Quarantined With My Straight Roommate Read online

  “Shut up,” Max said.

  “What the fuck?”

  “Shut up,” he said again, coming closer to me, so close I swore he would hit me first.

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re wrong.”

  “I’m not wrong.”

  “Yes. You are. If your dad found out. If you lost your family. You could make it.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “I do. Listen, you might be a bit of a dick. But you’re smarter than you give yourself credit for. And despite everything, you have a good heart.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “You didn’t have to let me stay here,” Max said, “You didn’t have to stand up for me when Ju came over here acting crazy.”

  He tucked hair behind my ears. My ears burned as his fingers grazed my skin. Max. Fuck him. Fuck… My fists unclenched and I grabbed his face, pulling it close to mine and kissing him. Letting myself enjoy it. Allowing myself to kiss him without feeling guilty. When I pulled away, Max looked distressed.

  “What?”

  “Are you crying?”

  “Shut up. I’m not fucking crying.”

  “Okay. Okay. Just so you know, it’s 2020. Men can cry now.”

  “Men. Not Texans.”

  “Do you ever get tired?”

  “Of what?” I growled.

  “Putting on a tough face all the time.”

  “I don’t. Do you ever get tired of being a pain in my ass?”

  “Nope. Never.”

  “Okay. You know… maybe later while Kylie plans how to ruin my life, I could watch an episode of Project Runway with you.”

  “Why? Feeling guilty about something?”

  “No. Now get your ass over here so I can see what it is about this damn show you like so much.”

  Max pecked my lower lip and nodded.

  “Okay, Texas. I’ll show you. But be prepared to get totally obsessed.”

  20

  MAX PATEL

  He fell asleep after the fourth episode. I could have fallen asleep after two, but he insisted we keep watching. I live for Tim Gunn, so I agreed. When Tony fell asleep, I pulled a blanket over him and lay next to him on the couch. I could forget for a minute that he loathed affection and that no matter how tempting it was to let myself think I could get close to him, it would never happen. He was too closed off and too sure about what he wanted. He didn’t want me.

  I woke up first, but didn’t want to move and wake Tony as light spilled in through the living room window. Our “quarantine” hadn’t been as isolated as it should have been. I didn’t want to get sick. Tony’s arm wrapped around my waist and his knees curled under him, giving him an unusually tepid appearance.

  He woke up and kissed my shoulder.

  “Hey,” he murmured.

  Fuck. His raspy, morning voice was so fucking sexy. I tried to play it cool.

  “Hey.”

  “Where do you think you’re going?” He murmured again in his twang.

  “To make you breakfast.”

  He rubbed his stubbly chin along my bareskin. Fuck. Please, can I go ten minutes without this crazy Texan getting my dick rock hard?

  “No way,” he whispered, “It’s my turn to make you a real Texan breakfast.”

  “If I eat like you, I won’t be this skinny for long.”

  “You could always lift weights with me.”

  “Ew.”

  “Get your ass up. Let’s get us some coffee and I’ll show you some down home cooking.”

  “As long as you don’t make me drink one of your disgusting protein shakes.”

  “No promises there.”

  Tony got up and he glanced back at me, throwing me a long, lingering look. Not one of his usually looks filled with disgust.

  “What?”

  “Your hair,” he murmured, leaning over and pushing some out of my face, “It’s all messy this morning.”

  “Oh. Whatever.”

  He kissed me. Right on the lips. Without caring about my morning breath or anything. I pulled away, surprised.

  “What was that for?”

  “Nothing,” he grumbled, before stumbling toward the kitchen. As he started chopping tomatoes and onions, I asked him, “What about Kylie? Are you worried about what she’s going to do?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did she text you?”

  “I don’t want to check my phone.”

  “I get it.”

  He pursed his lips. Maybe it was better not to pursue the subject. Especially if it was going to be such a sore subject for him. I made a pot of coffee and Tony took a sip.

  “This is weak.”

  “Too much caffeine isn’t good for you.”

  “Aren’t you an artist? Don’t you people live on caffeine?”

  “I prefer chai.”

  “Hm.”

  “And anyway, I’m not an artist right now. I’m just unemployed.”

  “Whatever. It’s not as big a deal as you think.”

  “Um, yes it is. When this lockdown is over, I’ll be out on my ass. No one’s hiring right now and I’ll probably have to beg Ju to take me back in.”

  Tony flipped the omelette he was cooking and then cut it in half with the end of the spatula.

  “I might be able to help get you a job.”

  “And hold it over me for the rest of my life?”

  “I’m not talking about my dad’s company. I’m talking about a friend of mine. From college. An old friend.”

  “A boyfriend?”

  “She’s not my type.”

  “Oh.”

  “That way when this is all over, you don’t have to be homeless.”

  He took a huge swig of coffee. Why did I feel disappointed? For once Tony was acting kindly, like he actually cared about me. It hit me. I didn’t want a job.

  “Bee in your bonnet?”

  “What?”

  “You look so glum. Cheer up. Texas toast, bacon, pancakes, omelette, and home fries. All for you. Wait… you ain’t one of these vegans right? ‘Cause of the Indian thing?”

