The Roommate Agreement(5)

Damn it.

I picked it up from where it’d landed just underneath the sofa and returned to my lounging just in time to hear four words from the TV.

“Screw the roommate agreement.”

It came followed by a sharp gasp—and not just the one from Sheldon.

There was one from me.

The roommate agreement.

That was it. That was what I needed with Jay. A roommate agreement that laid out the rules, that worked in both our favors, and that finally drew the line between what was acceptable and what wasn’t.

Hot damn.

I ran to my room, grabbed a pen and a notebook, and got to work.





CHAPTER THREE – SHELBY


The Washer Will Not Kill You



I sat on the stool at the kitchen island and waited for Jay to wake up.

I’d gone to bed before he’d gotten home last night, and since he’d gotten in so late, I’d been able to run to the library to print out the agreement I’d spent half the night working on.

Yes, I had a printer and no, it did not like me. The feeling was completely mutual, it should be noted.

It was a piece of shit, and I’d told it so.

Now, I sat, chewing on a piece of toast, waiting for his ass to get out of bed and read this over. I didn’t know how he’d take it, so I even had pancake batter waiting to make his favorite chocolate chip pancakes.

That’s right. I was that friend. I’ll kick you in the balls, but I’ll cook for you to soften the blow.

It helped that I was a pretty good cook and that Jay could, well. He could just about do a Pop-Tart where breakfast foods were concerned.

I mean, there was nothing like saying, “Good morning! You need to go on the lease so you’re actually liable for rent,” like making pancakes and bacon.

I tapped my nails against the top of the island. The sound of a door opening was shortly followed by the sound of a second one closing. I knew it was two different doors because the bathroom door had a horrible squeak that rang out whenever it moved.

I waited. The sound of the flush came as I knew it would, and I also wasn’t surprised when I saw Jay stroll into the kitchen in his underwear.

He yawned, reaching between his legs, and scratched at his groin.

I cleared my throat, clapping my hand to my eyes.

He froze. “Shit.”

“Please put some pants on. I need to talk to you.”

“Sorry. Hold on.”

I kept my hand where it was over my eyes until I knew for a fact he was back and wearing pants. There was only so many times I could see him in his underwear, thanks to my stupid little crush on him.

So he wasn’t wearing a t-shirt, but I needed him to wear pants. I could deal with some inner drooling over my best friend’s abs if I really had to.

Also, the view was nice. I’d pay for it the way people paid to visit a strip club.

Pancakes and abs were the things dreams were made of.

Unless the abs belonged to your best friend and roommate. Then, they were off limits.

Sadly.

“What’s up?”

“Are you wearing pants?” I asked, relieving the pressure over my eyes just a little.

“I’m wearing what you call pants, yes.”

Against my better judgment, I looked.

He was wearing sweatpants.

“You’re a dick,” I said, pursing my lips. “Sweatpants are real pants. It’s literally in the name.”

“All right, but I’m still not convinced about leggings.” He leaned over the bowl full of batter mix. “Are you making pancakes? What bad news do you have?”

“Okay, first,” I replied, swiveling on the stool. “Leggings are pants, and if you can’t agree with that, you’re gonna need to move out.”

“Fighting talk.” He dipped his finger into the batter and licked it off.

I reached over and smacked him away from it. “Second, I don’t have any bad news. Well, I hope it’s not. I had an epiphany.”

“Well, fuck. We’re all in trouble.” He grinned, his green eyes glinting with laughter. “What’s up?”

I pushed the paper toward him. “I wrote a roommate agreement.”

“A roommate agreement?” Jay quirked an eyebrow. “Do I need to start rationing you on The Big Bang Theory?”

I knew he’d bring that up.

“There is nothing wrong with my enjoyment of The Big Bang Theory.”

“You say enjoyment; I say unhealthy obsession…” He trailed off and shrugged.

“Says the guy who watches sports all year round and acts like the players can hear him yelling,” I replied shortly. “No, this agreement is for real. It’s not some joke, Jay. You’ve been here three months, so unless you’re actively going to move out, we need to make sure the living situation is acceptable for us both.”

He dipped his finger back into the batter and jumped back before I could hit him again. “You mean I’m going on the rental agreement.”

“That’s one thing, yes, but otherwise…” I shrugged. “It’s how we’re going to co-exist. We’re different people. I like it to be quiet and calm and not have a club of bulking gym-rats yelling at the TV.”

His lips twitched.