6
A Big Bite of One Thing
Jude
I sling my bag into the back of Olivia’s Fiat, then breathe a deep sigh of relief.
“Don’t take offense, Liv,” I tell my best friend, “but if I never have to beg you or anyone else for a ride into the city again, never will be soon enough. Not that I don’t totally love you for having a car.”
The fiery redhead stares daggers at me. “I hate you, Jude. You know that, right?”
“You’ve only mentioned that twenty times since I told you I was moving out of Reading,” I say, closing the boot of her sister’s car.
Olivia huffs again. “I am so jealous that you’re getting out of here. You’re going to be close to the theater, to all the studios, to the casting directors. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.”
That’s exactly why I’m leaving. I’ve lived in Reading since I finished uni, but it’s been brutal getting around. I sometimes have only a moment’s notice for an audition or a callback, and being an hour away—by train, no less—from my job and the center of the art world has cost me a couple of job opportunities.
My agent was not pleased. Harry’s sternest voice is the equivalent of anyone else’s regular voice, but he used it on me. A clear sign that I needed to be more accessible.
His words.
And so, I searched the city up and down, listing my name with all the flatshare services, and then finally, a few weeks ago, this place became available. A steal of a deal and in a great location. This will be fantastic for my nine-forty-five audition tomorrow in the Savoy Hotel for a new web show about scientists and robots in love.
“Feel free to tell me to piss off tomorrow morning when I only have to walk fifteen minutes to try out to be a grumpy scientist falling for his robotic creation.”
Olivia taps her chin, fire in her green eyes. “Do I really want to give you a ride into the city? Or shall I make you take the train with all your things?”
“Of course you want to help me, Liv. Because you love that I’m the only gentleman you know.” I prove my point by opening the driver’s side door for her. “See?”
“Thank you,” she says, relenting briefly with her vitriol as she sinks behind the wheel. “You’re the only one who does that. And I’m such a sucker for manners.”
I get into the passenger side. “If you only knew what a gentleman I was last night with my date.”
“I would ask, but I think you’re about to tell me,” she says as she pulls away from the curb.
“Don’t pretend you don’t want to know every salacious detail.” I give her the best ones from last night, including how I sent TJ home. “Which means tonight he’ll be rested and ready for me.”
“I hate you for that too—your planned trip to Pound Town,” she says, slowing at a light.
I pat her thigh. “I’m sure you’ll visit there again soon. With Rufus. Or Ginny. Or whoever you decide is worthy of you.” I stage whisper, “Even though no one is.”
“Damn straight.”
“Well, straight’s not the word I’d use,” I say.
That makes her smile. No easy feat. “It’s much more fun having a little bit of everything,” she says.
“I’ll have to take your word for it. Tonight I’ll have a big bite of one thing,” I say, imagining how my evening might play out with the American. “One very yummy thing. And I’ll still make it to my audition on time tomorrow even if I can’t walk straight.”
“Fuck you. That’s the best kind of sex to have.”
“The kind you can feel the next day.” I couldn’t agree more.
She huffs, flicking her gaze at me. “Can’t I just move in with you too? Maybe camp on your pullout sofa so I can sleep in and still make it to auditions?”
But we both know she’d never really do that. She lives in her sister’s house in Reading, and her sister travels for work most of the time. Liv would never give up the free rent or access to her sister’s car. “Poor Liv with her rent-free lifestyle and her ability to audition for anything whenever she wants,” I say.
“You did want me to drive you all the way to your new place, right? Because I can drop you a few miles from it too,” she counters.
“Fine, fine. You can crash at my place anytime. My bed is your bed.”
As she slows at a light, she waggles a brow. “Or maybe I’ll fancy your roommate and get free rent that way. Maybe your new roomie is some gorgeous babe.”
“You never know. His name is Terry.” The flatshare company sent me that info this morning. “Though, Terry could be a woman. I said I’d live with either gender as long as the person’s not a homophobe. So, this is perfect for you. You can fall in love with Terry, and I can see you all the time.”
“And since I’m so fabulous in the sack, Terry will pay my way, then the three of us can live in your magical, wildly inexpensive flat that I hate you for getting.”
