In his bedroom, Locke handed me a large t-shirt with the Captain America symbol on it. As I accepted it, I looked up at him and cocked an eyebrow. His face flushed again and he looked away, so I didn’t ask questions. I went back into the bathroom to slip it on instead of the towel, and I was shocked by how soft and large it was on me. It went down to my mid-thigh, and the short sleeves stopped at my elbow. I walked out of the bathroom carrying my dirty clothes, finding Locke sitting on his bed, waiting for me, yet again.
“Is there some way I can wash these?” I asked, as he put his head down like a dog so he wouldn’t make eye contact. If things were always going to be this way between us, I didn’t see how we could possibly live in the same apartment.
“Yeah,” he answered, “There’s a wash room down at the end of the hallway.” He finally lifted his face to look at me, and I was once again shocked by how many times this man blushed. His eyes widened as he looked me over from head to toe, and I felt a shiver break across my body, knowing he was examining me. “I’ll go throw them in,” he said, and I shook my head.
“No, that’s fine,” I answered, offering him a small smile. “I can do it myself. I’m not an invalid.” I tried to joke with him so he would lose his serious attitude, but it didn’t go away.
Locke frowned at me, and I saw his eyes look down at my body again before returning to my face. “No, Rowan,” he said, gently taking the clothes away from me. “There are some sketchy people in this building, and I don’t want them to see you like that,” he flushed, realizing what he had just said. “I didn’t mean it like that, I just—“
Saving him the trouble, I smiled a more genuine smile. “I understand. Go ahead, if you really want.”
And with that, Locke fled from the apartment, as though he were on fire.
***
Locke came back after he put my clothes in the wash, entering the apartment with a sigh. “Alright. They’ll be done in about an hour.”
“Do you want to talk? About what happens next?” I asked, sitting gingerly on the old ratty couch that took up a large portion of space in the apartment.
“I-if you want to, that’s fine,” he muttered, sitting on the arm rest on the opposite side of the couch from where I was sitting. It was painfully obvious that I made him uncomfortable and he wanted to keep his distance from me. How could we possibly live together? Liz and I weren’t chatter boxes, but we were able to make small talk and we were at least comfortable with each other. Locke was approaching me like a rabid animal who would eat him alive.
“Well, let’s start with the sleeping arrangements. I’ll sleep here on the couch, and you can keep your bed,” I started, gesturing to the bedroom in which Locke’s bed was.
“No,” Locke immediately cut in. “I’m taking the couch.”
“But Locke,” I continued, raising an eyebrow. “This is your apartment, and that is your bed. If I were a different gender, we would have no problem sleeping in the same room. It’s my fault, so I will take the couch. It’s fine,” I smiled at him, knowing he was just trying to be nice.
“I don’t care,” he answered, brushing off my answer and making me frown. “There’s no way I’d let you or any other woman sleep on my goddamn couch. If it makes you more comfortable, I can put my bed into storage and we can move yours in, but you will be sleeping in a bed.”
“What if we trade, every other night?” I asked, trying to make a compromise with him. I was learning that once Locke took an opinion, nothing was going to make him give it up.
“No. You’re sleeping in a bed, Rowan. That’s final.”
“You’re not my father, and you’re not king of the hill,” I retorted, standing up from the couch as if it would give me the advantage in this argument. Even though I was standing, Locke, who was sitting on the armrest of the couch, was still taller than me. “Now really, think of this rationally. We either switch every other night, or I sleep on the couch all the time. Take it or leave it.”
“You must have an awfully big head to think you can set up rules in an apartment you aren’t even renting yet,” Locke growled at me, standing up to face me.
Now I had to tilt my head up as we stood before each other, because I was so short. “How tall are you?” I asked, briefly changing the subject. I was only 5’4. He had to have been at least six feet tall.
“6’2,” he answered, “and don’t change the subject.”
“My god!” I exclaimed, looking him over, taking a second to ogle him. “You’re nearly a foot taller than I am!”
“I am not your god,” he answered, rolling his eyes at me.
“I’m taking the couch,” I said, glancing over at the ratty thing and deciding that if I did have to sleep on it, I would be getting some sheets or something to cover it up. “Case closed.”
