In the Middle of Somewhere (Middle of Somewhere, #1)(80)

It’s funny: Will is kind of a messy eater. He crams fries in his mouth like the kids I used to hang out with in diners, and it looks odd with his refined face and expensive clothes. I only notice it because I used to eat that way too. I grew up guarding my plate against my brothers and eating as fast as I could. It’s one of the things I worked hard to fix when I noticed the other grad students at Penn didn’t eat like me.

I eat about half my BLT and fries and push the plate over to Rex, who started eyeing it as soon as the smell of bacon hit his nose. He squeezes my thigh.

“You don’t want any more?” he asks, like he always does, and I say “I’m done,” just like I always do, and I have this weird picture in my head of that exchange happening a thousand more times. I shake my head, which is all fuzzy, though I feel better now that I’ve eaten.

Will is watching us, his greasy fingers leaving prints on his martini glass.

“You want to get out of here?” Rex asks me when he finishes the food. His eyes are warm and his stubble is a little longer than usual because he worked from home today. It looks soft, and in the light of the pub, I can see the red in it and a few strands of silver at his temples. I nod.

Outside, it smells bright and cold and Rex puts his arm around me again.

“I’ll walk you home,” Rex says, though you can almost see my apartment from here.

“Go to bed, old men,” Will calls, waving behind him as he walks in the other direction without looking back.

Rex and I amble toward my house.

“Wait, how old is Will?” I ask, registering the old man comment.

“Twenty-six.”

“Wow, so you dated when he was only, what, twenty-two?”

“Yeah, he’d just finished college.”

I unlock the door and for once my apartment doesn’t feel too oppressive. I left the window open a crack, so the ramen smell has dissipated, anyway. Kicking my shoes off and dropping my bag on the quasi-fixed kitchen table, I walk into the bathroom and brush my teeth twice. Nothing makes the day feel distant like the taste of toothpaste. I wander back outside and Rex has locked the front door.

“Do you want to stay?” I ask him. “I don’t know if you can leave Marilyn alone, but….” I stand near the bed and pull my shirt off. I’m definitely a bit tipsy because all I can concentrate on are the lines of Rex’s body and the way he’s looking at me—like I’m some kind of treat he lets himself have sometimes. He walks closer and I can smell the spicy pine scent from his woodshop. He runs his hands down my arms and pulls me into a hug.

“Thank you for coming tonight,” he says. “I know you weren’t crazy about the idea. And I know Will acts like a child sometimes. But he’s just defensive with new people, you know? Never wants to show his hand first.”

I like how Rex explains things, like he sees the truth in why people do things. Even shitty things. He rubs my back softly.

“You’re welcome.”

“I can stay,” he says, “if you want.” I nod against his shoulder and pull his shirt off, breathing in the smell of his skin.

“You’re so tired, baby,” he says. “And maybe a little tipsy?”

“Maybe a little,” I allow. “Sorry it’s so cold.”

“Isn’t the heat on yet?”

“Um. No.”

“Did you call Carl?”

I groan. I can’t believe I gave him that opening.

“Daniel!” he says. “It’s going to be really cold soon. You need to—”

I put my hand over his mouth.

“Do you need anything?” I ask, removing my hand.

“Can I use your toothpaste?”

I kiss him on the mouth.

“Mmm,” he says. “Can I use it from the tube?”

I nod, and pull my pants and socks off before getting into bed. This bed is shitty; I feel a little bad making Rex sleep on it, though I’ve definitely slept on worse. His bed is so comfortable. My mind is drifting, picturing us on a bed the size of a room, when Rex slides in beside me, and pulls me to him, nestling my head in his neck.

“Sorry my bed’s so uncomfortable,” I murmur.

“It’s worth it,” he says.

I swallow a lump in my throat and turn my face farther into him.

“I just like you so much,” I say. “How do you do that?”

And I think he answers, but I’m already sliding toward sleep.





Chapter 11


October



WHEN I get to Rex’s, he’s in his workshop, using a belt-sander on the surface of a tabletop, sawdust all over his chest and stomach and sticking to his sweaty arms.

“Damn,” I mutter, and he looks up, lifting the sander from the wood and pushing up his safety goggles.

“Hi,” he says, reaching for me, but pulling back when he realizes he’s all sweaty. I pull him down for a kiss and brush the sawdust off my chest. He looks f*cking sexy.

In some ways, he’s the type of guy I’ve always been secretly attracted to: guys who could crush me as easily as the beer cans they swig from, wiping their hard mouths with the backs of dirty hands. But Rex is inclined less toward crushing and more toward putting back together. If only he could tinker me into shape as easily as one of his busted clocks.