The Roommate Agreement

We ate in relative silence, only occasionally glancing at each other. My phone circled through music in the background while the dishwasher whirred and the fridge buzzed.

And it was so, so comfortable.

And not because I was used to it. It just was. It was comfortable and…well, comfortable.

It felt right. To sit in silence and eat with him like this, even if he was full of nervous energy.

I had to put him out of his misery soon.

I swiped a slice of banana through the syrup and put it into my mouth before settling down my cutlery. Jay was still making his way through his, although he was going at warp-speed compared to me.

I didn’t know how he could eat so much.

Standing up, I put the last of my breakfast into the trash and took the plate to the sink. No sooner had I rinsed mine off than Jay groaned and held his stomach.

“If it’s bad news,” he said, turning to me. “It was worth it.”

“Good to know you value food over me.” I swiped the plate from in front of him and put it straight into the bubbly hot water in the sink.

I felt the warmth of his body before I felt his physical touch.

He came up behind me, trapping me against the sink with his body. It was awfully bold for someone who thought what I had to say was bad news, but I digress.

“What are you doing?” I asked, amused.

“Trapping you until you give me what I want.”

“Are you out of coffee?”

“Don’t sass me, Shelby.”

“Aw, you’re taking away my very DNA.”

He dipped his head, his lips brushing across the bare skin of my neck. My hair was currently looped on top of my head, but his breath sent loose tendrils fluttering over my skin.

“All right, stop it!” I turned, pushing him away. “Stop that!”

He grinned.

“One date.” I held up one finger. “I mean it, Jay. One date to prove that we can do this.”

He raised one eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yes, really. But that’s it—until it happens, nothing changes. If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do this properly.”

His eyes glinted as he moved toward me. “As it happens, I have an idea.”

“That scares me.”

“I know.” He pushed my bangs out of my eyes. “We changed how we live together because of The Big Bang Theory, so why don’t we try another thing from the show to see if we can make our relationship work?”

It was my turn to raise my eyebrows. “I’m not writing a relationship agreement.”

“Not that.” He barely hid his laughter. “When Penny and Leonard got back together.”

I frowned. “You want to beta test our relationship?”

“No. We should do our first date as if we don’t know each other.”

My lips twitched.

“There are probably things you’d tell a date that I don’t know, so it’d be fun.”

I tried not to laugh, but I couldn’t help it. It was the craziest thing I’d ever heard, but somehow… it made sense.

“All right. I’ll play. You tell me where and when, and I’ll be there.” I grabbed the dishcloth and tossed it at him. “I have to work. Be a dear and finish the dishes, would you?”

“Wow. Is this what I have to look forward to?”

I turned, walking backward. “Yes. You do live here after all.”

His lips curved to one side in a smirk that made me want to kiss it. “Goddamn it, I do.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN – JAY

Chore Charts Aren’t Just For Kids

I’d fucking nailed it.

I had the best, most ridiculous, insane idea for our first date, and I was proud as fuck of it.

Now, I just had to get Shelby on board.

Granted, picking her parents’ bar was a problem, but it was Friday night and it’d be busy because of their promotions. Her dad knew what was up, and I hoped he’d tell her mom because Lucy Daniels was a wildcard.

It was where Shelby got it from.

I stepped out of the elevator and paused. The unmistakable sound of the Backstreet Boys was blaring from our apartment, and I stopped for a second to stare at the door.

Had I gone back in time fifteen years?

What was going on inside there?

Tentatively, I made my way toward the door and pulled my keys out. I unlocked the door and pushed it open, only to be greeted by one hell of a sight.

Shelby.

Mopping.

And singing.

Her hair was pulled on top of her head in a messy bun with tendrils escaping at the nape of her neck, curling against her skin. She wore a tight white tank top and hot-pink shorts that only just covered her ass.

That was swaying.

She was dancing. And she was singing. Holy fuck, was she singing. The mop was her own personal microphone, and she swung it to the right, her eyes closed, as she sang along to “I Want It That Way.”