Roommate Arrangement (Divorced Men's Club #1)(11)

“Hello?” Payne peeks inside, and his face breaks into a smile when he sees me. “Sorry, I didn’t think you heard me.”

“No, no, that’s fine, come in.” It takes effort not to gawk as he steps into my space, bag slung over his shoulder, and closes the door behind him. Then he looks around.

I try to take in my home the way Payne must be seeing it and barely hold back my cringe. It’s modern, but you wouldn’t know it with the clutter and mess on most surfaces. “So, it’s possible I’m only now realizing that Marty is right. I’m a slob.”

Payne’s deep laugh is friendly. “That’s why I’m here, right?”

Riiight … “Umm, about that.”

He shoots me a confused look as he drops his bag next to the island. “You don’t want me to look after the place?”

“Oh, no, definitely. Look around, the place needs it. I wasn’t lying about that. But the thing is, I maybe had another idea of something you could help me with.” I want to swallow down the words, so the best thing I can do is get them out as fast as possible.

“Oh yeah?” He casually folds his heavily tattooed arms and leans into the counter, totally at ease in my home. For some reason, that makes me even less comfortable.

Which won’t work for this conversation. I pull out a stool at the island and sit, trying to gather my thoughts. All it takes is a glance at Payne’s concerned expression to get me talking. “I’m lonely,” I admit. “Mostly. Like, I like my own space and doing things my way, but I’m reaching an age where I need someone.”

“Ah, Beau …”

“Not you,” I hurry to clarify, though, yeah, I’d love him to throw me a bone. Euphemism included. “I’ve tried to date, and it’s never gone well. Apparently, I’m fussy or whatever and cause secondhand embarrassment.” I’m still mad the last guy I dated said that.

“What do you want from me, then?”

“Teach me how to live with someone.”

His lips quirk. “Teach you?”

“Yes. I’m not good at it.”

“Living with people?”

“It’s more people in general.”

He barks out a laugh, and a trickle of pride hits me at causing it. “So, what does this entail, exactly?”

“Well, you’d point out whenever I do something weird or annoying or frustrating. When it happens—and it will—you tell me, I’ll make a note of it, and then I can avoid it in the future.”

He’s silent for a moment. “You’re going to change yourself for someone?”

“Improve,” I correct, because change just sounds sad. “I’m going to improve myself with your help.”

“I don’t think you need to change or improve anything though.”

It’s my turn to laugh. “You’re also not trying to date me, and in the last year, I can probably count on one hand how many times we’ve seen each other.”

“True …”

“You don’t have to.” I want to make that clear. “It’s not a condition. Neither is the cleaning, honestly, and you also don’t need to rush to try and find a place either. Whether you’re here for a week or months, that room is yours, and I want you to feel comfortable.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that.” He eyes me. “Okay, you’re on. If—and that’s heavy on the if—I notice anything strange, I’ll give you the heads-up.”

“Perfect.”

“Right.” Payne hefts his bag back onto his shoulder. “You going to give me the tour now?”

“Oh, shit, yeah.” I slide from my stool and lead Payne through the apartment. He’s mostly quiet, occasionally commenting on something he likes.

He points to my work desk set up in what should be the dining room. “Why didn’t you use the spare room as your office?”

“That was the original plan, but it felt too claustrophobic. Like I was in a cell. Or a coffin. Sometimes I’ll go a week of writing nonstop, and when I finally come out of that weird place I go when I focus, I realize it’s been that long since I had any other human contact. At least here, I have a view of the street outside. I like seeing the sky.”

“Well, I can’t wait to see my coffin.” He grins at the morbid humor, and it relaxes me.

Which does nothing to help with the not-liking-him thing.

“The bedrooms are down here.”

Payne follows me into the hall, and we pause outside his bedroom.

“Mine’s there,” I say, pointing to the door across from his. “And I actually remembered to put fresh sheets on your bed this morning, so high fives for me.”

“Very impressed.”

He’s definitely humoring me.

I go to turn away when I remember something. “I also keep unusual work hours. When inspiration hits, I’ll zone out to the point I won’t even notice you.” I sigh and lean against the wall. “It’s been a while though. My brain is fighting me. So sometimes I’m up late, others I’m up early. And I’m very, very easily distracted at the moment.”

“Don’t distract you. Got it.”

It’s unnerving how easygoing he is. There’s no fighting me or pushing for more information. I don’t get it. I like it though.