Parker:Is he behaving?
I laugh because I can imagine her asking this with a raised brow and a hand firmly on her hip. Ignoring Anders’ questioning look, I respond.
Omar:Relatively speaking, yes.
Parker:Ha, well…let me know if he steps out of line. I’ll happily yank another knot in his tail.
Omar:You know, I almost feel sorry for the guy. You can be intimidating when you want to be.
Parker:Better recognize.
I smile at her sass as Anders and I step onto the elevator. He shifts when he sees me texting, and his anxiety gives me a tiny thrill. Good. He should feel uncomfortable.
Parker:Seriously, though. If he starts driving you crazy, let me know.
Parker:He’s a good person, but he’s also the smartest dumbass I’ve ever met.
Omar:That is, perhaps, the most accurate statement about that man I’ve ever heard.
Omar:I’ll keep you posted.
I pocket my phone and look forward, ignoring the curiosity Anders can’t quite hide.
7
Anders
You know, it’s rude as hell to talk about someone in front of them, even if you’re doing it via text. Hell, especially if you’re doing it via text. Also, whoever’s texting him made him smile, so I already hate them.
We get to Omar’s apartment, and it’s surreal to wait for Omar to open it up, rather than just making my way in.
Which makes me sound like a creepy stalker.
Or a sparkly vampire.
Jesus, Anders. Pull yourself together.
We walk inside, and I really do love his place. The whole development is beautiful and uniquely Austin, but walking through Omar’s door is like entering into a different world. The walls and the furniture are stark white, the flooring is dark gray and distressed, and—I say this with no small amount of pride— the brilliant green plants tucked into every corner of the condo give the effect of being on vacation. His balcony overlooks Downtown Austin, the view beautiful and vibrant.
In addition to the deceptively simple way in which everything is decorated, it’s pristine. There isn’t a sock or a piece of paper or an errant flyer from the mail out of place. I’m scruffy and unkempt in comparison, and even though I’ve already been here a time or two, now that I’m here with Omar…I feel oddly out of place.
Omar disappears into his bedroom, returning with a precisely folded pile of T-shirts and jeans, nice ones. And while I promised Parker and my brother I’d avoid any conversation about his sexuality, I recognize some of these name brands as popular in the gay community.
He has to be doing that on purpose.
I bite my lip, and he heads off to his kitchen, leaving me alone in the living room.
As I’m stuffing his clothing into my gym bag, a glass crashes to the floor, accompanied by a pained “Fuck.”
I’m on my feet before I have a chance to think about it, and I find Omar leaning over the sink, blood dripping from his hand, a shattered blender full of healthy-looking stuff on the floor.
“Here, let me take a look at it.”
“It’s fine. Just a scratch,” he says, grimacing.
“Bullshit, you’re bleeding heavily. If you don’t take care of it properly, it’ll become infected, and that’ll fuck us over on this assignment.”
I stick out my hand, waiting for him to give me his.
