Screwmates(13)

I mirrored him. “Congratulations. I bet you’re looking forward to it.”

“I am.” But the twinkle disappeared from his eyes.

“You’re also going to miss it.”

He seemed to ponder that for a moment.

Then he abruptly changed the subject. “So what about your job? I figure you sell a lot of your work online or around town. But where do you go every night? A print shop, right? You make t-shirts or something.” Apparently I wasn’t the only one Ava had been dishing roommate secrets to. But shoddily, since neither of us new much.

In my hopeful, imaginary version of events, he’d asked her about me. If it had been her volunteering the info, I didn’t want to know. Ava had been present for too much of my awkward to be trusted to volunteer good info. Also, Ava enjoyed being an agent of chaos. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she threw us together just for her own amusement,

“Do you like that?” he asked. One brow raised over his chocolate-brown eyes. Yes, I did. Oh, he meant the print shop.

“I actually love it. I make t-shirts and canvas bags and aprons and pillows. Sometimes clients even let me do the graphic design. Everything I do is interesting. It’s different every day.”

“That sounds so…unstructured,” he said, with an air of disgust. Academics, man. I thrived on the freedom.

“Not your style. I get it. But I think that’s what I love the most about it. It never gets boring. It takes skill, but you can also totally zone out while you’re working. I come up with my best ideas halfway through a print run. Plus, it’s super convenient. I stay late a few times a week and print my own stuff that I sell online. So it’s a twofer.”

“Your boss knows you do that?” He sounded incredulous.

“That I use the machines for my own stuff? Yeah.” Marc clearly thought I was capable of more subtlety than I really am. No way could I have pulled something like that over on JD for my entire six years of employment. Not with my tendency to run off at the mouth when I’m nervous.

Marc studied me. “And he’s cool with that?”

“Well, I give him blowjobs,” I said as casually as I could.

“Oh. I—oh. I mean. Oh. The cost of doing business…” he trailed off.

I couldn’t hold it in any longer and cracked up. “Oh my God, Marc. I was joking. He lets me because I buy own supplies and he’s a good person who wants to see me succeed. There are good people in the world, you know.” The cost of doing business. My word. He was all ready to justify it for me. What a gentleman.

On the other hand, he was also ready to believe it of me. Hmm.

“There are?” At least he was laughing with me.

“Of course there are. Two. Maybe even three. My boss is one of them, for sure, and maybe so is that neighbor who gives you the wine. The others are merely rumored.”

“Well, there are no good people in academia. That’s just a fact.” He turned slightly to face me.

“Maybe you should quit and open a print shop. It encourages goodness, apparently.” His eyes were the exact shade of the ink used for Luke Cage’s skin, how had I not noticed that before? But instead of deflecting everything like the character did, these eyes pulled me in. I was staring, but so was he.

This was it, this was it! I held my breath waiting for him to lean in and…

The couch shifted as Marc stood up.

Oh.

“About the other night…” he began, and my stomach sank to my knees. Damn it. This was it, but the wrong IT.

I stood up to face him. If he was going to give this speech, I wanted to be on my feet.

He stuck his hands in his jean pockets as if he thought they needed some sort of prison. “It really should not have happened,” he said.

I swallowed past the pineapple-sized lump that had formed in my throat. “Exactly.” No way was I letting him think I ever thought differently. “Going to screw up our whole roommate situation. Not happening again.”

“Definitely not happening.” He took a step toward me. Suggestively? I thought so. But my instincts have failed me before.

“Right,” I said. I wasn’t going to back down.

“So right,” he said, taking another step. Were we flirting? Had we merely run out of conversation? I had no idea what was happening.

“Right,” I said again, moving a little closer too.

“Right.” Another step. I could feel the heat radiating off his body.

I inched slightly closer, wondering if he could feel my heat, too.

“Right.” He eyes were glued to my lips, and I was desperately reminding myself not to do the nervous twisty thing.

“Right.” Had he moved again? I couldn’t tell. His eyes were hypnotizing.

“Right.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he finally said, “wrong,” and he kissed me.

Fireworks! They were exploding from my skin, so bright they could probably be seen from space.

We were all over each other, our lips locked, our tongues tangled. It was criminal how good he was at that. Not like I’ve kissed that many guys, but this was leagues beyond what they’d ever done. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t occur to me what kissing like that foretold.

I was dizzy, and it wasn’t from the wine. I steadied myself on his shoulders, and his arms came around to encircle my waist. I kissed down the side of his neck. It still smelled like the cologne he’d worn earlier, all sandalwood and mint.