My eyes were focused on his face, the way he spoke, the way his lips moved.
I regret that now. I regret so much of my life.
It doesn’t help that when I see him in passing, his eyes soften, his cheeks flushing pink.
I hate to admit it, but I miss him.
I want him to crawl into my bed when he comes home from work late at night, but he doesn’t. He just slides under his own covers, like he should, and falls asleep.
By Friday, I’m sleep-deprived and desperate.
When I see Caleb is going out, looking put-together and sexy, I nearly crumple. He looks good messy, but that clean white t-shirt, flannel, and blue jeans are doing things to me.
I never thought I’d like a rugged man, but I do.
“Where are you going?” I find myself asking.
“Out,” he replies, looking away from me.
I shift on my feet and clear my throat, hating the way he sounds so dismissive. But this is what I wanted. I wanted distance, time apart. To be simply roommates.
“Obviously.Whereare you going?” I ask despite telling myself that not knowing is better.
“What’s it to you?” He leans against the door, folding his arms across his chest. His shirt pulls deliciously against his pecs, and I see the indent of his nipple ring right there. It’s daring me not to notice, but fuck, I do.
I notice everything about him.
“I haven’t seen you.”
His eyes narrow. “That wasn’t by design?”
I glance away, shoving my hands in my pockets. He has no ideawhat I’ve been dealing with. Of course he doesn’t. I haven’t told him anything about my fucked-up life. Of what I’ve had to deal with the past few days.
He huffs in annoyance at my silence and adds, “Look, you don’t need to pretend to care, alright? We can just avoid each other like we’ve been doing, yeah? Better to be roommates like you said.”
I don’t know what to say to that because he’s right. Fuck, he’s right. We’d be better off as neutral, uncomplicated, just two people sharing a roof, a bedroom. Nothing more.
Whatever that thing was between us in the desert should be buried along with my hopes and dreams for the future. Right with the belief that maybe one day I could have something for myself.
“I need to go, man. Got to get some.”
He starts to leave, but the thought of him going out to a bar without me has my heart racing and my stomach roiling.
Jealousy. That’s what I feel.
Pure, unadulterated jealousy.
“Wait. Can I…” I hesitate, my breath stuttering out of me as I unexpectedly ask, “Can I join you?”
His eyebrows rise in surprise. “For reals?” He rolls his lips between his teeth and then shrugs. “If you want.”
“I do.”
And I know I shouldn’t, but I follow him out to his Jeep, feeling like I’m making a huge mistake but unable to stop myself. I’m walking into something that will probably swallow me whole, but I don’t stop myself.
I’m caught between desperation and denial, and I think there’s no way out but through him.
“This bar we’re going to is probably not your scene,” he tells me as I slide into the passenger seat. My feet hit some empty soda cans on the ground and a few old receipts, but I say nothing about the mess. How can I judge him when my own life is a fucking dumpster fire?