Roommate Arrangement (Divorced Men’s Club Book 1)

I told myself I’d be ready today. I promised. And yet I’d gotten up early and then become distracted by, well, everything. As I look around the apartment, I can’t put my finger on exactly what I’ve been doing all day.

My dirty clothes are sorted, but none of it made it into the washing machine, my dishwasher is full of dirty dishes, but the clean ones are piled on the countertops so I could wipe out the cupboards, and the toilet cleaner and bleach are sitting on the floor by the bathroom door, where I left them before I got an idea I needed to jot down.

When did my life become such a mess?

For all of my hard work, the place is disgusting. I’m behind on my deadline. And when I open the fridge to grab something to settle my stomach over the thought of Payne’s impending arrival and note the suspicious lack of food in there, I remember too late I was supposed to go shopping yesterday.

I go to slump onto my couch when I catch myself in time.

He’ll be here any minute, and I’d hoped to have the place in some kind of order.

For a thirty-six-year-old man, I’m embarrassingly disorganized.

I redirect my attention to the clean dishes, and just as I’m about to put them away, there’s a knock at the door. Shit.

I grab the stack of plates and shove them in the cupboard above my head. Out of sight, out of mind. Though there really is no more procrastinating. I need to let him in. I do. I can do this. But before I reach for the handle, I take a second to prepare myself. This is … fine. It’s totally fine.

Payne is any other guy.

Who’s incredibly good-looking and out of my league and makes my gut all twisted but … a guy.

Who I also somehow have to convince to look out for my flaws.

I know it’s the best decision long term, but it isn’t my favorite plan to ask the man I have a thing for to focus on my bad qualities. I’d rather wow him with my exceptional blow job skills.

There’s another soft knock, then the door pushes open, and I spring back out of the way.

“Hello?” Payne peeks inside, and his face breaks into a smile when he sees me. “Sorry, I didn’t think you heard me.”

“No, no, that’s fine, come in.” It takes effort not to gawk as he steps into my space, bag slung over his shoulder, and closes the door behind him. Then he looks around.

I try to take in my home the way Payne must be seeing it and barely hold back my cringe. It’s modern, but you wouldn’t know it with the clutter and mess on most surfaces. “So, it’s possible I’m only now realizing that Marty is right. I’m a slob.”

Payne’s deep laugh is friendly. “That’s why I’m here, right?”

Riiight … “Umm, about that.”

He shoots me a confused look as he drops his bag next to the island. “You don’t want me to look after the place?”

“Oh, no, definitely. Look around, the place needs it. I wasn’t lying about that. But the thing is, I maybe had another idea of something you could help me with.” I want to swallow down the words, so the best thing I can do is get them out as fast as possible.

“Oh yeah?” He casually folds his heavily tattooed arms and leans into the counter, totally at ease in my home. For some reason, that makes me even less comfortable.

Which won’t work for this conversation. I pull out a stool at the island and sit, trying to gather my thoughts. All it takes is a glance at Payne’s concerned expression to get me talking. “I’m lonely,” I admit. “Mostly. Like, I like my own space and doing things my way, but I’m reaching an age where I need someone.”

“Ah, Beau …”

“Not you,” I hurry to clarify, though, yeah, I’d love him to throw me a bone. Euphemism included. “I’ve tried to date, and it’s never gone well. Apparently, I’m fussy or whatever and cause secondhand embarrassment.” I’m still mad the last guy I dated said that.

“What do you want from me, then?”

“Teach me how to live with someone.”

His lips quirk. “Teach you?”

“Yes. I’m not good at it.”

“Living with people?”

“It’s more people in general.”

He barks out a laugh, and a trickle of pride hits me at causing it. “So, what does this entail, exactly?”

“Well, you’d point out whenever I do something weird or annoying or frustrating. When it happens—and it will—you tell me, I’ll make a note of it, and then I can avoid it in the future.”

He’s silent for a moment. “You’re going to change yourself for someone?”

“Improve,” I correct, because change just sounds sad. “I’m going to improve myself with your help.”

“I don’t think you need to change or improve anything though.”

It’s my turn to laugh. “You’re also not trying to date me, and in the last year, I can probably count on one hand how many times we’ve seen each other.”

