Roommate Arrangement (Divorced Men's Club #1)(69)

I’m well on my way to panic-town when I reach Marty and hold out his coffee.

His eyes immediately narrow in concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” I shake my head because it’s not like I can tell him I’m in love with his brother and we’ve been sleeping together. I almost wish Lizzy was here so that I could tell her the full story, have her yell at me for being a dumbass, and then get squashed in reassuring hugs.

“You’re seriously pale, man. Here, sit down.”

I shake off his concern and step away from the bench he’s trying to steer me toward. “It’s fine. I’m fine. Just … things on my mind.”

It’s clear he doesn’t believe me, but I’m not doing a convincing job either.

“You know what I want?” he asks. “A beer. Maybe I can call in for the afternoon and we’ll go to the Killer Brew? It’s been ages since we’ve hung out properly.”

“You’re not subtle at all.”

He laughs, and my heart pangs at how much it reminds me of Payne. “Come on, man. Drinks? Please?”

“It’s not like I have anything else to do with my day.” Because there’s no way I’ll be able to focus on work, knowing where Payne is.

We ditch our coffees, then walk the two blocks to the brewery. As usual for the day, the market is full and the bar side is quiet, apart from people grabbing lunch in the booths.

We take a seat at the bar and order our drinks, before I say, as casually as I can, “Talk to your brother today?”

“Nah, why?”

“No reason.” Because I want to know if he’s seeing his stinking ex.

Marty turns on his stool to face me. “Well, that was a lie. What’s going on? Did you guys have a fight? Please say no—I can’t handle him back on my couch.”

I stifle my dislike at the thought of us fighting. “Nothing like that.”

“Then what is it?”

There’s a spot on the mirrored wall above the bar, and I stare at it, mentally running through what I can actually tell him. The annoying part is I can’t come up with any tidbit to throw him off because … I want to tell him. “I don’t think I can say.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s not just about me.”

“For fuck’s sake, Beau. I’m your best friend. You can tell me anything.”

Damn, I wish that was true. “I don’t know how you’ll take it.”

“Take what?” I can feel him watching me.

“The thing I need to say and want to tell you but can’t.”

“And now you’re speaking in riddles.” He runs his hand back over his short hair. “You’re upset, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’ve had your heart broken, or—”

My head snaps toward him.

Marty’s eyes get wide. “You … wait, what? Who have you been—” His mouth drops. “Oh, fuck no.”

“Umm … ‘fuck no’ what?” My gut hollows at the way he’s looking at me because I’m on the fence about whether he’s about to throw fists or start yelling.

Surely he doesn’t actually give a shit? He wouldn’t be mad, right? I mean, Payne is his brother so— Marty cracks up laughing. “Payne? There is no way. Please tell me I’m wrong.”

I cringe. “And if I can’t?”

The amusement slips from his face. “Payne?”

I hum.

“And you?”

“You could sound a little less disgusted.”

“Sorry, I’m …” He looks away. “Processing.”

“Can you process a bit faster? Because I’m scared you’re mad, and I really need to talk about this.”

“I’m not mad, I … I don’t get it. He’s just left his husband, like … are you guys fucking around or, wow. I have no idea what’s going on.”

“That would make two of us.” I take a long gulp of beer.

Marty cringes. “I knew I spotted a hickey on Payne’s neck when you two came over the other week.”

“Guilty.”

“Let’s move to a booth. This isn’t a bar top conversation.”

I think that’s actually the perfect setting for regurgitating your every thought and fear onto a person, but I follow Marty anyway.

He’s quiet for a minute after sliding in, and then he sighs. “All right, I think I need you to explain, because I don’t understand. How did it happen, and why are you looking so upset?”

“Well … I guess the first thing you should probably know is that I have feelings for Payne.”

“Okay …”

“And have since high school.”

“Fucking what?” He tips his beer up and drains the glass. “You mean, like, you had a crush? And it’s back?”

“No, I mean I’ve had real feelings for him for maybe twenty years, and every time I see him is hard.”

“But … you were at his wedding, and …”

“Yeah, that was torture.”

“You’ve dated people.”

“And it’s never worked out.” I take a steadying breath. “I’ve been able to ignore it and resign myself to the reality that I’d never have that chance with him, and then he showed up, newly separated and looking for a place to live.”