Page 8 of Tapped By My Roommate
I watched as he laid out two slices of bread, squirted and spread mustard over one of them, and piled the other with meat and cheese. He still seemed nervous about asking me to help him, but Ethan’s need of a favor could be the solution to one of my problems.
I cleared my throat. “Maybe we could make a deal. I help you, and you help me. So we’re even.”
Ethan slid the plated sandwich to me. “That sounds good.”
“Don’t you want to know what I’d ask you to do before you agree?”
He shrugged. “Doesn’t really matter. I’ll do it.”
All sorts of inappropriate jokes ran through my mind. Not that I’d ever voice them. Not to Ethan, who got flustered by a “that’s what he said” joke tossed out casually. But maybe he saw something in my expression, because he added, “I’m sure you’d only ask for something if you really needed it. You’re not the type to take advantage of someone.”
That sobered me up. “I wouldn’t. Thanks for saying that.”
“Thanks for being a stand-up guy.”
His words meant more to me than I would have expected. Maybe because we didn’t talk a lot, and I really didn’t know what he thought of me. I was glad to know he respected me. I respected him too. Our few weeks sharing an apartment had been peaceful, far more manageable than my last roommate, who’d had a fondness for throwing parties and inviting over groups of friends without any warning. Ethan was more of a loner. In some ways, despite being extroverted, I was too—I expended all my social energy at work.
I picked up my sandwich and took a bite. The tang of the mustard hit my tongue, then the mild spice of the cheese and the mellow flavor of the ham. It was a simple sandwich, but there was something comforting about that. It reminded me of childhood, when I ate simple things and enjoyed them just as much, if not more so, than a pricey restaurant meal.
Ethan waited patiently while I chewed and swallowed.
“Thanks for this,” I said, gesturing to the sandwich.
“So how can I help you?” Ethan asked.
I shifted in my seat, uncomfortable. I hated asking for help.Hatedit. Even with our little quid pro quo, it felt all wrong.
But I forced out the words. For Cary.
“My brother needs a loan, and I said I’d help him out, but I’m strapped pretty tight. I think I might be late with rent if I do that.”
Ethan caught on quickly. “I could cover until you’re able to catch up.”
I was still reluctant. “I could try to pick up extra shifts instead. Or maybe be late on a couple of other bills—”
“Rhett.” Ethan put his hand on my forearm, startling me into silence. Usually there was an unspoken boundary between us. We didn’t touch much, if ever. “I’m fine with it. Really. Besides, you’ll be helping me too, right?”
“That’s the idea. What is it you need, exactly?”
It was his turn to look uncomfortable. “Well, like Linh said, I need to go see my ex. I got her to agree to let me pick up my things—and it wasn’t an easy conversation. She’s been putting me off for a long time. But, uh, she finally agreed to Thursday night.” He frowned. “But I know you work that evening, and now that I know you need to earn more than usual to help your brother…”
“Hey, if you can give me a couple of weeks on the rent, I can pick up a couple of extra shifts somewhere. Don’t worry about that.”
“You’re sure?”
“Quid pro quo, right?” I said lightly. “You scratch my back, and I’ll scratch yours.”
Ethan’s relief was visible. He slumped, elbows braced on the kitchen counter between us. “Okay, thanks. But I think I should warn you. Tess is…not easy to deal with. It won’t be pleasant.”
“So this is more about moral support and less about my incredible arm strength in hauling boxes for you?”
He cracked a tense smile. “Something like that.”
“Don’t worry, Ethan. I’ve got your back.”
“Then I’ve got yours,” he said, reaching out to shake my hand. “Quid pro quo.
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