Locke sighed and said, “Denied. You’re taking the bed.”
“No, Locke, really, it’s rude of me to kick you out of your own room.”
“And it’s rude that you won’t let me sleep on my own couch. What is your problem? If I want to sleep on my own damn couch, I’m sleeping on my couch.”
“You really want to sleep on the couch?” I asked, knowing that he was bullshitting me. There was no way any dignified human being would willingly sleep on that couch.
“Yeah, really. Now, have you had dinner yet?” he asked, leaving me standing in the living room and opening up the freezer in the kitchen. “I’ve got ramen and frozen pizza, unless you want to order out.”
“I don’t want any of your food,” I told him, crossing my arms over my chest. Locke’s eyes darted to my exposed legs, even more exposed now that my actions had caused the hem of his shirt to ride up. I immediately dropped my arms, tugging down the hem of his nerdy t-shirt. “I can pay for myself,” I told him.
“Rowan,” he said, his eyes darting back up to my face, “I know this may come as a shock to you, but as long as you’re living here, you’ll be paying for your half of the living expenses, and that includes food. Half of the food bill will go to you, as well as heat and electricity and rent. I suggest you eat your half.”
“I’m not sure that’s how this is all supposed to work,” I said hesitantly as he popped a frozen pizza in the oven, checking the temperature.
“It’s how it works in this apartment,” Locke finished, all authority and masculinity, and there was no room left for me to argue with him.
“And the closets and the bathroom?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. I was going to have to donate some of my clothes or put my things in storage, because there was no way my things were going to fit in half of the closet in the bedroom.
Locke smiled at me over his shoulder as he pulled out a Mountain Dew from the fridge. “I don’t need half of the closet, so you can put your stuff in my spot. And I don’t have beauty products, obviously, so you can store all of your secrets in the cabinet in the bathroom.”
“I don’t have any secrets,” I deadpanned, raising an eyebrow at him.
Locke’s cheeks reddened and he looked away, pausing before saying, “Except the ones Victoria gave you.”
My face heated up, a mirror image of his, and I gasped in horror. “H-how did you know?” I asked, feeling a tug in my abdomen along with a feeling of invaded privacy.
“You were on top of me, in this kitchen, wearing nothing but those secrets,” Locke answered, and I was surprised he wasn’t stuttering. “D-do you want s-something to dri-ink?” he asked, clearing his throat. I could tell his previous comment had gotten him worked up, because he only ever seemed to stutter when he was talking about those things.
“Do you have another Mountain Dew?” I asked, accepting the can he gave me gratefully.
Making our way over to the couch, we sat down and Locke flipped on the TV as we waited for the pizza to cook. “So, tell me why exactly your roommate kicked you out?” he asked, taking a sip of pop.
“I already told you that,” I answered him, rolling my eyes and tucking my legs beneath me to get comfortable.
“But that was before I knew you were a girl,” he retorted, staring directly at the television as though he wasn’t interested, but I knew from the way he was stiff and unblinking that he was waiting for me to tell him again.
“I brought guys into the apartment too often and made too much noise,” I answered, blushing, and turning my face away from him so that he wouldn’t see if he dared to look over in my direction. “My roommate couldn’t sleep or study, so she asked me to leave.”
“H-how many guys?” he asked, and I summoned the courage to look over at him, wondering why he was asking questions about this subject.
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly, raising an eyebrow in suspicion. “I haven’t been keeping track.” This conversation had turned personal and invasive very quickly, and I had no clue as to why Locke was so curious about my past and present. “How about you?” I asked, glancing over at him and placing my can of pop on the coffee table in front of us.
“H-How about m-me wh-what?” he stuttered, closing his eyes.
“How many people have you been with?” I asked, winking at him and trying to lighten the mood. Though, in reality, I had just made our situation worse. Here I was, asking the guy I had just met about an hour ago, how many people he’d slept with.
“I, uh, I’ve never—I’ve never uh, fished in a pond,” he blushed, staring at the TV as though it were a bomb ticking and waiting to go off.
I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion, not understanding his answer. “W-what? What is that supposed to mean?” I asked, chuckling at his awkward reaction to my question.
