Page 10 of The Roommate Situation

“I thought maybe I’d done or said something to make you uncomfortable.”

Now it’s my turn to blink. “Like what?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know, I was just worried about you after you ran off crying last night, and then you were pretty nervous when you got here and saw who I was. You really didn’t want your friend to leave. You seemed so upset and I hated to think I’d caused it somehow or that you wouldn’t be happy here.”

Fuck. My chest squeezes at how insanely sweet he is. I left him in the middle of a blow job and he was worried about me? Instead of being pissed? Shit, Jackson was right. I should tell him what happened so he knows he isn’t to blame. “No, it wasn’t you. I promise. I was…I just…I was so embarrassed after running off like I did at the club and then there you were, and I didn’t know how to not be mortified.”

“You sure?” he says. “I was worried about you.”

“God, that’s really sweet,” I say. “And no, I promise, you didn’t do anything wrong. I, uh, I just got out of a bad relationship, like I told you last night and I guess I just wasn’t as ready as I thought I was to jump back into the hookup game.”

He nods and we eat. “You have other food you have to stay away from?” he asks.

I nod as I swallow my rice. “Gluten and eggs.”

His eyes widen. “Jeesh, what’s left if you get rid of all of that?”

I chuckle. “Not much. I’ll get more food tomorrow and then I can cook for myself. I won’t always look this pitiful.” I give a small smile and he smiles back. God, he’s cute.

“I don’t mind cooking for both of us,” he says, surprising me. “I mean, unless you want to cook.”

“I fucking hate it,” I tell him. “I do it because I have to, but I definitely don’t enjoy it. But you don’t have to do that. It’s a pain to find recipes that I can eat, and you probably won’t like them.” Zach complained all the time about my diet being too restrictive, as if he was the one who had to limit or avoid certain things altogether or he’d be sick in the bathroom all night. I remember him coming home and heating up the food I’d made, only to toss it in the trash with a comment about how disgusting it was and how he didn’t know how I could eat like that, like I had a choice. It pissed me off that he wasted my food, too. I didn’t mind him having some if he was actually going to eat it, but taking two bites and then tossing it irked me. I wasn’t made of money and he didn’t seem to care that he had just tossed the food I was planning to eat for lunch or dinner the next day, only to sit down with a bowl of cereal instead.

He’d always complain about my food but never wanted to be bothered to cook for himself, unless we had friends over and then he’d insist on it because no one would want to eat “the garbage I made.”

“Why did you say you weren’t hungry instead of telling me the truth? About your allergies, I mean?”

I swallow and blink. “Oh, um, I guess it’s just easier than explaining everything. It gets tiring explaining a medical condition to every person I meet, and a lot of people don’t understand, so I don’t bother.”

He shrugs. “I get that. It would be frustrating, and they might not understand, but it’s still good for them to be educated. Lots of people have food sensitivities or allergies. I think people need to be more aware of how much food affects their bodies. A lot of people feel sick all the time, or tired, or sluggish, or irritable, and don’t even consider it might be what they’re eating.”

I blink again. “Yeah, you’re right. I got diagnosed with a gluten sensitivity when I was a kid, but it took longer for the other ones to show up.”

“What happened?”

“I started having stomach pain, and trouble swallowing when I was thirteen or so, and after a bunch of tests that didn’t detect anything they decided to do an endoscopy. Turns out my esophagus was narrowed and inflamed due to something called eosinophilic esophagitis. I was on meds for a while but they weren’t enough so we had to go pretty drastic with the diet.”

“Man, you’ve been on this diet since you were thirteen?”

“I cheat sometimes, but it never ends well.”

“Well, I’m gonna find some amazing meals for you to eat that taste good and keep you out of the bathroom.”

I flush because I can’t believe we’ve gone from exchanging blow jobs one night to talking about my stomach problems the next. But it’s not nearly as weird and awkward as I would expect it to be. Parker is really sweet, and thoughtful. Though I wonder how long that will last before he realizes how frustrating it is to live with me.

When I wake up the next morning it’s to the smell of bacon and waffles, and it’s delicious. I stumble out of bed and slide my glasses on, before making my way down the hall and to the kitchen, where my eyes go wide at the sight of Parker in nothing but a towel.

“Oh, hey, you’re up,” he says, voice as cheerful as ever. “I made breakfast.” He glances over at me and his eyes widen. Then he’s in front of me and gripping my face in his hands. “Are you okay? Did you get hurt?”

I blink, trying to focus on his question and not the fact that he’s practically naked, his gorgeous muscled chest inches from my face, and that he smells amazing. His big hands gripping my cheeks brings back memories of our hook up and I’m flushing instantly. “Um, no,” I say. “I’m fine.”Except that I want to fucking climb you like a tree.

“What happened to your nose?”

I blink again. “My–” Oh, the nasal strip. I reach up and touch the clear band aid-looking apparatus across my nose. “I have allergies. It helps me sleep at night without being congested.” I pull it off easily and wiggle my nose, and he sighs in relief. Then I’m standing there speechless when he presses a kiss to the tip of my nose.

“That’s good,” he says, walking back over to the stove. “You scared me, little rabbit.”

Little rabbit? I think that’s my favorite one so far. I put the nasal strip in the trash and then grab some coffee, before sitting down at the table. I try to keep from staring at his ass, but it doesn't work very well.

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