“Whose place is this again?” Maddox asks.
“Wyatt’s. Blond guy, long hair.”
“Ah, the surfing analyst.”
“Except he doesn’t surf. And I don’t think he’s an analyst. I don’t understand his job.”
Wyatt’s building is so old the buzzer to get in only works to let the people know you’re there. They have to physically come out to let you in, so I hit the buzzer and wait.
“Now, am I going to have to remind you that you will be around other humans tonight, and Wyatt lives in a one-bedroom apartment, so most likely, someone will be listening at all times?”
“Are you implying I’m not able to keep my mouth shut about your sex injury from dicking me out—”
I sigh when Wyatt laughs. Of course, he had to open the door in the middle of Maddox’s sentence. “Yo, Noah,” Wyatt calls out down the hall to his ground-floor apartment. “You owe me twenty bucks.”
Maddox’s cheeks pinken. “I’m never speaking again.”
I frown at Wyatt. “What are you talking about?”
“I bet twenty bucks that Maddox was a bottom. Noah reckons you’re too straight for that.”
“Uh …” Maddox’s mouth opens but nothing else comes out.
I shrug. “If they’re betting on you, it means they like you,” I say to him.
“Okay … thanks? I think?”
Wyatt’s dining area and kitchen are small, but he has a loft bed in the corner, so he turned his actual bedroom into a large living room—large for New York anyway.
Rebecca and Skylar are on one end of the couch, and Noah and Aron are on the floor, sitting close together. Noah and Aron have a weird relationship, and they refuse to talk about it to anyone. I think they may have slept together, but they deny it.
Maddox and I squish in on the couch next to the girls.
“You’re one of us now,” Skylar says to Maddox.
“One of you?” he asks.
“Damon told Rebecca, who told me, who told everyone, you two are officially together now. So, that means you’re one of us.”
“One of us. One of us,” Noah chants.
“Do I get to learn a secret handshake? If there’s no handshake, I’m not interested.”
“Here’s a handshake for you,” Noah says and flips him off.
Maddox laughs. I’m glad he takes Noah’s shit in stride. He can definitely rub people the wrong way. Although, half the time I expect he purposefully does it to push people away.
There’s no group of people I’m more comfortable around than these guys—not even my own family. And Maddox fits in easily. We sit there basically slinging insults at each other all night, and it’s obvious they approve of and love Maddox. Like I’m beginning to think I do too.
***
Two more weeks fly by, and poor Cheri is still stuck in New York. Maddox says she’s getting nausea from the treatment, and they’re trying to counteract the vomiting with other meds, but nothing seems to be working. She has the option to pull out of the clinical trial, but without it, her MS might get worse, and she doesn’t want that.
She thinks she might be here another week at least. By then it’ll be six weeks total, and I’m selfish enough to say I’m thankful for her being sick. Okay, not thankful—that makes me an asshole. I don’t like that she’s sick, but it’s the reason Maddox is still staying with me.
If there was a way to keep Maddox in my apartment without Cheri being sick, I’d take it.
You could always ask him, dumbass.
Or, I could be a huge chicken shit and hope that once Cheri leaves, Maddox will want to stay and say it himself without me having to ask.
The time living with Maddox has been better than I could’ve expected, but it’s not like he’s there by choice. Anyone would choose a big, comfy bed over sharing one room with an aunt-slash-birth-mother person and sleeping on a tiny couch.
If I tell Maddox I’m ready for the ninth inning when he’s still in the second, it’s going to get awkward.
Has that stopped me from searching apartments in between SoHo where OTS is and Midtown where his office is? Nope. Has it stopped me from wanting to make future plans and fantasizing about coming home to Maddox every single night? Nope.
I know not to say these things aloud. Maddox would run the other way. It’s only been five weeks. A great five weeks, but still. It’s way too soon. Especially for someone like Maddox who isn’t normally a long-term guy.
I text Maddox when I leave the office, because I know he went out tonight with my sister. When I walk the few blocks home, I arrive outside my building at the same time a cab pulls up.
“I think this belongs to you,” a slurred, high-pitched voice yells.
I turn to find Maddox stumbling out of the cab. Behind him, both Stacy and Eric’s brother, Julian, are squished up against the window.