“I haven’t th-threaded the needle, Rowan,” he whispered, gripping his knee tightly with is right hand so hard that his fingers were turning white.
“Threaded the needle? You mean you never--? Oh,” I whispered, realizing what he meant. “H-How is that possible?” I asked, and apparently, it was now my turn to stutter.
“I don’t know?!?” Locke exclaimed, his cheeks bright red now. “I just never really—found the right person.”
“Locke,” I started, trying to say my words seriously and with sincerity. “Are you gay?”
“No!” Locke exclaimed, whipping around to face me. “Wha—why would you say that?”
“Well, it’s not uncommon, and it’s not a bad thing, if you are gay, I won’t judge you,” I backtracked, trying to make up for my invasive comment and erase it completely.
“Rowan,” he whispered, his eyes leaving his face and trailing down my body, only to trail back up again, “I am definitely not gay.”
“Then how haven’t you, err, done it yet?” I asked, still shocked.
“Why does this surprise you so much?” he asked, setting his can of pop next to mine and turning to face me.
“We—well, because you’re… you’re you!” I answered, trying to form a complete sentence. I must’ve looked like I was psychotic, waving my arms around like a bird who couldn’t fly. “You’re twenty years old, in college, and you’re a good looking guy? How have you not done it yet?”
“I told you, it just never came up!” he exclaimed, looking at me with wide, bewildered eyes. “It never came up.”
“Oh,” I whispered. I was a twisted, sick person. Maybe I was psychotic. I probably needed to be locked up and incarcerated, barred off from human contact for the rest of my existence, because so help me, I felt my nipples harden and my core became wet and flooded with the knowledge that Locke Emerson was a virgin. And he was on top of me just an hour ago. My heart rate sped up, because the combined knowledge of his stutter, his inexperience, his deep voice, his firm tone, and the sweet words he said made me wetter than any man I’d been with in the past.
And that was where those thoughts had to end. I had only just met him, and he was a fucking virgin for God’s sake. We were going to be roommates. There was no way in hell I would ever allow myself to touch him. Hell, I shouldn’t have even been having thoughts about touching him. If we were ever going to be friends, I would have to turn off any romantic emotion tied to Locke. Because besides the lust I had inside myself for Locke, I did care about him. He was a nice guy, and I did want to be his friend.
“Well, now that we got that out in the open,” I chuckled, and I heard Locke let out a small laugh beside me, “friends?” I asked him, holding out my hand in his direction. I was going to friend-zone him immediately, effectively putting the ‘off limits’ stamp across his forehead.
“Friends,” he answered with a small smile, taking my small hand in his rough, calloused one. Feeling his skin rub against mine, I realized how difficult it was going to be to keep him there.
***
Locke and I agreed that I would stay the night in the apartment, to get the full effect of living there. At least, that was our excuse. I think that the real reason was that we just didn’t want to be alone for the rest of the evening, though neither one of us was about to admit it.
We ended up watching horrible vampire movies and eating popcorn on that old ratty couch that smelled like cigarettes and Locke. “You smoke?” I asked, raising my eyebrow at him from my end of the couch, curled up in an old blanket that was quickly becoming my favorite. It was plushy and soft, and it smelled more like Locke’s manly scent than that smell of cigarettes that seemed to linger in the apartment.
“Yeah,” he answered, smiling at me and passing the bowl of popcorn over to me. “Old habit.”
“Not that old,” I answered, taking a handful and popping one into my mouth. “You aren’t that old.” Glancing over at him, I gasped in horror, clutching my hand against my chest. “Unless, you were lying to me!” I exclaimed in horror, putting on an act purely for show.
“Yes, my pretty,” he whispered, waggling his fingers in my direction, “I am action a vampire who’s 156 years old. It was all part of my ploy to lure you into my apartment,” he said menacingly, going along with my joke and we both cracked up before focusing our attention back to the Bella on her motorcycle, chasing an image of Edward Cullen in her head. We were only watching this train wreck of a drama because it was the only movie on TV, and Locke had told me he hadn’t seen it yet.