  “No. My dad’s vegetarian but my mom could never get us to give up meat.”

  Tony passed me my plate and I set my phone down. The two of us having breakfast in our apartment. If I wasn’t careful, I could romanticize this. I could get used to it.

  Breakfast was fucking awesome. I don’t know how much Tony had to work out to eat that much, but I ate like a wolf. He stared at me across the counter after my first few bites.

  “Like it?”

  “It’s so fucking good. Were you like a chef in another life?”

  “Nope. In Idaho, Tom taught me how to cook.”

  I shifted uncomfortably on the barstool when he mentioned Tom. Talking about exes didn’t bother me normally. I mean, we all have a past. And exes were a part of that past. But Tony loved Tom. I could tell when he talked about him, when he reminisced about the little things. He loved Tom, but he’d never love me.

  He’d made the decision to live one way in his private life and one way in public and nothing I said or did could change his mind. If there was one thing I knew about Tony, it was that he was stubborn. His phone buzzed, dragging me out of my morose thoughts as I stabbed a piece of the omelette and shoved it into my mouth.

  Tony picked up and his shoulders tensed, his jaw moving back and forth with frustration.

  “Hey, Kylie,” he choked out. I froze.

  That girl he dated got the surprise of her lifetime. If Tony hadn’t been so mad, I would have laughed out loud. I mean, the whole scene must have looked hilarious. Look, I had nothing to be ashamed of. Tony was probably the one who left the front door unlocked with his who Texas tough “let somebody try to break in here” Southern bravado.

  “Listen, it’s all a misunderstanding.”

  ...

  “If you do that, you’ll ruin my life.”

  …

  “I can’t do that.”

  ...

  “Damn it,
Kylie!”

  …

  “I said, I can’t do it and that’s final.”

  21

  TONY STONE

  “What does she want from you?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Tell me, I can help.”

  “Damn it, Max. Can you chill for one second? I need to think.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Sorry. She’s getting under my skin and I can’t figure out why.”

  “I can.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re stubborn and you like getting on your own. Most of the time it makes you really sexy.”

  I bristled uncomfortably. I enjoyed knowing how much Max was attracted to me, but right now he was the last person I wanted to think about. Kylie did exactly what I hoped she wouldn’t. She threatened to tell my dad if I didn’t get her a promotion. I couldn’t call my dad when he was sick and I hardly checked up on him all of a sudden to ask for a promotion.

  It would look suspicious. Plus, you never cave in to blackmail. It’s common knowledge. Once you give in to a blackmailer, they’ll find more and more ways to keep you on the hook. Last night had been almost perfect. Max snaked his fingers through my hair and we watched his stupid show until I fell asleep. Maybe he fell asleep first. I don’t remember. I could make him breakfast and kiss him and let myself get far too fucking sentimental with him.

  Look where the hell that got me. Fuck. It wasn’t his fault Kylie came over and it wasn’t his fault that I had my dick all the way in his mouth when she pushed the door open. But it was easier to blame Max than anyone else.

  “Thanks.”

  “Why don’t you give her what she wants?”

  “I can’t.”

  “Okay. Then what’s the plan.”

  “There’s no plan. There’s me, handling my shit.”

  “Okay, Captain America.”

  “Have you even seen a MARVEL movie?”

  “Because I’m gay I can’t watch MARVEL movies?”

  “Answer the question?”

  “No. I haven’t. Fine.”

  “Right. And don’t be dumb. I’m gay and I’ve seen every MARVEL movie. So obviously, being gay don’t have anything to do with it.”

  I kissed him on the cheek, enjoying the way he flushed as I kissed him. Fuck. I hated how easy it was for me to give in to him, for me to let myself feel things for him that I could never truly act on.

  “Yeah but you’re straight-passing.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing. Geez. What are you going to do today?”

  “Figure out how to get Kylie to chill.”

  “Sounds like a project.”

  “I’ll figure it out.”

  Max washed up and then sauntered back to his room with his headphones on, undoubtedly blasting ABBA or some annoying contemporary pop music. I had a problem on my hands. Kylie didn’t want a promotion. She wanted more than that. I didn’t want to worry Max. He’d only hover around trying to help me like a sick puppy and make things worse.

  I had to focus on how to get her off my back. Because the worst part of her phone call was she didn’t want anything. She wanted to ruin me for the sake of it. Fuck. It was my fault. I should have been better at turning her down, given her a whole ‘it’s not you it’s me’ speech. Maybe that would have made her back down.

  Why do I always go for the crazy ones?

  With guys, I find myself falling for the sweet ones, the ones with the killer smiles and the lean, muscular bodies. I find myself falling for the guys who watch Project Runway, and who are comfortable touching other men, who can do it without that voice in their head yelling at them to RUN.

  But when it comes to the women… I don’t have a fucking clue what I’m doing. Mostly, it’s about what I’m trying not to do, the compulsory dance that I’m trying to avoid.

  “Fuck,” I muttered out loud to myself as a slew of texts blasted onto my phone from Kylie.

  Kylie: Dick pics. Now.

  Kylie: Dick pics or I tell your dad, hun. x

  Kylie: What’s that guy’s name? Max?

