“And your arm? How’s that doing?”
He pauses at the fridge where he’d been reaching inside to pull out a beer, his mouth tilting down a fraction before he recovers. “It’s fine. Just a little stiff, that’s all.”
“Well, that’s good, I guess.”
“Mhm.”
I realize I’m stalling, because there’s no version of this conversation where Jack isn’t a bit of a shit about it, but I know it’s something that has to be done.
Like a Band-Aid,I think.
“Hey, so…” I rub the back of my neck, stepping closer to theattached kitchen and settling onto one of the stools at the bar. “I realized something today.”
“That I’m the best roommate on the planet?”
“No.” I roll my eyes.
“That I’m thehandsomestroommate on the planet?”
I stare at him flatly.
“Fine, fine,” he laughs. “What did you realize?”
Like a Band-Aid,I remind myself.
“I…never said thank you. For you letting me stay here. It was…really nice of you to offer and…I appreciate it.”
He blinks back at me for several seconds, and a part of me finds it amusing that I’ve managed to shock him. Then he recovers, his mouth quirking at the corners.
“On a scale of one to ten, how painful was that?”
I grimace. “Solid eleven.”
His laugh is loud and boisterous, transforming his already—admittedly—handsome face into something sort of devastating. He has dimples, I realize. Honest to God dimples. How have I never noticed that before? I mean, Lila has them, too, so it makes sense, but…Is that really how hard I’ve been trying not to pay attention to Jack?
“It’s really no problem,” he assures me. “The room was there, and it’s not like our schedules really cross all that much.” He makes a face. “Tonight being an exception, I guess.”
“Still,” I assert. “I appreciate it. It’s nice having my own space again.”
“Probably nice not to hear all the moaning through the walls anymore too,” he notes.
I make anacksound. “Don’t remind me.”
“I can start being louder during my self-love sessions if you’re feeling homesick,” he says seriously.
“Please never say ‘self-love sessions’ to me ever again.”
“No promises,” he says. He waves a finger in a circle in the direction of his face. “No filter.”
The microwave starts to beep, and he turns from it to me to it again, his brows rising. “Want some nachos? They’re kind of my specialty. There’s enough to spare.”
Now, part of me wants to say no, because there has been enough interaction between me and my ornery roommate tonight, I think, but then again—it is the most normal interaction we’ve had in, well…ever.
Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to try to foster some sort of peace between us.
“Nachos sound good,” I say, keeping my voice casual.
“Just try not to fall in love with me after having them,” he says with a straight face.
