The Roommate Agreement

“Whatever. Anyway, the first thing in the agreement is the most important and actually related to this morning.”

He flipped open the first page and looked at it. “You wrote it out like rules?”

“Damn right I did.”

“Rule one: must wear pants,” he read. Slowly, he looked up at me with raised eyebrows. “Was it necessary to put that in capital letters?”

“Were you or were you not in your underwear when you walked into the kitchen five minutes ago?”

He clicked his tongue. “Point taken.” He continued to scan the page. “Really? You wrote about the Oreos as rule two?”

Getting up, I walked to the bowl of pancake batter that was on the counter and turned on the stove so the skillet heated up. “Yes, I wrote about the Oreos. They’re important to me. But look—rule four is all for you.”

“We’ll ignore the part where the washer apparently won’t kill me—you haven’t proven that either… Sundays are for football? That’s a rule I can get on board with.”

“You should. It’s not in there for my benefit.” I sniffed and ladled some mix into the skillet.

“Are those for me?”

I slid my gaze his way. “Depends. Are you going to use a duster?”

“This says it’s my friend, but I don’t think it is. I think that’s you trying to make me clean.” He raised his eyebrows and put the agreement on the island. “I have to work this morning so I can’t read it now, but I’ve got time to eat a pancake or eight.”

I rolled my eyes. For a guy who probably had zero body fat, he could eat like nobody’s business. He’d fit right in with The Rock on cheat day, except Jay would eat like that every day if he could.

“You’ll take four, and you’ll cut open the packet of bacon while you’re at it.”

“You want me to make the bacon?”

“Do I like my bacon crispy? Yes. Do I want it to be so burned not even Hell will take it? No. Get the frying pan and sit down.”

“Yes, Mom.”

There was a knock and the sound of everything in the pan cupboard collapsing seconds later.

“Shit.”

“I am not turning around. I am not turning around,” I muttered, flipping the pancake to do the other side.

I really wasn’t going to turn around and look. I already knew that the precariously-organized cupboard was a collapsing hazard, and that was the reason I never, ever asked Jay to get anything from it.

Apparently, I’d been wise.

Until today.

But really, the damn frying pan was at the front. How he created a landslide of bowls and cookware… That was a special talent.

I didn’t need to look to know how much of a mess it was.

Or that I’d be the one cleaning it up.

“I got it,” Jay said, leaning over and reaching to put the frying pan on the hob right as I lifted the first pancake from the skillet and grabbed the ladle to make the second.

“No, it’s fine. Just stack it on the counter, and I’ll re-organize it. I’ve to do it anyway.” I shrugged a shoulder and focused on the pancakes.

“You know you don’t have to do everything, right? I can put the pans back.” His tone held more than a hint of amusement. “You’re cooking. I’m capable of being an adult, despite what you may think.”

“It’s not what I may think, it’s what I’ve seen,” I replied. “Hence the reason we have a roommate agreement.”

“Can you stop making good points? It’s really hard to agree with you if you’re always fucking right.”

Laughing, I removed the second pancake from the skillet. “Buckle in, Jay. You’re always going to be wrong in this apartment.”

“I’m re-thinking living with you.” He stood up, lips tugged to one side. “I’m used to being right, and I’m not sure I can deal with always being wrong.”

“It’s going to be like that forever. It’s in your DNA to be wrong. I’m sorry I have to be the one to tell you that.”

“No, you’re not. You don’t look sorry at all.”

I grinned, meeting his green eyes. “I’m not. Hey—look at that. You were right!”

His eyes shone with laughter, but he schooled his expression into one of annoyance. “If you weren’t cooking me breakfast right now, I’d storm into my room.”

“Ah, food. The great equalizer.” I bit back a laugh. “Can you start frying the bacon while I finish these pancakes? Just flip the rashers when I say, and you won’t cremate them like last time.”

Jay sighed, sliding between me and the island to the other side where the frying pan was. He splashed some oil into it, which immediately fizzed in the heat of the pan. “I did not cremate them. They were nice and crispy like they should be.”

“There’s a difference between crispy and burned.” My voice was dry as I added another pancake to the stack. “You burned them. I make them crispy.”