  Kylie: I thought you were a real Texan hottie not a —

  I turned my phone over, sick to my stomach. I’d never been in this position before. I was captain of the football team in high school, Vice President of my fraternity in college. I’d done everything I was supposed to do. I kept my GPA where it needed to be so dad could put me in this position at the company. I did my job well enough to make him and my mama proud.

  There was just this one thing, this one thing that I knew wasn’t wrong, that I knew was 100% okay, but was still the one thing that could destroy my life. It was bad enough I’d gone off to school and despite my belt buckles and Stetson, I’d become a ‘bleeding heart liberal’ by their standards.

  If they knew what was in my heart, or who was in my heart, they’d never forgive me. They wouldn’t understand why I didn’t want the All-American girl next door with the blond pigtails and Daisy Dukes. Hell, my mom had been dreaming about my wedding for as long as I could remember.

  When I curled up on her lap as a boy, before my hair turned brown but while I still sucked my thumb, she’d tell me that I would be a heartbreaker and a lady killer, and that she’d be waiting for me to bring a girl home but to always remember that she was my mama and she came first.

  Fuck. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t let Kylie blackmail me. But that meant I had to do what I always planned to avoid: come out to my parents.

  22

  MAX PATEL

  “FUCK!”

  I recognized the sound of drywall cracking. I had a roommate with anger issues in college and unfortunately for my parents’ bank account; we got charged multiple times for the holes he put in the wall. I’ll never understand why dudes have this obsession with punching holes in walls.

  I was texting Peter when I heard it.

  Max: Fuck. I think Tony put a hole in the wall.

  Peter: Careful.

  Max: LOL, why?

  Peter: Drama.

  Yeah. Peter was right.Tony was drama. But he was also warm kisses, big American breakfasts, rock hard abs and a killer smile. I’m a red-blooded American male, how am I supposed to resist his whole cowboy schtick? We’re practically bred for an obsession with cowboys, sexy frontiersmen, men who can work with their hands..

  I pushed my door open. Tony’s face was red.

  “What happened?”

  “I called my mom. I had to talk to her about… everything.”

  “About what? The quarantine?”

  “No. About… us.”

  “Oh. So I take it things didn’t go well.”

  His clenched fists unfurled and I let out an embarrassingly high shriek.

  “Tony, what the fuck!? Were you holding a glass? Your hand’s bleeding.”

  “I’m fine,” he winced.

  “You are not fucking fine.”

  I took his hand. An unfortunate result of growing up with a filthy, unhygienic sister was that I developed a strong stomach for blood. No need for further detail there. Still. Tony had glass lodged in his palm and his hands were shaking.

  “What the fuck, why did you do that?”

  “Dunno. Blind rage.”

  I pulled out a shard of glass and he cried out.

  “Jesus H Christ, Patel. Are you trying to fucking kill me?!”

  “No, you idiot. But there’s blood everywhere and glass in your hand. I think you need to go to the ER.”

  “We’re under quarantine. We’re not supposed to leave unless there’s a medical emergency.”

  “That hasn’t stopped our annoying friends and family from dropping by and there’s definitely enough blood here to qualify as a medical emergency.”

  “I’m going to be sick,” Tony grumbled.

  “Squeamish around blood?”

  “No,” Tony grunted.

  Judging by his face’s pasty yellow, he was definitely squeamish.

  “We’re g
oing to the ER.”

  “I’ll drive,” he grunted.

  “Are you fucking kidding? You’re not going to drive. Your hand has glass in it.”

  “This is fucking stupid.”

  “Do you have insurance?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll get a t-shirt for the blood. We’re going to the hospital.”

  “You’re being dramatic,” Tony muttered under his breath.

  Yeah, right, Texas. He might act tough, but if he didn’t want to go to the hospital, my cajoling wouldn’t have worked.

  I got a t-shirt and tried to catch some blood. There was too much glass to fix it.

  “I didn’t even know you had a car.”

  “A truck. Parked out back.”

  “Of course,” I snorted.

  “What’s wrong with a truck?”

  “You would have one.”

  “Big talk for a guy with a bicycle. And anyway, it was a gift.”

  I climbed into the red truck out back. Okay. It had been a long time since I’d been in the driver’s seat. But I could totally handle this monster.

  “How old is this thing? It seems ancient.”

  “I got it when I was nineteen.”

  “I thought rich kids all drove Mercedes.”

  “Tom left it for me at the ranch after he left Idaho.”

  Oh. Tom. The guy who broke his heart. Fuck. Now I felt like an invader in the driver’s seat. There was a feather hanging from the windshield and I felt out of place, like I’d tread on a sacred memory of his first proper love and I didn’t belong.

  “What the hell are you waiting for. Drive.”

  “Can you chill?”

  “No. Because this white t-shirt is already red.”

  “And whose fucking fault is that?”

  “Can you chill, man?! I’m losing blood. Fuck.”

  “Okay. Okay.”

  Thankfully, I knew how to get to the hospital. Thanks to my brief and unfortunately timed fling with a Harvard medical student. Tony cried out.

  “Are you trying to pick glass out of your hand?”