I laugh again. “Promise me something, Liv? Don’t ever change.”
“I don’t plan to,” she says.
After an hour of stop-and-go traffic—on a damn Sunday, no less—she pulls up in front of my new place and casts her gaze longingly at the white, six-story building with the yellow door. “It has a pretty door.” She pouts. “I’m literally going to die of envy. All I want is a flat with a yellow door.”
“And for Terry to bang your brains out and offer you a free place to live.”
“That too. I have dreams,” she says, raising her chin defiantly. “Just like you.”
And it’s a damn good thing I have a friend like her to share them with. “Yes, I know. And we will keep chasing them.” I stretch across the console and hug her. “Come over for dinner soon. I’ll make you something amazing.”
That cheers her up. “Can you make me something with cauliflower? I read it’s basically the best food ever, and I’m considering going on an all-cauliflower diet.”
“Ah, cauliflower, the latest vegetable to enjoy a renaissance.”
“First, there were Brussels sprouts. Now cauliflower. Next, it’ll be carrots,” she says.
“I truly appreciate the ride,” I say.
“I know. Don’t go sentimental on me. Just get out,” she says.
I do as I’m told, grabbing my bags. But she doesn’t pull away even as I head to the lockbox to fetch my key. When I glance back, the saltiest person I’ve ever known gives me a big wave, then the middle finger.
Laughing, I give the finger right back to her, then blow a kiss.
Once she leaves, I head inside, ready to see my new place and meet my new roomie.
Jittery with excitement, I turn the key in the lock. I don’t even care that this flat is on the stinking fifth floor of a rickety building. Don’t care about the garlic I smelled on the fourth floor or the barking dog on the third.
When the door swings open, I call out, “Hello, Terry.”
But my voice just echoes.
Cool.
I got here first. That means I can pick the better bedroom. Or, wait—is that kind of piggy? Perhaps I should wait. I’ll be polite. Olivia’s not the only one turned on by manners—they kind of make me swoon. Not that I want to make my roomie swoon.
But I’d like to be a good roomie, so, yeah, I think I’ll wait.
I shut the door behind me, drop my bags, and drink in the sight of this furnished flat that I nabbed at a pittance. I am fucking proud of myself for my persistence.
Even if the couch is a drab gray.
And the kitchen table might be missing a leg.
Also, the sink looks like it’s seen better days.
Even if I wind up with the shittier bedroom, who fucking cares? Not this bloke.
This flat is close, close, close. That’s all I care about. Spinning around, I turn down the hallway—though that’s a generous term since it’s about three feet long. There are two doors off it, and I knock then open the first one.
There’s a bed, a dresser, and little square footage for anything else. But it’s big enough for bonking, and what more do I need? Nothing.
I knock on the second door. No answer, so I open that too. Two bags sit on the floor. Okay, so Terry picked a room already.
Fine, fine.
They’re pretty much identical.
This makes me wonder . . . I step back into the hall, peering back and forth at the two Lilliputian bedrooms.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I say to myself.
This place is not a true two-bedroom. They cut a one-bedroom in half. Well, this just shows that if something is too good to be true, there’s a reason.
But this is still better than a mansion in Reading.
I return to the living room to grab my bags, and I spot a note on a coffee table. Leaning over, I glance at the first line. It says Hey, Roomie, so I pick it up and read the rest.
I tossed my stuff into one of the bedrooms, but if you’d rather have that one, it’s cool. I’m good with anything.
Just ran out to grab a coffee. I’ll be out tonight, so if I miss you later, I’ll see you . . . whenever.
I know everyone says they’re chill, but seriously, I am. I don’t care if you take long showers, have friends over at all hours, or even play loud music.
As long as it’s not Zeppelin.
Sounds pleasant enough.
Setting down the note, I survey the tiny pad once more, then settle on the dull gray couch. “Well, Terry. I’ll be out tonight too, so it looks like we’ll get along just fine,” I say to no one.
The key rattles in the lock. Terry must be back with that coffee already. Maybe next time, I can put in a request for a proper cup of English Breakfast. But for now, I’ll be the casual roommate, sitting on the settee with an easy smile.
“Hello there, roomie,” I call out as the door opens.
And in walks the American I planned to shag.