“Rowan, don’t get crumbs on the couch,” he said, looking over at me and frowning as I shoveled in another handful of popcorn. “I just cleaned it yesterday.”
Rolling my eyes, I took a sip of Mountain Dew and leaned back against the couch, picking up a crushed piece of a buttery kernel that had spilled over the side of the bowl. “It’s fine, Locke,” I smiled at him, licking the butter off of my forefinger.
I saw Locke visibly swallow, but I didn’t say anything. Normally, I would continue to tease him, but he was going to be my friend. Friends don’t tease virginal friends like that. He was unused to being around women, and so it fell onto my shoulders to be the responsible one, in case something happened. Or started happening. Which it wouldn’t. Couldn’t. I kept on thinking these thoughts in my head, even as I saw Locke open his mouth and start to talk, but I couldn’t focus on what he was staying. My gaze fell on his lips, the pale, thin lips that were moving constantly as he lectured me, then pressing into a thin line when he finally realized I wasn’t paying attention to a word he was saying.
“Are you listening to me?” he asked, furrowing his eyebrows and pressing his lips together.
Finally snapping out of it, I stuttered, “N-no.”
“Don’t get the couch dirty, Rowan. I’m serious about this. I just cleaned it.”
“But it’s dirty anyway,” I answered. “It’s old and tattered, it’s time to think about getting something else to occupy this space,” I smiled, taking another piece of popcorn from the bowl in his lap.
“Just don’t get the couch dirty, Rowan,” he finished, focusing on the train wreck on the television scene in front of us.
“I’ll clean up afterwards, okay? So you won’t have to sleep on a possibly salty, buttery bed, okay?” I told him, following his lead and focusing on Bella jumping Edward’s bones in the middle of a festival.
“No! I mean,” he paused, realizing his uncharacteristic outburst, “I’ll clean it.”
“It’s no problem, really,” I said, glancing over at him. I didn’t know why he was so against everything I said. “I know where the dustpan and broom is, although a vacuum would be easier.”
“I’ll clean it, Rowan, really, it’s no problem,” he answered, still not looking at me. I knew for a fact that he wasn’t interested in the movie, and that something about this was bothering him.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” Locke answered, openly denying that there was anything fishy about his behavior.
“Obviously something’s wrong if you don’t want me to clean the couch. What, was it your grandmother’s or something?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes, but that’s beside the point.”
“I cleaned the kitchen, didn’t I?” I asked.
“Yes, and there was still some flour underneath the toaster oven,” he answered, frowning. I could feel his body tense up next to mine, which only made me even more suspicious. “I, uh, just like having things cleaned my way.”
“Your way?”
“The right way.”
“The right way?”
“Are you having trouble hearing?” he asked, tearing his gaze from the television to glance at me. “I’ll be cleaning the apartment.”
“That’s not fair to you, Locke,” I told him, trying to make sense of his behavior. “I can be a slob. Really, if it’s that big of a deal, show me how you want things cleaned, and I’ll do it your way.”
Locke looked at me from the corner of his eye. “Are you serious?”
“Yes,” I answered, “if it bugs you that much, I’ll do it your way.”
“Okay,” he let out a sigh of relief, and then set the popcorn bowl on the coffee table in front of us. “I have to go wash my hands.”
“Uh, thanks for letting me know,” I answered, raising an eyebrow. I had no idea why he was acting so… strange. “Are you sure you want to do that right now? The movie isn’t over, and there’s still popcorn in the bowl,” I offered, half out of worry, and half because I kind of liked leaning up against the hard muscles of him next to me as we watched the movie. In a friendly way, of course.
“No, it’s fine. Eat the popcorn. I just can’t stand the feel of butter on my hands,” he answered, darting away into the bedroom to where the bathroom was.
If I were him, I would’ve rubbed my hands on my jeans and been done with it. When he came back, the movie was over and Eclipse was starting, and the popcorn that was in the bowl was nearly digested in my stomach. “What took you so long?” I asked, “I thought you were going to wash your hands?”
Locke raised an eyebrow and said, “I like my hands to be clean.”
“But still, I thought that the time it takes to sing Happy Birthday would be long enough. That was like fifteen minutes,” I murmured as he sat down on the couch next to me.