“True …”

“You don’t have to.” I want to make that clear. “It’s not a condition. Neither is the cleaning, honestly, and you also don’t need to rush to try and find a place either. Whether you’re here for a week or months, that room is yours, and I want you to feel comfortable.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that.” He eyes me. “Okay, you’re on. If—and that’s heavy on the if—I notice anything strange, I’ll give you the heads-up.”

“Perfect.”

“Right.” Payne hefts his bag back onto his shoulder. “You going to give me the tour now?”

“Oh, shit, yeah.” I slide from my stool and lead Payne through the apartment. He’s mostly quiet, occasionally commenting on something he likes.

He points to my work desk set up in what should be the dining room. “Why didn’t you use the spare room as your office?”

“That was the original plan, but it felt too claustrophobic. Like I was in a cell. Or a coffin. Sometimes I’ll go a week of writing nonstop, and when I finally come out of that weird place I go when I focus, I realize it’s been that long since I had any other human contact. At least here, I have a view of the street outside. I like seeing the sky.”

“Well, I can’t wait to see my coffin.” He grins at the morbid humor, and it relaxes me.

Which does nothing to help with the not-liking-him thing.

“The bedrooms are down here.”

Payne follows me into the hall, and we pause outside his bedroom.

“Mine’s there,” I say, pointing to the door across from his. “And I actually remembered to put fresh sheets on your bed this morning, so high fives for me.”

“Very impressed.”

He’s definitely humoring me.

I go to turn away when I remember something. “I also keep unusual work hours. When inspiration hits, I’ll zone out to the point I won’t even notice you.” I sigh and lean against the wall. “It’s been a while though. My brain is fighting me. So sometimes I’m up late, others I’m up early. And I’m very, very easily distracted at the moment.”

“Don’t distract you. Got it.”

It’s unnerving how easygoing he is. There’s no fighting me or pushing for more information. I don’t get it. I like it though.

I can’t quite commit to my words, but I try anyway. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Thanks.” His dark eyes watch me steadily.

A nervous sound bubbles up my throat, and I almost trip over my feet as I back up. “Welcome to Casa De Shitraw—” I blanch. “I mean dickraw—ahh, Rickshaw. It’s Rickshaw.”

His laugh fills the space between us as he pushes the door to his room open. “Shitraw or dickraw … I’m glad to be here too.”

I smile until Payne disappears into his room, then flee into the living area. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I walk over to my keyboard and keysmash to let out some of the nerves. It wakes up my computer screen, but I ignore it and grab my phone to order Chinese instead. Maybe some takeout and a drink or two will help ease us into this roommates thing. The sooner we can get comfortable, the easier this will be.

I order a bit of everything and wait until it arrives before I knock on Payne’s door.

“Dinner’s here.”

The door opens suddenly. Payne’s changed into a soft-looking T-shirt and sweats. Black, unfortunately, but tight enough to hug his thighs. I swallow.

“You ordered something for me?” he asks.

“Yeah, I assumed you wouldn’t want to cook.”

“You assumed right.” He follows me out. “What did you get?”

“Chinese.”

“My favorite.”

I know. That part I keep to myself though. Payne helps me clear off the kitchen island before we open the containers and spread them out between us. There’s way too much food for us to get through, but the leftovers will do us for a day or two. Then I go for the bottles of beer. I crack the lid on mine before offering one to him.

“Is this to make things less awkward?” he asks, taking it.

“That’s the plan.”

Payne drops onto one of the stools, and I take the one beside him, pulling it out a little so we’re not touching. Even this feels too close though. Too … intimate.

I can see every hair on his forearm as he reaches for the chopsticks, and I let myself stare for a moment. Curing this crush won’t be an automatic thing, so in the meantime, there’s no point beating myself up over indulging in some eye candy, is there?

Hey, maybe he’ll be terrible at using chopsticks and end up covered in food?

Almost as soon as I have that thought, Payne loads his plate up with practiced confidence. There goes that theory.

He doesn’t talk with his mouth full.

He doesn’t get food stuck in his teeth.

He does talk to me in his low, smooth voice about how much he likes the room and how concerned he is over finding a job here.

This isn’t helping issues.

Not when his voice has one-way access to my cock.

I shift so I’m positioned farther under the counter.

“Can I ask how you are? Like, really?”

