Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 99545 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99545 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
“Bit of both? I watch a lot of movies so that keeps me up later than I should be awake sometimes, and most days I wake up at the crack of dawn. But that’s probably because none of my rentals had curtains on the windows.”
We laugh.
“What kind of movies do you like to watch?” I ask.
Rome shrugs. “Uh, dorky shit. Marvel movies and, I don’t know—horror films.” He shoots a worried glance at Eliza. “I’m not a murderer, I promise.”
“Things murderers say,” she singsongs, albeit with a grin. “Kidding. We love murder flicks too, and only Jack is a killer.”
Very funny.
“Here’s the living room where you can watch all the killing documentaries and comic-book movies you desire.” She flips on the light. “We like to keep it tidy.”
Correction: she likes to keep it tidy, always the one folding the blankets and fluffing pillows and straightening up. Me? Not so much…
Rome’s head nods in approval. “This is awesome.”
Goddamn right it’s awesome. He’s one lucky bastard to land a place like this, and so far, he seems like a decent fellow.
No doubt we can live with him.
Nothing odd about him besides the soggy socks, far as I can tell.
“Oh—we should quickly show you the bedroom you’d be renting, eh?” Eliza is about ready to park her rear in a chair when she springs up, crooking her finger so we both follow her through the house and back up the stairs.
“Seriously guys, this place is insane,” Rome murmurs as we take him to the now empty room.
Eliza took the time to clear out the clothes and shoes from the closet, removed her toiletries and tampons and hairspray and makeup from the quaint little bathroom she inhabited while she was using this space, transferring everything over to my room.
I can see that Rome is jacked up about this place.
“Dude, this is great.” He sits on the bed. “Fully furnished?”
“Yup. If you want to swap out the bedding, you can. Eliza did.”
He looks between us. “The two of you are dating?”
“Yeah. Is that a problem for you, or…”
“No man, I was just wondering. It’s cool.” He bounces on the mattress, testing it out. “This is great.”
“We’d, um, have a few rules of course—respecting privacy, etc. etc. But other than that…”
Eliza and I share a glance.
We both dig him.
“The room is yours if you want it.”
Rome grins. “I’ll take it.”
Epilogue Two
Eliza
It’s move-in day for Roman.
Or Rome, as he likes to be called—although truth be told, he looks more like his name is Stuart. Or Ben.
Not that names can describe a person, but he certainly isn’t a hip and cool Rome. He’s more shy and introverted, happy to observe. Speaks when he has something meaningful to say.
Jack and I have gotten to know him a little bit over the past few days while getting things ready for him to move in, went to the movies with him at the theater one night. We went out for dinner with him on another. We both really enjoy his company—he’s a nice guy, the type I think we’re both going to be able to rely on, the kind of person you would take home to your parents and introduce as your friend.
Rome is single, and I have a sneaking suspicion (based on the fact that he wears socks with sandals) he’s been in the friend zone with women for most of his life. He doesn’t strike me as the type of guy who makes any kind of romantic overture, but then again, that’s just me making assumptions based on little information.
We are excited about this new roommate, adding something new to the equation—someone who shares some of the same hobbies and interests we have.
Jack likes Roman because he’s also not athletic. My cute boyfriend might look big and strong and good at sports, but he’s meh and isn’t afraid to admit he’ll run in the wrong direction when handed the ball.
He is who he is, and he ain’t ashamed.
While the boys haul several of Rome’s boxes inside (and there are way more than I would have guessed, considering he’s a guy and would be expected to own way less stuff), I putz around the kitchen, making food for us to eat once they’re done.
Pizza.
Salad.
Garlic bread.
Pull open the cabinets and stare inside because what else do people eat with pizza? Fruit?
Yeah—I could go for some of that.
My phone pings as I take a container of ripe strawberries from the fridge and set them on the cutting board, washing my hands before taking up the knife.
Check my phone first.
Lilly: Are you busy?
I wipe my hands on a nearby hand towel.
Me: I’m making linner. Why, do you need something?
Lilly: What’s linner?
Me: Lunch and dinner.
Me: But seriously, is everything all right?
Lilly: I need to talk—can I come over?
Me: Sure. Of course! We’re here, just hanging out. New roommate moving in, but his stuff is mostly in the house. Come on over.