Page 54 of Run, Run, Roommates
“It is, it is. Ha. You caught me by surprise and I’m really on the edge.” He’s doing a half-laugh, half-groan, which I take as a good sign.
I open my mouth to take him in more gently, but we both freeze. There are voices right outside the door, and then a jangle of keys . . .
Marco and I both move at the same time, running for our bedroom.
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Marco
Brin and I careen into the bedroom and I slam the door behind us. I’m completely naked and Brin’s in her underwear.
Bea’s voice comes from beyond the door. “Everyone okay in there?”
“Yup, just fine,” Brin answers, her voice at that high-pitched level when she’s stressed. She throws on a shirt—one that happens to be mine. I pull on a pair of pants.
“We don’t have to go out there, do we?” Brin hisses.
“I don’t think so.” If we do, I’m very aware that I have a boner, and it’s bad enough that we didn’t, I don’t know, leave a sock on the door or something. I run my hands through my hair and tense my thigh muscles, trying to get it to go down.
Brin drops down to sit next to me. “This is so embarrassing. Are we going to stay in here? What if they don’t leave?”
As if she heard us, Bea knocks on our door. “We’re dropping my stuff off,” Bea says through the closed door. “We’ll just be a few minutes and then I’m going to Charlie’s.”
I look up and call out. “You don’t have to go, Bea.”
“I want to. I’ll text you, but I’ll be back tomorrow.” There’s a male voice, muffled, and then Bea says, “Or maybe in a few days.”
She moves away from the door, and Brin flops back onto my bed. We listen to Bea and the man—Charlie?—move around the apartment.
Brin rolls onto her side to look at me. “I wish I knew Bea better. We text occasionally but she’s so busy.” She props herself up on an elbow to look down at me. “Did you ever want to be an executive assistant instead of a personal assistant?”
“I tried that once before,” I admit. “I was the EA to a group of B-level managers at a tech company for a while.”
“What happened?” Brin asks.
“I got fired.”
“Let me guess: for being an asshole? Is that what you’re going to tell me?”
I reach a hand out to Brin’s hip and squeeze. “I was an asshole,” I say. “But honestly, those guys I worked for were worse. All men, and some of the shit they wanted me to do . . .” I shake my head. “I got fed up with it. It was ‘fudge a line here’ and ‘backdate this’ to help their bottom line, and that was just my first few months. They eventually were charged with fraud by the SEC.”
Brin watches me for a moment, eyes flickering back and forth between mine. “What do you like about your job now?”
“This is starting to sound like a therapy session,” I joke.
Brin chuckles. Outside our door, Bea’s and Charlie’s footsteps pass and the apartment door closes as they leave. “But we’re roommates and . . . lovers?”
“You’re my girlfriend,” I say firmly.
Her face heats, but she smiles. “And you’re my boyfriend. If there’s anyone you’re going to talk to about these things, shouldn’t it be me? I mean, yes, by all means, get a therapist, too. But I want a relationship when I can tell you everything.”
I blow a breath out and close my eyes, leaning my forehead against Brin’s chest. “You’re right. Okay. What do I like about my job?” I think for a minute. “I’m never bored. Every day is different. My schedule is pretty great—when William’s out of town, like now, I have time off. I have autonomy that I wouldn’t have anywhere else because when things need to be done William honestly doesn’t care how it gets done. I like that it’s my responsibility to execute. William tells me what he wants and I make it happen. And I’m good at it. I’m organized.”
“You are. Does he ever ask you to do something you don’t want to do?” Her fingers are stroking through my hair now, a soothing scrape against my scalp.
“Yeah, I don’t want to do most of the things he has me do.”
“But you’ve worked for Billy Bob for a while now. Clearly it isn’t as bad as the EA job, right?”