“Why do you need to know what I was doing in the bathroom?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.
“I—I don’t,” I whispered, “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine,” he answered, offering me a small smile.
“What time is it?” I asked, and he quickly looked at the watch on his wrist and told me that it was already eleven at night. “I suppose I should, uh, get to bed?” I tried to say, but my voice rose with every syllable and came out like Minnie Mouse’s voice by the end, and it came out like a question.
“You think so?” Locke asked, poking fun at the way I said it.
“Uh, yeah,” I murmured, standing up and brushing the crumbs off of my lap. I had forgotten about Locke’s little quirk with dirt, and didn’t think twice about doing what I normally would do. It was normal for me, but it sent the over 6 foot tall man next to me into a fit.
“Rowan!” he raised his voice, his arms desperately flailing as he gestured to the few crumbs that had fallen onto the floor. “I told you not to do that!” I could tell that he wasn’t particularly angry, yet, but his whiny and annoyed tone was a little bit cute.
“I-I’m sorry, I forgot,” I answered, looking down at the floor. “I’ll clean it up in the morning.”
“Fine,” he answered, standing up and averting his gaze from the floor where the convicted crumbs lay in a heap of guilt. “Let’s go and get you something to wear to bed,” he walked into his bedroom, and I followed him like a helpless puppy, unable to think of what to do next.
“Will a t-shirt be fine?” he asked, holding up a white t-shirt from one of the drawers he had opened. Surprisingly, the room was immaculate, not a piece out of order. Everything on his dresser was neatly lined up in rows, there weren’t any stray pieces of fabric hanging out of his drawers, and his bed was neatly made. Every other guy I’d been with had a messy room, articles of clothing strewn about like a tornado had just gone through. But then again, I already knew that Locke was different from the other guy’s I’d been with. Not that I was going to be with Locke.
“I’m already wearing a t-shirt,” I answered, gesturing to his Captain America shirt that was still covering me up. I had only bothered to put on my jeans once they were done drying. His shirt was surprisingly soft and I liked the large, comfy quality of it.
“You can’t wear that to bed,” Locke deadpanned, raising an eyebrow.
“Why not?” I asked, “Afraid it will wrinkle?”
“No,” he answered, rolling his eyes. “It’s just not a night shirt.”
“You have night shirts?”
“I wear white t-shirts to bed.”
“And me wearing your Captain America shirt to bed is unacceptable because it’s not something people normally wear to bed?” I asked, trying to get a grasp on this situation.
“Yes,” Locke said simply, pinching the bridge of his nose and pushing his glasses back up. “Do you want this t-shirt or not?” he asked, dangling it in front of me.
“I’ll just sleep in my underwear,” I answered, knowing that I was playing with fire. If he didn’t want me wearing Captain America to bed, what would he think of this?
I had expected him to throw another fit about not wearing proper sleeping clothes, but instead, his face turned beet red and his eyes widened in shock. “Oh, I—I uh, I—I think—that’s… uh,” his mouth opened to produce a stream of broken words. Soon, he couldn’t bear to look at me and he turned to face his dresser, folding the white t-shirt back into its crisp, ironed folds.
“I’m kidding, Locke,” I whispered, my lips cracking into a smile in spite of myself. “Please, may I wear your t-shirt to bed?” I asked, holding out my hand to gently grab it from him. Since Locke was still frozen like a statue, I quickly took off the Captain America shirt and let it fall to the floor as I slipped his white t-shirt over my head.
“S-sure,” he answered, even though the white cloth was already out of his hands. “Uh, tomorrow is Sunday. W-we can go and pick up your things at your dorm and bring them here. The landlord will be here tomorrow, you can sign the lease then, if you’d like.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I answered, smiling at him genuinely even though he was staring down at his hands, avoiding my gaze. “Locke, are you okay? Do you want to sleep here tonight? I’ll take the couch,” I offered yet again, but Locke shook his head.
“No please sleep in my bed,” he answered, his words coming out in a rush.
“Okay,” I answered, realizing that he had been through enough torment for the day. All of this had happened so suddenly, it probably hadn’t had time to sink in for him. I wouldn’t be surprised if I slept in my dorm room tomorrow night instead of in Locke’s bedroom.
