Roommate Arrangement (Divorced Men's Club #1)(17)

When I trust my legs to move again, I climb into the shower and clean off.

Readying myself to go back out there and face him.





The breeze from the water blows through the café at the Killer Brew, sending a chill down my back. I tuck my hands under my arms and place an order for Marty’s and my usual coffees, then move to the side.

Ford Thomas is already there waiting. “Hey, Beau, how’s things?”

“Yeah, not bad. Just meeting Marty.”

He makes an affirmative noise. We’re usually here at the same time, so of course he already knows that. His garage is down the street, and he stops by here for lunch a lot.

“What about you?”

He tilts his head from side to side. “Mostly good. Just had to let another pain-in-the-ass kid go, so I’m looking for an assistant. Again.”

“Ouch. What’s that? Three in the last month or so?”

His chuckle is as loud and large as he is. “Easy now. It’s not my fault they don’t want to show up for work.”

“Well, you keep hiring teenagers.”

“I’ve had some good teenage apprentices before. The problem is with the low pay rate and minimal job responsibilities, no one older is applying.”

“Could you combine the work?”

He grunts as his coffee order is called. “Maybe. I’ll think on it and figure something out.”

I say goodbye, and then when my order is up, I grab both coffees and head out to meet Marty.

He smiles wide as I approach. It’s funny that he and Payne are totally different, yet both feel like home. Marty is a bookkeeper for small businesses and always looks well-groomed and put together. Button-up shirts, clean-shaven, short and tidy hair. He has more lines in his face than Payne, even though Payne is four years older, but the lines make him look happy, instead of old.

My erratic sleeping patterns and tendency to work until I drop when the muse hits means I look way older than either of them.

Not in a hot way.

In an exhausted way.

I hand over his coffee, and we start on our usual path along the boardwalk.

“I have an odd question.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Do I ever annoy you?” I ask.

“What?”

“With, you know, how …” I struggle to think of a word that describes me properly. “Absentminded I am.”

He stares at me. “What’s brought this on?”

“Been thinking. Obviously, I’m worse at the moment because of the writer’s block, but outside of you, who do I have? Everyone else has decided I’m too much work, so why not you?”

“Beau …” He squeezes my shoulder, and with a jolt, I’m reminded of Payne. “It’s one of your … quirks. You’re not doing it maliciously.”

“Never.”

“Then how could I be annoyed? Seriously, what’s this about?”

“Nothing. I’m being melancholy. Ignore me.”

“You’re okay though, right?”

“Yes, actually.” I hesitate over how much to say. “It’s been good having Payne live with me.”

“How does he seem to you? Whenever I ask, he says he’s fine, but you know my big brother. He wouldn’t admit if he wasn’t.”

If he’s told Marty he’s fine, it’s not up to me to say otherwise. And it’s not like it’s a lie—he is fine. Mostly. Until I catch glimpses of a man who’s had a shitty thing happen to him and is trying to pretend he hasn’t. “I think his main problem at the moment is finding a job.”

“That makes sense. He’s never been great at having nothing to do.” Marty takes a long drink. “I think he’d take anything about now.”

“Exactly.” I frown. “Wait, anything?”

“From what he was saying.”

I hum, wondering whether the job Ford has would class as “anything.” Being an errand boy for the garage wouldn’t be Payne’s first calling.

“What’s that noise?” Marty asks.

“Ford mentioned he was looking for someone again, but I can’t see Payne picking up spare parts and cleaning out car interiors.”

“You could suggest it and let him decide.”

“True …”

Payne’s reliable. And if Ford has been messed around, he’ll be far more likely to hire someone like Payne than some fresh-faced high school graduate.

Who knows? Maybe Payne’ll be so thrilled to have any job, he’ll want to reward the one who gives him the lead.

I indulge the fantasy for all of a second, because I notice Marty watching me again.

“What is it?” I ask.

“You’re different today.”

I shift. “Did some yoga this morning.”

“Hmm … maybe that’s it.”

Silence creeps in, and I know he wants to say something. “All right, out with it.”

He chuckles. “You always know.”

“Because I know you. What do you want to say that I’m going to hate?”

“I have this friend …”

He pauses so I can let out the required groan. Every couple of months, he tries to set me up with someone, and it never ends well. “Why are we doing this again?”