Page 55 of My Brother's Roommate (Frisky Business 2)
Jesus, I still can’t believe that same man is about to be a father.
But with the rest of the weekend ahead of me and no plans on my radar, part of me wishes Connor were here to talk me into heading out to the bars, or play me in a few rounds of whatever mindless video game he’s hooked on this month. Instead, I’m sinking into my couch with a beer in my hand, saddling up for a quiet night in with me, myself, and I.
A little too quiet, to be honest. The only sound is the low rumbling of the train rolling by every five minutes or so, but you have to strain to hear it.
I considered moving out when Connor did, considered looking for a new place, but there was really no reason to. I can afford the place just fine on my own, and figured I could turn his old bedroom into a guest room, or an office or something.
In a way, it’s peaceful being here without Connor. Or it would be, if I didn’t hate being able to hear myself think right now. The longer I’m alone, the louder my thoughts get, and they all seem to be saying the same thing.
I miss Penelope. Like, a lot.
As I slouch back into the couch, my mind races through the possibilities of how she’s spending her Saturday night. Maybe she’s home alone, thinking of me too. More likely, she’s out on the town, flirting with some guy who might take her home. The thought makes my stomach churn, but it’s how it should be. She deserves someone easygoing and sweet, like her. Someone she doesn’t have to keep a secret from her brother.
And that will never, ever be me.
Desperate for a distraction, I reach for the remote to flip on the TV, but come up empty. I don’t have a remote anymore because I don’t have a TV. That was Connor’s, and I’ve yet to buy a new one to replace it.
I’ve got to distract myself somehow.
Just then, my phone buzzes with a text. It’s from Connor, of all people.
Maybe he’s ready to beg me to move back in with him. Or maybe he’s selling his TV for a bigger one. A man can dream.
But no, he’s just wondering what I’m up to tonight. I guess I’m not the only one still adjusting to living alone.
I tell him I’m free as a bird, and he shoots back a text asking if I want to come try out one of the Oak Park breweries. It’s a bit of a drive, but hell, it’s not like I have anything else going on tonight, so I tell him to name a place and time and I’ll meet him there.Less than an hour later, I’m pulling into the parking lot of a massive, industrial-looking building.
It looks like a warehouse to me, the sort of place you’d drive right past if you didn’t know what you were looking for. But the address matches the one Connor sent me, so I hop out of my car and walk through the tall steel double doors. One step inside, and I’m greeted with the sharp, hoppy smell of craft beer.
Yeah, I’ve got the right place.
“Over here!” Connor waves me down from a high-top table in the back corner, nudging the beer list my way as I take a seat on the stool across from him. “How’s the old place? Miss me yet?”
“You wish,” I say with a grunt, hiding any lack of a poker face behind my menu. There’s no chance in hell I’d admit to that. “You been here before?”
He shakes his head, scanning the extensive list of options. “The online reviews were good, though, and their IPA won some big craft beer award two years back.”
When the waitress comes by, we each order a pint of the award winner.
I slap down my AmEx, insisting I pick up this round. “Least I can do, since you’ll be blowing all your money on diapers pretty soon.”
He chuckles and shakes his head. “Thanks, man.”
While we wait for our drinks, Connor fills me in on some parenting book he’s been reading, which as far as I know is the first book he’s read since high school English class. Before long, the waitress is back with two frothy pint glasses filled with liquid gold.
Connor lifts his glass. “Cheers.”
I gently tap mine against it, careful not to spill before lifting it to my lips. It’s damn good. But I’ve hardly taken two sips before Connor opens his mouth, and suddenly, the taste in mine turns sour.
“So, Penelope told me what went down between the two of you.”
My throat tightens around the lump of nerves that’s suddenly blocking my airway, like a boa constrictor squeezing the life out of its prey. I can feel all the blood draining from my face as I stare deeply into my pint glass, summoning whatever part of my brain is responsible for reminding me to breathe, to wake the fuck up and do its job.