I regret the words instantly because his eyes immediately meet mine. “I told you I was doing okay.”

“It’s okay if you’re not though. And if you are. Like, there’s no right answer here, and if you wanted someone to talk it out with, I’m your guy. No judgment.”

“Thanks.” He turns back to his plate. “You didn’t like him, did you?”

“Umm, well, it wasn’t so much that as …”

“As?”

I deflate. “Okay, no, I didn’t.”

“Sorry. I always noticed when that fucker was around, you’d go quiet. I guess you were smarter than the rest of us.”

I drum my fingers, unsure whether to tell the truth or not. The problem is everyone liked Kyle. He didn’t seem like a bad guy overall, but he got to be with Payne, and I didn’t. I was bitter. “He … made me uncomfortable.” Not a total lie. I’m pretty sure Kyle could tell how I felt about Payne.

He straightens. “Why?”

“It’s nothing. Really.”

“Beau …”

“Just, you know … Some people you get along with, others you don’t. That’s all.”

The skeptical noise that comes from him makes it clear he doesn’t believe me. “Either way, I’m sorry he made you feel that way.”

“Thank you.”

He hums, turning toward me, one elbow propped on the counter. I greedily drink in his powerful, spread thighs and wish I could drop down and kneel between them. Everything about Payne that’s ever attracted me to him has amplified in recent years.

His broad back, his rough-looking style. His light brown hair has grown out from the short cut he used to keep it in, and now he has tattoos down both arms.

Being closed in those arms would probably make me pass out.

But more than his looks is the calmness that radiates from him. He’s the stillest person I’ve ever met. Where my hands are always busy and my knees bounce unless I tuck my legs underneath myself, it’s like his entire body owns the space it occupies.

He lifts the beer to his full lips and holds my stare as he drinks. “Kyle cheated on me.”

“I heard.”

He grimaces. “And then I did something I shouldn’t have.”

“Which was?”

“I threw his toothbrush in the toilet and unblocked his number long enough to send him a photo of it the next day.”

“His … toothbrush?”

Payne waves a hand at me. “I don’t want to get into it. But I shouldn’t have done that.”

The bitter, vindictive part of me rears its ugly head. “There was a lot he shouldn’t have done to you. Does it make me a bad person to like that you retaliated?”

“Do you?” His eyes are twinkling, and it makes my gut feel unsteady. “Maybe it does. But if so, then it makes me a bad person too, because smashing his laptop felt so fucking good.”

I can’t help it, I start to laugh. The thought of Kyle arriving home to a smashed laptop and Payne gone makes me so happy. Holy shit, I am a horrible person. A horrible, horrible person. A horrible person who almost wants to suggest that Payne use me as a rebound fuck. Maybe even tell Kyle about it.

When I glance back over, his smile is the one I remember from before all this heartache. Shit, he makes me weak.

I need to try harder to put my plan into action.

But then there’s that tiny voice that doesn’t want to.

I shake the conflicting thoughts away. “How did you find out?”

He chuckles. “You’re nosy, has anyone ever told you that before?”

“A lot. How else would I get ideas for my characters?”

“What?” His eyebrows shoot up. “I don’t want you writing about this.”

I hold up my hands. “Joke. I’m sorry, just a joke. I don’t write about real things anyway, but even if I did, I wouldn’t use people I know.”

“Yeah. Of course.” He shakes his head. “Sorry.”

I sigh. “I guess my jokes are an area I need to work on. Got it.”

He makes a noise I can’t decipher.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing.”

I cringe. “And now that I’ve epically screwed up a nice conversation, I’m going to spend the rest of the night going over and over it in my head, trying to work out what I should have said.”

“Really?” His gaze slides over me. “Why?”

“I can’t help it.”

“But it won’t make a difference.”

“I don’t do it because I think it will make a difference, I do it because I like to torture myself with all the ways I could have been better, funnier, sounded smarter or more interesting. I work out everything I would change if I could.”

Those unnerving eyes meet mine again. “Funny. Because I don’t think I’d change a thing.”

My mouth drops, and I want to point out why he’s wrong, and where I could have been smoother, and maybe moments I could have made him more relaxed.

But then Payne’s large hand is patting my arm in a completely casual way, and I damn near swallow my tongue.

“I think I’m going to hit the sack,” he says.

All I can do is nod.