Roommate Arrangement (Divorced Men’s Club Book 1)
Roommate Arrangement: Chapter 15

I close out of the chat with a short laugh. I should have known better than to expect those dumbasses to help me. My back is prickling with sweat as I climb out of the car I’m detailing. The fans in the warehouse are rotating above, but they’re doing fuck all to reach the ground.

“You look happy,” Ford says, holding out a bottle of water.

I accept it with a grateful smile. “Mostly fine, just dealing with annoying friends who like to give me shit.”

“Let me guess, Art?”

I grin at him. “No idea how you picked that.”

“What’s he giving you shit about?”

“The guy I’m staying with—”

“Beau Rickshaw?”

“Yeah, him. He has a date this weekend, and because he’s nervous, I thought I might take him on a practice one.”

Ford eyes me but doesn’t say anything.

I shake my head. “The more I talk about it, the dumber it sounds.”

“Not dumb at all. You’re helping a friend. It’s admirable.”

“Thank you. That’s what I’m going for.”

“You got the hots for him?”

Why do people keep asking that? I level Ford with a stare, but he just chuckles.

“It’s a fair question. You’re a good-looking guy, he’s a good-looking guy … you both live together …”

“He’s my brother’s friend.”

“Ain’t Marty straight?”

“Yes.”

“Then what’s the issue? If he hasn’t slept with him, it’s fair game.”

“No, it’s … I’m going through a divorce—it’s all I can focus on.” Though, since hooking up with Beau, I haven’t given Kyle a second thought.

He rubs at the sweat on his forehead with an old rag. “Can’t imagine how hard that is. I’m here if you need anything.”

I eye him. “Do you have any date ideas?”

“Something from the heart is always a good plan. Or something that shows you’ve put in effort. Just taking someone out for dinner is … impersonal. Good for people you don’t know, but for someone you’ve known most of your life, a little effort can lead to a big payoff.”

What do I know about Beau? Well, other than his work compulsion and keeping weird hours. The way he says things without thinking sometimes. How he needs to wind down when his brain starts going too fast and gets hyperfocused over some things while being completely absentminded over others. He likes seeing the sky …

“Maybe we could do something outside?”

“Under the stars? Romantic.”

“Like a picnic.”

Ford claps me on the shoulder. “Sounds good to me. Eating, talking, and fucking under the stars.”

“Except for that last thing,” I say dryly, even though it’s an appealing thought.

“Pity. There’re a few guys who’d love to lock that one up, but Beau’s never given anyone much of a chance. Maybe this weekend’s guy is the one?”

No, Lee better not be.

I try to ignore the way that thought hurts. “Doubt it, but we’ll see.”

“Either way, Beau’s lucky to have a friend like you. I hope it goes well.”

“Thanks.”

It’s not until I leave work that afternoon that I realize that might not be possible though. Heavy, dark clouds are hanging low over Kilborough, and by the time I duck into the store to pick up what I had planned for our picnic, it’s already raining.

Well, shit.

What the hell do I do now?

Dinner at home? It’ll seem like I haven’t tried at all.

For some reason, that thought irritates me. Sure, this is a low-key nondate, but … maybe Art was onto something. Maybe I want Beau remembering tonight while he’s out this weekend, and I’d like my very much nondate to at least measure up.

Surely, a nighttime picnic would have done that.

I stand under the store’s awning, watching the rain come down, while I try to think of an idea.

Maybe …

Maybe we don’t need to be outside for me to give him the sky.

I jog to my car before pulling out my phone to call my brother.

“Hey,” Marty answers. “What are you doing?”

“Organizing dinner. Listen …” I rattle off what I’m looking for, and even though Marty isn’t happy with me not answering his questions on why, he lets me borrow everything I need.

Thank fuck for having nieces.

I’m more than prepared to throw Beau out of the apartment for an hour when I get home, except the place is dark and still like it normally is while he’s in bed. I get to work, ears strained for any noise so I can intercept him if he’s up before I’m finished here. The whole time I’m getting things ready, there’s an unsettled feeling low in my gut. Almost like nerves. Almost like excitement.

I also have a very good hunch I know where these nerves are coming from, and acknowledging it the night before he goes on a date with another guy isn’t a smart move.

I’m worried my idea is juvenile, or he’ll think it’s the dumbest thing ever, but it’s not like I have a whole lot of options here.

Our date takes me almost an hour to set up, and I think I’m happy by the time I’m done. Beau still isn’t up, so I risk a fast shower and then get changed into jeans and a nice T-shirt, and then … all I can do is wait.

Sometimes Beau isn’t up until well past midnight, and I’m praying tonight isn’t one of those nights. The longer I wait, the more I doubt, and my brain keeps jumping between Beau being touched by what I’ve done and him replaceing it extremely odd.

Half an hour later, I hear a noise and spring off my bed to meet Beau at his door by the time he pops it open.

His sleepy blue eyes blink up at me, clearer up close and without glasses, and his tight curls are a frizzy mess.

“What’s up?” he mumbles, still half asleep, even as a small smile pulls at his lips.

“Get dressed.”

“Huh?”

“Trust me.” I gently turn him to face his room again. “Something you feel comfortable in.”

And maybe I should have said something nice you feel comfortable in, because he comes back out wearing low-slung gray sweatpants and a long-sleeved T-shirt, his dark blond chest hair visible at the V-neck.

No one has any right to look as sexy in gray sweatpants as he does.

I let my gaze travel over him, and by the time I get back to his face, his cheeks look flushed.

“This okay?”

“Yep.” I take his hand “You’ll do.”

“Do for what?”

Beau doesn’t react to his hand in mine at all. Like it’s a completely normal thing we do together. I almost wish it was, because when Beau looks up at me … no one has ever looked at me like that before. As though I’m important. Wanted. Needed, even.

If this was a real date, I’d lean down and brush my lips over his. Maybe back him into the wall and replace out how those pink lips taste.

Instead, I give Beau’s hand a tug and lead him into the living room.