Page 8 of Dear Roomie
Fuck, I guess he will be sticking around.
I put in my earphones, turn the volume up as loud as it will go, and dance around to the bassy rifts while I brown the beef. A tap on my shoulder causes me to jump and my heart rate to skyrocket. I turn around, brandishing my spatula as a weapon in one hand while I pull an earbud out with the other. Morgan is behind me, holding his hands up in surrender with a sheepish look on his face.
“You scared the shit out of me,” I admonish.
“I’m sorry. I just wanted to see if you needed any help.”
He’s changed into a clean button-down but left it untucked from his khaki pants. His bare feet poke out from the bottom of his slacks, ruining the whole junior-accountant vibe he’s got going on.
“Don’t you have more to unload?”
“No, that was it.” His shoulders tense as his gaze drops to the floor.
“Oh.”Oh. How could those few boxes be all he brought with him? He didn’t even have a bed; what is he going to do, sleep on the floor? It’s clear from the way he refuses to meet my eyes that he’s uncomfortable talking about this. “Youcan set the table, then,” I suggest, changing the subject. “The plates are in the cabinet next to the microwave, silverware is next to the fridge.”
His shoulders relax, and he moves to follow my instructions, setting us both a place at the small table tucked away behind the couch.
“Cups?” he asks, and I direct him to the right cabinet.
I bring all of the food over to the table, and we both fill our plates. Several minutes pass, blanketed in an awkward silence while we eat. My skin crawls from the uncomfortable pressure.
“You can use the TV,” I blurt out. “The one in the living room, I mean. If you want to. Since yours broke.”
“I don’t want to impose,” he starts to protest.
“You wouldn’t be,” I cut in, and I’m surprised to find I mean it. “You live here now too.”
“Do I?” he asks with a small smile playing on the corner of his lips. “I take it your conversation with your dad didn’t go the way you hoped, unless that was a bluff.”
“Not a bluff.” My eyes fall to my plate as I tear a tortilla into tiny pieces. I suck in a deep breath and swallow my pride. “I’m sorry about earlier. I freaked out and lashed out instead of thinking things through. If you are still willing to try, I’d like to start over.” I look up at Morgan, and he’s giving me another one of those breathtaking smiles.
“I’d like that.” He reaches a hand across the table. “Morgan Hall.”
I shake his hand, and my lips curl with a smile. “Ophelia James Clarke, but I go by James.”
“It’s nice to meet you, James.” He pulls his hand away and resumes eating. “Tell me about yourself.”
“I have a boyfriend.” The words come tumbling out without thought.
Why did I just say that?
I cringe and brace for Morgan to tell me off, but he just laughs.
“I know, I saw the pictures of you together. I just thought you were going to be him.”
“Oh.”
“How long have you two been together?”
“A little over ten years,” I tell him, and he lets out a long whistle.
“That’s impressive. I can’t imagine being with someone that long. You’re, what, twenty-one?”
“Twenty-two,” I correct. “I’m a fifth year.”
“So you were twelve when you got together?” He shakes his head as he absorbs that information. “Where is he now?”
“Tanner graduated from Georgia Southern last December and has been working at his dad’s campaign office back home ever since.”
