Page 10 of Bad at Love

“You’re late.”

I turn toward him slowly, raising a brow.

“Yeah, we went over this already. I apologized,” I say as kindly as I can.

He holds my gaze for a moment longer before dragging it down my body and back up in a slow perusal.

I’m used to people checking me out. I make porn for a living and have for many years. All people know me for is my body. I’m not ashamed of it. I’m not embarrassed. But the way he’s looking at me? It has my skin tingling in the strangest way. There’s something about the intrigued look in his eye, like he’s seeing a man for the first time. No one has ever looked at me like that before.

“Are you… going to kill me or something?” I joke.

He rears his head back. “God no. Do you know the kind of mess that makes?”

I frown. “Do you?”

“Yes, actually. I’d considered becoming a crime scene tech, but decided against it for that exact reason.”

Right…

“So, what do you do instead?”

Good job, Storm. Be nice to the guy. Get to know him. Make this all about him. Feed into his ego, make him like you. I totally got this.

“I work in an emergency room lab.”

“That sounds interesting,” I say, trying to keep the conversation going. Maybe if he realizes I’m a normal person, he’ll chill out. The guy is wound pretty tight. Hopefully he isn’t like this all the time and just nervous over meeting someone new.

“Only when samples come back with rare or confusing results.”

“Because you like when people are sick?”

“No, because I like the science behind it. I don’t see the people. I see science.”

“Oh, okay. Yeah, I guess I can see why that would be cool.” I shrug. “I didn’t do well in school,” I admit. “Only class I ever got better than a C in was gym.” I chuckle.

“I figured as much.”

What the fuck?

He turns on his heel and heads out of the small living room. I’m still trying to put my head on straight after he insulted me.

I follow after him, entering the kitchen that is just as neat and tidy as the living room. The silver appliances sparkle. The windows don’t have a speck on them. Everything I’ve seen so far is decorated in white and creams, giving the house an almost clinical vibe.

At this point, I’m wondering if this is a good idea. I’m not very neat. I’m as messy as they come. Not dirty, I don’t leave messes that can cause bugs, but I misplace shoes and never know which clothes are dirty versus clean. This guy looks like he’d have an aneurysm if I so much as dropped a bread crumb on the floor. He’s already freaking out over the toilet seat, and I haven’t even left it up yet.

What if he starts following me around with Lysol spray and paper towels? Like Sheldon from The Big Bang Theory when people are sick… That would be terrifying and intolerable. But this place is perfect. I don’t want to give it up. I can be neater. I can clean. And if I get sick, I’ll find somewhere else to stay.

Gabe grabs the electric kettle, fills it with water, and puts it on. Then he grabs two mugs from the cabinet, tea bags, and sugar. He’s making us both a cup of tea.

How… domestic.

“So, I wanted to thank you for giving me this opportunity,” I say brightly.

He continues doing his thing, acting like I’m not here. His back is to me. His shirt hugs his broad shoulders, making itlook like it’s tailored. His clothes aren’t cheap, which makes me wonder why he needs a roommate at all.

“I know I may seem like a mess, but I promise I’m not. I’ll behave,” I add.

There’s a shake of his head, but he still doesn’t say anything. It’s making me uncomfortable, and that takes a lot. I’ve done a lot of weird shit in my life. I don’t get uncomfortable. But this… he’s testing me.

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