The Roommate Agreement

I zipped up my backpack and made my way out of the library, waving at the elderly librarian, Viola, who’d been here as long as I could remember.

It was only a couple of blocks to my apartment, and the rain had stopped, so I set out into the dreary, dull Texas afternoon and turned the corner to step onto the road that would take me back to my apartment.

I stopped at my favorite café on the way to get some pastries and ready-made sandwiches because there was no way Jay had cooked—he’d either gone back to bed or was playing video games and scratching his balls.

Why did I have a crush on him again?

It was a great mystery.

After adding some pie to my order, I paid and took my bag full of goodies the two blocks to the apartment.

As I’d suspected, Jay was sitting on the sofa, bent forward, jamming his thumbs onto the controller in front of him. He didn’t look at me as I came in, but he did jerk his head in my direction in acknowledgment.

I set the bag on the island and unloaded it, waiting until he’d groaned in frustration to speak. “Did you eat? I got lunch.”

The sound of buttons tapping filled the air, then he got up. “What did you get?”

“I got you a tuna sandwich.” I handed him his and grabbed my BLT.

“Yeah? What’s the rest of it?” His green eyes sparkled as he looked at the other boxes in the bag.

I murmured something under my breath, but I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that my diet really was worse than my fitness.

He laughed, pulling out the clear cartons and locating the apple pie. “If my sweet tooth wasn’t as bad as yours…”

I jerked my leg out, going to kick him, but he’d already moved toward the cutlery drawer and grabbed himself a fork.

“Day off. Hungover. I can do what I want.”

I eyed the sofa as I opened my sandwich. “At least you’re wearing pants this time. The last time I came home to you on that stupid thing, you were scratching your balls like a two-year-old just discovering his penis.”

“Discovering your penis is a highlight of a man’s life. Discovering how useful it is, is even better.”

“That’s far more information than I ever needed to know.” I took my sandwich over to the sofa and sat next to him. “And I don’t want to know anymore.”

Laughing, he saved his game and shut the PlayStation down, making it so the TV came back on. We scrolled until we found a show we both agreed on—in other words, a rerun of The Big Bang Theory that I wanted to watch—and set the remote back on the coffee table.

“Are you telling me,” Jay said around a mouthful of food, “that little girls don’t discover their vaginas when they’re toddlers?”

“Not really,” I said vaguely, picking a bit of tomato out of my sandwich. “The first time I really cared about it was… well, aside from puberty and the perils of becoming a woman, it was when I discovered my clit.”

He choked on his sandwich. “Really?”

“Yeah, and if the past is any indication, I’m still the only one who’s ever found it.”

That didn’t help his choking. It made it worse, actually. He banged his fist against his chest until I leaned over and smacked his back a few times.

“Too much information,” he croaked out, putting the sandwich down and reaching for some water. “Way too much, Shelby.”

“Now you know how it feels,” I said smugly, settling into the corner of the sofa. “I don’t want to know about your penis any more than you want to know about my clitoris.”

Except I kinda did, didn’t I?

Ugh. This roommate thing was not working out. Why had I asked him to sign the tenancy agreement again? This was only making my crush worse, and that really was a problem since I’d seen him at his worst.

Cheeto-dust on his chest, scratching his balls, needing a shower like yesterday kind of worst.

Which meant that my crush was an even bigger problem.

Nobody was attractive while covered in Cheeto-dust.

Take it from me. I’d had enough late-night writing sessions to know that for a fact.

Yet, here I was, still crushing on him.

I needed to move out.

“What are you muttering about?” Jay side-eyed me.

“Nothing,” I said quickly. “There’s too much tomato in this sandwich, that’s all.”

“You’re so picky. Make your own sandwich in the future.”

“I buy you lunch on my meager artist wage, and this is how you repay me?” I sniffed. “That’s the last time I bring you pie when you still need to replace my Oreos.”

“Oh, my God, I told you I forgot!” He turned his bright green eyes on me. “Fine. I’ll go to the store this afternoon and get your damn Oreos, okay?”