Roomies (A Standalone Novel) (New York City Bad Boy Romance) (20 page)

Her eyes are
so
wide as she looks up at me.

“I don’t regret it
either,” she says. “But how are we supposed to keep going when we both know
it’s all going to be over in a week?”

We keep going because we
care about each other.

We’ll find a way to make
it work.

We keep going because we
make each other feel things we’ve never really felt.

“I don’t know.”

Of all the possible
combinations of words that could have come out of my mouth, that was one of the
worst.

“So what are we doing?”
she asks, the tears again forming in her eyes.

“We’re getting to know
each other,” I tell her. “That sort of thing takes time.”

“Yeah,” she says. “But
that doesn’t solve anything. We don’t have time.”

“We have a little,” I
tell her. “If you’re not sick of me by the time you move, we can have more—I
know I would like that.”

“Why don’t you move
with
me?” she asks.

And there’s the
possibility I didn’t want her to realize.

“Things are only just
starting to turn around at
l’Iris
. Wilks is still
finding himself as a chef. I can’t just up and leave Jim without anyone to
help,” I tell her. “He gave me a chance and kept me on when anyone else would
have just fired me on the spot. I can’t walk out on him.”

“Then you’ll commute,”
she says. “I found the place I want to move to. It’s got two bedrooms,
one-and-a-half baths. It’s in a really good neighborhood and the rent is a
fraction of what it is here.”

“I don’t have a car,” I
tell her.

“I don’t have a car
either,” she says. “How else are we going to do it, though?”

“I have a car,” Mike says
from the kitchen.

“I’m sorry, Mike, but do
you mind?” I ask.

He scoffs and shrugs and
I would very much like to put my fist through that tissue paper skull of his.

It may sound really odd,
given that Leila and I have been roommates for months now, but I don’t know if
we’re really in the place, relationship wise, where we should be living
together.

“Let’s take every day,
one day at a time,” I tell Leila. “Let’s make the most of every moment while
you’re here, and when you have to go—”

“That’s it?” she asks.
“And when I have to go, that’s it?”

“That’s not what I said,”
I tell her. “I don’t want there to ever be a ‘that’s it’ with us.”

“What then?” she asks.
“If things go well you’ll move if they don’t you won’t?”

“I don’t know!”

The words come out before
I give them any thought. Leila just sits there, startled by the outburst, hurt
by the words.

“Okay,” she says. “Okay.”

“I don’t know what to
say,” I tell her. “I don’t want you to go.”

“This is a once in a
lifetime opportunity for me,” she says.

“So is
this
,” I respond. “It’s a once in a
lifetime opportunity for both of us.”

“Let’s take it day by day
then,” she says. “We’ll see how things are going when it comes time for me to
move.”

Contrary to all
appearances, this is not what I want.

More than anything, I
want to just pick up and follow her wherever she wants to go.

Maybe it’s ridiculous
that I feel this strongly about a woman with whom I’ve only been in a
relationship for a few days, but since I met her, we’ve gotten to know more
about each other, and I sure as hell don’t want to miss out on learning
everything there is.

That’s what I want, but
that doesn’t mean it’s going to happen.

I’m used to the city.

I’m not used to being in
a relationship like this—one that lasts longer than just a few good lays.

No matter how much I want
to pick up, let Wilks stand on his own two feet—something he’s going to have to
learn to do anyway—and stay with Leila, the truth is that I’m scared.

I’m scared and I think
she knows it.

Chapter Twenty-One

Stars

Leila

The move is in three
days.

I got the apartment I
wanted and it’s ready for me to move in and make it my own.

Dane hasn’t said it yet,
but I know he’s not going with me.

Rather than spend this
last parcel of time together feeling hurt or awkward, though, I’ve decided to
make the most out of what time we have left.

There is so much that we
haven’t experienced together. We’ve never been on a real date.

I’ve come to realize that
we simply don’t have enough to build a solid relationship. But hey, we may as
well enjoy it while it lasts.

It’s just after dark. If
there are any stars in the sky, the city lights have swallowed them whole. The
night is cool, but not cold. Traffic crowds the streets below, but I got used
to that constant rush of combustion a long time ago.

I’m sitting on the roof,
staring up at the sky, trying my hardest to find any stars at all. After a few
false alarms (airplanes,) I finally spot one standing there all alone, its
light just barely piercing the city’s brightness.

Isn’t that the way it
goes?

My phone rings and I
answer it, my eyes still intent on the sky.

“Hello?”

“Come downstairs.”

It’s Dane.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“Just come downstairs,”
he says. “I’ve got a car waiting for you.”