Suddenly feeling guilty, I slipped my hands beneath Locke’s arms and embraced him from behind, pressing the side of my face into his hard, muscled back. “Thank you for letting me stay here,” I whispered, and I felt Locke let out a tense, shaky breath.
“It’s fine,” he answered. “You’re welcome.”
“Goodnight,” I whispered, letting go of him and crawling into his neatly made bed, just as he made his way toward the exit of the room and turned off the light.
“Goodnight, Rowan,” he murmured, softly closing the door behind him.
***
Creepy as it was, I got a very good night’s sleep surrounded by Locke’s sheets. They were soft and plush, and they smelled faintly of fabric softener and a stronger, masculine scent, which I assumed was Locke. Light streamed in through the window above the nightstand, falling across the bed and waking me up from my slumber. I glanced at the clock, and, seeing that it read nine o’clock, I nearly jumped out of bed, throwing the sheets aside and opening up the door to the living room.
I smiled when my eyes landed on Locke’s still sleeping form, and, tugging his shirt down over my thighs, walked over to him to see if he was really sleeping. Yes, it was probably creepy to do so, but I was just checking to make sure he was actually sleeping. I couldn’t imagine sleeping on a couch could be very comfortable.
But, as I neared him, I realized that his sandy brown hair was blonde, and that his figure was leaner and less broad than Locke. The man sleeping on our couch was not Locke Emerson. I quickly looked around for a heavy, blunt object for a weapon, settling for a Wii remote, and returning to look at the strange, creepy man that was sleeping on the couch.
I stood in the living room crouched in a defensive position for a while before realizing that the man really was asleep. Pressing the cold, hard plastic to his temple, I leaned down to his ear and said, “What. Are. You. Doing. On. My. Couch?” I said it in the most menacing, threatening tone possible, hoping to scare him so that he wouldn’t attack me.
Soon enough, his eyes fluttered open and widened with surprise. “Oh, my god. Don’t shoot, please, I swear I didn’t break in.”
“Who the hell are you?” I asked, not removing the plastic from his temple. I was surprised that he actually thought it was a gun. I knew that playing around like this wasn’t going to end well, but right now, I was a scantily clad woman in a foreign apartment, and a man that I didn’t know was sleeping on the couch. I felt threatened.
“L—Leonardo C-C-Crane,” he stuttered out, “I—I’m a f-friend of Locke’s.”
Removing the plastic from his temple, I sighed. The stutter was proof that he was Locke’s friend. Or perhaps it was fear.
“What are you doing on the couch?” I asked, backing away from him and pulling the shirt down to make sure I was covered.
Leo sat up on the couch and rubbed at his eyes, swinging his legs over to rest on the floor. “Had a late night. Locke didn’t want me driving home drunk, so he told me to come crash here. He’s bringing my car here now so I can go home,” he answered, opening his mouth and letting out a small burp.
I nodded in agreement, knowing that he had done the right thing, yet worrying about Locke. He was up late last night anyway, and he skipped out on even more hours of sleep to go get his friend’s car back? But, I had gone through my fair share of drunken nights to know never to drive home after drinking.
“Where is he?” I asked, glancing at the door.
“He went out to get some aspirin and breakfast,” Leonardo answered, standing up from the couch and stretching. As he stretched, his t-shirt pulled tight over his taut muscles, and the hem of the shirt raised just enough to grant me a peek at his bare stomach. Leonardo caught me staring and winked at me. “Like what you see?” he asked, and that was where the similarities between him and Locke ended.
Sure, they had very similar builds and hair colors, but it was obviously that their personalities were in completely different categories.
“Not really, Leonardo,” I answered, knowing that I’d seen my fair share of bare bodies before. But, if I were really honest, I probably would have been more interested if it had been Locke who was stretching. Maybe that would happen on a different morning.
Leonardo chuckled as he walked into the bedroom, surely making his way into the bathroom. “Call me Leo, babe,” he yelled out, and I heard the sound of a door close.
