk around the small space, the leather soles of his shoes whispering across the worn wood floors while he checked out the windows, the peekaboo view down the brick-corridored street, the interior of the bathroom. When he was done, he smiled.
"It's nice," he said again. "Where's your room?"
I pointed toward the closed door behind him, and after I nodded that he could go in, he opened the door to peek in there too.
"Did you paint it yourself?" he asked after I turned on the light.
"Yes."
Behind him, I stood unaccountably nervous in the doorway. My furniture had all arrived; now, instead of an empty room with a futon on the floor, everything looked nicely put together, even if the space was a bit cramped.