“I’m not really dressed
to go out,” I tell him, but he just chuckles.

“Don’t worry about that.
It’s just going to be you and me.”

“All right.”

I’ve been waiting for a
moment like this, but I’m not sure if what I’m feeling is excitement or
anxiety. It’s probably a little bit of both.

I make my way downstairs,
but not before stopping by the apartment to check my hair and makeup. For
someone who’s given up on an actual love life, I look pretty darn good.

“Oh stop it,” I tell
myself aloud. “Quit being a baby and just enjoy the night.”

When I come out of the
building, I look for Dane, but don’t see him. There are cars parked out front,
as always, but they’re all empty.

My phone rings again.

“Hello?”

“I’m just down the
block,” Dane says. “Look to your right. Do you see me?”

It takes a few seconds,
but I finally spot him about a hundred yards down the way, waving his hands.

“Yeah,” I tell him. “I
got
ya
.”

I hang up the phone and
start walking.

When I come close enough
to see the car, I’m a little disappointed. He said he had a car waiting for me.
I had just assumed that meant he’d gone all out and gotten a town car or
something with a driver.

It’s not the car itself
that bothers me, it’s the fact that we won’t be able to focus on each other
during the drive, not completely.

After everything that’s
gone right over the past few weeks, I know how ungrateful I’m being right now.
That said, the foreknowledge of this relationship’s end is more than enough to
spoil just about anything.

I really had high hopes
for me and Dane.

“Hey there, beautiful,”
he says as I approach.

“Hey yourself,” I answer
and give him a peck on the lips. “So, what’s the plan for tonight?”

“Well,” he says, “I
wanted to do something special for you, but I was having the hardest time
figuring out exactly what.”

“And?” I ask, unable to
hold back a smile any longer.

“I came up with
absolutely nothing,” he says with a laugh. “So, I figured, why not rent a car?
That way we can let the evening take us where it will.”

“All right,” I say
skeptically. “You do know how to drive, don’t you?”

“Of course I know how to
drive,” he says, opening the passenger’s door. “Just fucking get in the car,
will you?”

“Yeah, yeah,” I smile.

A minute later and we’re
on the road; well, kind of. I don’t know if there’s a game or something, but
traffic seems to be extra heavy tonight.

Eventually, we transcend
major gridlock and arrive in minor gridlock.

“What kind of music do
you like?” he asks.

“I like a little bit of
everything,” I tell him.

“Oh, bullshit,” he says.
“Everyone says that, but it’s never true.”

“Are you calling me a
liar?” I ask, poking him in the ribs.

“No,” he says, “but I am
saying you’re full of shit.”

“Pick a station,” he
says. “From what I understand, this vehicle is fully equipped with satellite
radio, and if you can figure out how to work it, we can listen to whatever you
want.”

“I have a feeling you’re
going to regret that,” I tell him.

“You know,” he says, “so
do I, but I’m pretty sure I’ll survive.”

I’ve never used satellite
radio, but it’s not rocket science. I roll through the stations until I land on
a death metal song.

I smile and turn up the
volume.

“You’re kidding, right?”
he asks.

“What?” I tease. “I can’t
hear you. I’m too busy rocking out.”

He laughs. “If you can
deal with it, I can deal with it,” he says.

He thinks I’m joking.

That misapprehension
starts to fade as we go into the second and then third song.

“Do you actually like
this stuff?” he asks.

“My brother liked it,” I
tell him. “Growing up, he’d always have this stuff blasting from his room. It’s
how he and I really became close.”

“I didn’t know you have a
brother,” Dane says.

“Yeah,” I tell him.
“Whenever one of his favorite bands would come to the state, I was the only
twelve year old girl in the crowd. I never really loved it the way he did, but
it helps me feel close to him again.”

“Where does he live?”
Dane asks.

“He doesn’t,” I answer.

Maybe that was a bit
blunt.

“He died in a car
accident when I was seventeen. Some jackass on a cellphone crossed the middle
lane.”

“I’m sorry,” Dane says.

I shrug. “It is what it
is. Anyway, I think I’ve had about all I can handle for now. What do you like?”

“You mean music?” he
asks.

“No,” I mock, “what do
you like in general? For instance, bees: natural wonder or an abomination that
the bible forgot to denounce?”

He laughs.

“I usually just listen to
whatever’s on top forty.”

I gag.

“What?” he asks. “Those
songs are on the top forty because that’s what most of the people in the
country listen to. Are you saying everyone’s wrong?”

“Absolutely,” I tell him.
“Top forty is the same crap that’s been rehashed and rehashed since the
seventies. The only difference is that most of the quote unquote artists on the
top forty now don’t play their own instruments or enter a studio without making
sure the auto tune is cranked up to eleven.”

