“Just text me when you’re done with work and I’ll send you a list.”
“Fine.” I grabbed my keys from the counter. “Where are you going today?”
The question came out before I could stop it, and James looked up from his phone, his eyebrows raised slightly.
“What?”
“I’m just asking where you’re going.” I shrugged, trying to make it sound casual. “House rules, right? We’re supposed to communicate. I told you where I was going today, now it’s your turn.”
He studied me for a long moment, and I could see him trying to figure out if I was being serious or if this was some kind of trap.
“I have a meeting with a potential client at two at the coffee shop down the street,” he said slowly. “Then I’ll probably work from there for a few hours.”
“The coffee shop.” I nodded. “Right.”
“Why do you care?”
“I don’t.” The words came out too fast, too defensive. “I’m just making conversation.”
“Since when do you make conversation?”
He had a point. I didn’t do small talk, especially not with James. But standing here in his apartment, watching him in his sweat-dampened clothes, I felt an inexplicable need to know where he’d be. Who he’d be with. And for what reason.
“Since I’m living here,” I said. “Is that a problem?”
“No.” He turned back to his phone, tapping away.
I left before he could ask any more questions, taking the stairs two at a time. The morning air was crisp, and I sucked in a deep breath, trying to clear my head of whatever the hell that was.
It didn’t mean anything. I was just being considerate, following the house rules we’d established. That was all.
But as I drove to the work site, I couldn’t shake the image of James folding himself in half, his body bending in ways that shouldn’t be possible. Or the way his shirt had clung to his skin. Or the question that kept circling in my mind like a vulture.
Who the hell was he meeting at the coffee shop? His other clients were all virtual, so what made this one so special?
I gripped the steering wheel tighter, my knuckles going white.
It was none of my business. James could meet whoever he wanted, wherever he wanted. I didn’t give a shit.
Except I did, apparently. Because the thought of him sitting across from some client, some gay guy, probably, knowing the neighborhood he lived in, made something twist in my gut that felt uncomfortably like jealousy.
Which was insane. I wasn’t jealous of James. I wasn’t jealous of who he spent time with or who he talked to or who he…
I cranked up the radio, drowning out my own thoughts with the aggressive thump of bass. This was what happened when you didn’t have enough going on in your own life. You started obsessing over other people’s business. Once I got my own place, got back to normal, this weird fixation would disappear.
But I couldn’t help wondering… Why hadn’t I ever been like this with Brittany?
The work site was chaos when I arrived. The electrical contractor had fucked up the wiring in the east wing, and the project manager was having a meltdown about timelines and budgets. I threw myself into the problem, grateful for the distraction.
By the time lunch rolled around, I’d almost forgotten about James and his mysterious coffee shop meeting.
Almost.
I sat in my truck, unwrapping a sandwich from the deli down the street, and found myself pulling out my phone. I stared at James’s contact for a long moment before opening our text thread.
The last message was from this morning. A simple “Have a good day” that I hadn’t responded to. It was a nicety anyway. It’s not like he meant it.
My thumb hovered over the keyboard. I could ask him how the meeting went. That would be normal, right? Just checking in. Being considerate.
