Page 11 of Bad at Love

“Look, if you don’t want me here, you can just say it. I’ve got a lot of stuff going on and need a place to stay, and if this isn’t it, I’d like to know as soon as possible.” I give him some truth because pretending to be a bubbly nice guy isn’t cutting it.

Gabriel tenses before placing both palms on the counter and leaning forward. He sighs heavily. When he turns to look at me, there’s a mask in place. He no longer looks frantic and concerned. He’s all put together. It’s creepy how he did that. Like something a psycho sociopath would do. I swear, if this guy kills me and wears my skin around his house, I will come back to haunt his ass.

“I’m sorry,” he says, though it’s forced. Robotic almost. “Sharing my house isn’t easy for me. My space is… safe. I’m terrified of someone coming in and messing it up.”

“I won’t do that,” I say quickly, shaking my head.

He nods. “I appreciate that. You seem like you’re being genuine, and I don’t have much of a choice. I can’t afford the place by myself.”

“Can I ask why?” I carefully ask.

He doesn’t seem like the type of guy that shares personal stuff, or talks much at all, but if I can make him comfortable with me, if I can make him trust me, this will be easier for both of us.

“Because the mortgage and other bills are more than I make,” he says simply, as if I didn’t already figure that part out. I’mnot that dense. Basic math and common sense are things I can handle.

“No, I mean, why suddenly? Did your job change? Did you just buy this place?”

He frowns, looking away and chewing on his lip.

“I had a recent breakup,” he answers slowly, almost like he isn’t sure he should have said it.

“Oh… shit, I’m sorry.”

“No need. I can only blame myself.”

I open my mouth to ask why. What did he do to cause a breakup? I’m a nosey fucker, and I want to know. But the kettle whistles and he gets busy making the tea while I take another look around.

There are minimal decorations on the walls, nothing but a clock shaped like a spoon hanging on the wall beside me. The tablecloth on the dinner table is white, a basic salt and pepper shaker placed in the middle, along with a napkin holder full of napkins. It’s set in front of a bay window that looks into the backyard. That table doesn’t look like it’s used much, set further back in the room that I guess is supposed to be the dining room. The fridge has nothing on it. No photos, no magnets—nothing. All the appliances are stainless steel and there isn’t a single fingerprint or smudge. I move to the small table that is a few feet from the archway, and across from the kitchen counters to take a seat.

Everything is clean, new, and expensive. He’s making tea. He works. He seems nice enough. Not like a party guy. Can’t imagine him cheating. He’s low key—quiet. If I were a relationship guy, I’d want someone like him. A homebody. I can tell just by looking at the guy that he’s probably never gone to a club. Likely doesn’t visit bars either. Doubt he goes out at all, unless it’s work or to the store to get things he needs. Isn’tthis the type of guy all women want? Men too. My thoughts are interrupted when he puts a steaming mug in front of me.

“It’s chamomile. Good for anxiety. I have a cup every day.”

He takes the empty seat across from me. I look down at the mug that’s filled with golden liquid. It looks like piss. There are a lot of things I’m into, but that ain’t one of them. Pretty sure this isn’t his piss though. I’d have noticed if he whipped his dick out. It’s hard to miss one of those.

“I’m not typically a tea drinker, but I’ll try it.” I reach for the handle and bring it to my mouth to blow on it.

“May I ask why you’re so interested in this house? I’ll admit, your enthusiasm is unnerving.”

I chuckle, leaning back in the chair. I put my mug down because it’s too hot to drink.

“It’s close to where my mother is.”

“Oh,” he says, as if he’s shocked. “You can’t stay with her?”

I thought my mouth was bad, but his is worse. This guy doesn’t have a filter. Bet he gets himself in all kinds of trouble.

“No, that’s not an option, but I want to be close. She’s at… well, she lives near the rehab facility. Green Willow.”

I’m not quite prepared to open up and tell him all my truth. Not with the way he blurts things out and seems to not understand boundaries. Also, I just don’t want to talk about it.

“Green Willow smells like rotting corpses and bad cheese.” He picks up his mug and takes a small sip.

I huff out a laugh. “The accuracy of that statement is stunning.”

He smiles, staring down at his mug. “It’s a gift.”

“And a curse, I bet.”

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