“I like it,” he says.

“You know what’s
happening here?” I ask.

“What?”

“We’re sitting here and
out of nowhere, you’ve become the scared little girl. That’s what’s happening.”

He laughs. “What? Just
because I don’t like music with someone grunting over the top of it I’m a
scared little girl?”

“Well, yeah,” I answer.
“Next, you’re going to tell me that fights during a hockey game distract from
the integrity of the sport.”

He mumbles something and
I turn the radio down.

“What was that?” I ask.

“I don’t like hockey,” he
says.

“Oh my god,” I gasp.
“We’re in a relationship and I’m the man.”

“Whatever,” he says with
a chortle.

“So, where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise,” he
says.

“You do know where we’re
going, right? I mean, you’re not going to pull over and ask some old lady for
directions like a girl, are you?”

All in all, he takes the
teasing in stride.

That said, as we leave
the city behind, I really am starting to wonder exactly where we’re headed.

“I have a confession to
make,” I tell him.

“Yeah?” he asks. “What’s
that?”

“I, uh,” I stammer.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know where
you’re from,” I tell him. “Where did you grow up?”

“No thanks,” he said.

“No thanks?” I ask. “Were
the winters cold in No Thanks, or was it soothingly temperate?”

“Where are you from?” he
asks.

“
Nuh
uh,” I say. “Not only did you dodge my question, but you asked yours without a
single ounce of shame for not knowing where your long-time roommate and new
girlfriend came from. Try again.”

“Come on,” he says, “it’s
embarrassing.”

“Oh, don’t be silly,” I
tell him. “You don’t get to choose where you grow up, why would you be
emb
—oh my god.”

“What?” he asks. He’s
visibly nervous.

“There’s only one place I
can think that you would actually make you embarrassed.”

“Let’s talk about
something else,” he says.

“You’re from New Jersey,
aren’t you?”

He scoffs. “New Jersey?
Are you kidding me? You know how I feel about—okay, yeah, I’m from New Jersey.”

I couldn’t stop laughing
if I tried.

“It’s not that big a
deal,” he says. “Like you just said, you can’t choose where you’re from.”

“It’s not that,” I
cackle. “I’m just trying to understand why you talk so much crap on the state
you’re from? Is it supposed to be Manhattan camouflage or something?”

“Well, yeah,” he says.
“When I first moved to the city, I made the mistake of telling a few people
that I’m from Jersey—”

“You even call it
Jersey!” I howl.

He waits very patiently
for my mirth to die down before continuing.

“Yeah, that’s about the
response I got. I don’t get why it matters so much, New Jersey’s not that bad,”
he says. “Yeah, New York City is awesome, but so is Trenton.”

“You know I don’t care
that you’re from New Jersey, right?” I ask. “I’m willingly moving there.”

“Yeah,” he says, “I know.
I guess it’s just easier to talk shit on Jersey. But where are my manners?”

“What do you mean?” I
ask.

“Where are you from?”

“Oh, that’s really not
important,” I tell him.

“Come on,” he prods, “you
had a good laugh at the expense of my home state. It’s only fair to share in
the misery.”

“I can’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not from any of the
states.”

I can feel the car slow
as he turns to look at me.

“Where are you from?”

I sigh.

“It’s not that I’m
ashamed of it. Really, it’s not. I’ve just had about the same experience
telling people where I’m from that you’ve had telling people you’re from
Jersey.”

I think my renewed
laughter is killing any sympathy I might receive.

“Go on,” he says.

“You see, the difference here
is that I don’t talk crap about where I come from, I just don’t bring it up.”

“Oh, will you just tell
me.”

“Fine,” I say. “I’m from
Waterloo.”

“Iowa?” he asks.

“Ontario.”

He’s unusually quiet.

“Canada?”

“Yeah,” I tell him. “It’s
actually a really nice place to live.”

“People listen to death
metal in Canada?”

And so the hilarity
begins.

“People listen to all
kinds of music in Canada,” I tell him.

“Wait, wait,” he says,
trying to regain his composure. “Say ‘about.’”

“About.”

He’s disappointed and
it’s lovely.

“I’m sorry, were you
expecting something else?”

 
“I thought you were going to say a boat or a
boot. I thought you people had a real problem with that word.”

“What do you mean, ‘you
people?’” I ask, feigning offense.

He flips on his turn
signal.

“Where are we?” I ask.

“We’re in New Jersey,” he
says defiantly.

“Yeah, I got that from
the road signs. I mean, where are we going?”

He seems rather proud of
himself. “We are going camping,” he announces.