Roommate Arrangement (Divorced Men's Club #1)(14)

And during the few times I’ve snuck out there without him noticing, I’ve watched him. He’s constantly doing something. Swinging his chair, or tapping his pen, or punching random keys on his keyboard. Being around all that energy makes even me feel awkward, and that’s not a feeling I’m used to.

So, I’ve been spending time in my room. Too much time. I get what Beau meant about it feeling claustrophobic. The window here looks into the next yard, so I like to have breakfast out on the balcony, looking up at Provin Mountain and the old Kilborough Penitentiary—or Kill Pen for short.

I get up and stretch, then head out into the living area, which is … well, not the same room as it was yesterday.

My feet halt in their tracks. Every item of furniture has been dragged into the room and piled together. Chairs and stools, the dining room table. One couch has been pushed up onto its side, and the other is blocking the entrance to the kitchen. Dark sheets cover the windows, and a mattress—I’m assuming Beau’s—is propped against the door to the balcony, preventing any light from getting in.

Did someone break in? And, what? Caused polite and mildly annoying chaos?

“Ah … Beau?” I call out.

His head pops up like a meerkat in the middle of the mess. He blinks at me for a moment and then, “Shit. Sorry. Umm …” He glances around, like he’s seeing the mess for the first time.

“What is all this?” Somehow I manage to get the question out without sounding too amused.

“A fort …”

“A fort?” Okay, I stumble over my amusement on that one.

“Sorry, just—just give me a second and I’ll take it down. I was, umm—” He cuts off and shakes his head. “Never mind. It will be gone. Momentarily.” He disappears inside, and I choke back my chuckle before approaching. Peering over the side, I find Beau scrambling to pick up a mess of papers and notebooks that surround his laptop. “Whatcha got there, Bo-Bo?”

His head jerks up, face flushed and glasses slipping down his nose. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

Instead of pushing him to explain, I duck down, find the entrance, and crawl inside.

It’s obvious he knows I’m here by the tension in his shoulders, but he doesn’t look at me.

“So, it’s possible I forgot you were home,” he says in a rush.

“And you regularly build forts for yourself when you’re alone?”

“Of course not.” He gives me a look like the question is ridiculous.

“Then …”

He sighs and drops back to sit on the floor. “I’m stuck.”

“Stuck?” I pretend to glance behind me. “The entrance is right there.”

“Funny, but I mean on my book.”

That makes more sense. Good to know Beau isn’t losing it. “What are you stuck on?”

A scowl crosses his features. “I have this impenetrable fortress. Like, the whole series has been well established that it’s impenetrable. No one in or out unless it’s approved.”

“Okay …”

“And now the stupid hero’s stupid love interest has been stupid, captured, and taken there.”

I don’t mean to laugh, I really don’t, but it slips out anyway. “Sounds stupid.”

He makes an affirmative noise.

“Well, your world, your rules, right?”

“Sort of. But it doesn’t work that way. Once it’s established, I have to work with it, otherwise the whole series crumbles if the world building can’t be trusted.”

“I know nothing about this stuff, but surely one tweak isn’t something people will notice. They’re there for a good time, not to pick the thing apart.”

He cocks a pale eyebrow, and it makes me grin. “One time I spelled a minor side character’s name as J-U-N-A-E-A instead of J-U-A-N-E-A and had thirty-seven emails about it.”

“Yikes.”

He nods. “They notice. Which I love. But it’s also taught me to be meticulous about everything. I stress over things most people wouldn’t even know to stress over.”

I can see that. He is stressed. It’s in the way he holds himself and how his mouth turns down and his eyes have dark smudges under them. Beau’s a good-looking guy; even with all that going on, I can only imagine what a good night’s sleep would do for him.

“That’s really interesting.”

“Code for boring as fuck?”

I bark out a laugh. “No, I’m being serious. I wouldn’t know the first thing about writing. Whereas you can create a world out of nothing, using only your brain …”

“I’d appreciate the compliment more if my brain hadn’t written me into a corner.”

I think for a moment. “Could you have the love interest not be taken there?”

“No, it’s how I ended the last book. Which just published.”

“Well, I’m not creative, so I don’t have a lot of ideas for you, but I’m here if you need to, I don’t know, throw ideas out there?”

“Thanks.”

Before an awkward silence can fall, I change the subject.

“I applied for ten jobs last night.” Basically all entry-level, which I’m trying not to think about.