Screwmates(17)

“I don’t know, guys…” I was still waffling even though I knew which choice will bring me joy.

“Look. He has too many mommy issues for this to be more than an occasional sex thing. And bonus: it could be the basis for that sitcom style comic you’re always threatening to write,” Ava reminded me. Mommy issues? It made sense, given what he’d shared.

“The sitcomic! It actually is a pretty good premise,” Lizzie added.

“I don’t necessarily get it,” said Scarlet.

“It would be a comic about real life. Like the kind of comedy show you watch on TV, just in comic book form. And book, not strip. So you’d get a couple pages per ‘episode’,” I explained. “I was looking for the right idea to spark. Then I could put it on Tumblr or something and link back to my website. Build up my email list. That jazz.”

“Ok, I do like that.” She agreed. “Just, you know, be careful. Truth is stranger than fiction.”

“Hey guys. Hey, guys. She can call it,” Ava paused to cackle, “She can call it Screwmates!” They dissolved into giggles once again.

Oh, for—for the love of Gotham. I was finished with them. I stood and with a dramatic uptick of my chin, I declared, “I’m leaving with whatever shreds of my dignity remain.” The boisterous laughter that accompanied my departure led me to believe I probably didn’t have any dignity left at all.

Which was another reason why I should go after Marc. With my pride already gone, what else did I have to lose?





Six





This time, I thought ahead and called JD before going into the shop. No point in changing into my ink-stained gear if I didn’t need to. Shoot, some days I never bother getting out of pajamas, knowing that I’ll just be right back in them fourteen hours later.

“The repairman had to order a part. It’s supposed to be in tomorrow morning.”

“So another paid night off?” I asked hopefully.

JD let out an audible sigh, likely discouraged by the money he lost every minute the machine was down. “One more paid night off. But expect to be here late the rest of the week. We’re going to have a lot of work to do to get caught up.”

That was fine. I could handle overtime. I’d get paid again! My glee at the prospect of extra cash far outweighed my guilt over JD having to shell out.

Meanwhile, it meant I had another night free to spend with Marc, so.

It was a sign, I just knew it.

Well. If I was doing this, I had some preparing to do.

First on the list, I had to make sure Marc would be around for the evening. He’d spent much of the afternoon coming in and out, one time leaving in running shorts, another returning with groceries. Not that I was paying attention. It was strange, actually, having another person in the house while I was working on fulfilling my Etsy shop orders. I’d always been grateful for the quiet, convinced I couldn’t work with a lot of distractions.

But Marc wasn’t distracting. I mean, he was distracting because he was Hot Marc—sexy, built, blindingly attractive—but he moved around quietly and he didn’t keep me from my work. It was actually kind of nice having someone else around. Even when I spent most of the time holed up in my room with my headphones on and the volume up, I could feel his presence.

It felt reassuring, in a weird way.

In fact, I was feeling so much at ease that I uploaded the few pages of my sitcomic that I’d put down in a rough-sketch format after Ava suggested it this morning. Certainly a comic about roommates called Screwmates would not be the strangest thing on Tumblr.

Damn her, it actually was the best name idea ever.

I didn’t have super high hopes for the comic, but any new fans it brought in could hopefully be converted to paying customers, so.

After finding out my own schedule was clear for the night, I ventured out looking for Marc, all casual-like. I found him in the kitchen, unloading the dishwasher. His t-shirt rose up as he reached to put a plate on the top shelf exposing a delicious slice of his abdomen.

Damn. I’d never realized how sexy housework could be. I leaned against the counter, oh so casually.

“Headed to work?” he asked, interrupting my shameless yet casual ogling.

It was ridiculous how giddy I was that he’d cared enough to ask. Be cool, Madison! Be casual.

“Nope. Machine’s still down.”

“Oh.”

I couldn’t be sure, but it sounded an awful like an oh of disappointment. Had Marc been looking forward to me being out of the house?

“Hope that doesn’t disrupt your plans,” I said as casually as possible considering that a vice was tightening around my heart. Maybe this whole idea was a mistake after all. “I can always leave—”

“No, don’t leave,” he said in a rush. “I’m having dinner with a friend, but if I’d known you’d be around, I would have…”

“Would have…what?” I held my breath waiting for him to answer. Be freaking casual, Madison!

He gave me a half-smile and shrugged. “I don’t know. I just realized that we’ve lived together all this time and never even had a meal together.” Oh. My. God. He wanted to have a meal with me! “Unless dry Fruit Loops and wine counts.”

I was jittery inside, like I’d had too much espresso, yet somehow I managed to keep my voice steady. “I don't think it does. We’ve got all summer. We’ll manage something.” I danced from foot to foot while I tried to figure out what to say next. Casual was out the window, apparently. Not that it was likely that I ever actually had pulled it off.