I walked over to my purse as soon as he was gone, making sure that everything was in its rightful place and that nothing was missing. I was surprised that I hadn’t thought to take it into the bedroom with me last night when I went to sleep. I removed my phone and turned it on, checking for messages. My eyes widened on their own accord when I saw I had a message from Locke.
Locke: Went to get breakfast. I’ll be back soon.
A hint of a smile stretched my face, but I was soon shocked out of my own, quiet world when a low, smooth-talking voice interrupted behind me. “Did the boyfriend sent something?” he asked, winking at me as he walked into the kitchen like he owned it and got himself a glass of water.
Ignoring his question, I asked, “Are you sure you’re hungover? You seem awfully chipper.”
Leo shot me a friendly smile and took a sip of his water. “I’m used to it by now. And I’m a morning person, if you get what I’m saying,” he answered, sending me another wink that confused me. “And don’t change the subject.”
“No, it was not from my boyfriend,” I answered, frowning at him. My hand continued to tug at Locke’s shirt, making sure that everything was covered. Somehow, Leo had a way of making me feel uncomfortable, yet he was oddly friendly and his personality put me at ease. I guess there was a whole bunch of contradictions from where Locke came from.
“So, does that mean that you don’t have a boyfriend?” he asked, smiling at me with a tinge of hopefulness in his eyes.
“Uh, no, I don’t have a boyfriend. But I don’t want a boyfriend,” I finished quickly, trying not to give him any ideas. The last thing I wanted to do was to sleep with Locke’s friend.
“We don’t need to be a couple, baby,” he answered, taking another sip of the water. “We can be buddies, fuck buddies.”
“Uh, how are you friends with Locke?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. There was no way I could see Locke being friends with this guy.
Surprisingly, Leo became serious and smiled genuinely at me. “We’ve been friends since we were kids.”
“But you’re so… different,” I said, choosing my words carefully. Near the door, I heard the sounds of footsteps and keys rattling, telling me that Locke was back.
“Opposites attract,” he answered, “but, I can assure you, I am much more experienced than he is.”
The rattling at the door stopped and the door creaked open, revealing yet another version of Locke that I hadn’t seen before. A really pissed, angry Locke, who looked like he was about to tear Leo’s head away from his body. “More experienced in what?” he asked, gritting his teeth as he set white, plastic bags on the table in a dramatic fashion.
“The art of love making, my friend,” Leo answered truthfully, and Locke’s face heated up and flushed red with embarrassment. He wouldn’t look at me, of course, and instead started unloading the contents of the bags onto the wooden table.
“So, what did you get me for breakfast?” Leo asked, pulling out a chair and kicking his feet up on the table.
Locke glared at him and forcefully shoved his feet off the table, setting Leo off balance. “Pills,” he said, shoving a large bottle of aspirin in Leo’s direction. “Take them all. Now,” he growled, and his tense body continued to tear through the bags.
“Are you suggesting an overdose, my friend?” Leo asked, winking at me. And that was the moment I knew that Leo was egging Locke on just for his own amusement. He was trying to make Locke upset, and by the looks of it, he knew exactly which buttons to push.
“Get out,” Locke murmured, taking out breakfast croissants from a fast food place and setting them on the table. “I mean it, Leo. Get out.”
Leo pointed to his unhappy friend, winking yet again at me. “He’s not a morning person,” he gestured to Locke’s pissed face.
“I’m warning you, Leonardo. Get. Out. You may be my best friend, but hell if I’m going to deal with your sunshine smart ass in the morning. Get. Out. Your car is next to mine in the parking lot.”
Leo stood up from his chair, walking over to the sink to dump his water. “Well,” he said, walking over to the table to steal a sandwich, “That’s my cue to leave. See you ‘round, baby,” he finished before practically waltzing out the door before Locke could reach him.
Looking down at me and meeting my eyes, Locke said, “Good morning.” As soon as Leo left, Locke seemed to calm down and relax.
“Good morning,” I greeted back, sitting down at the table across from him and opening one of the sandwiches he gestured at me to eat. “I guess you’re not a morning person, huh?”
Locke frowned. “I have a very strict, set in stone morning routine,” he started, tearing open a sandwich, then thinking better of it and grabbing two glasses from his cupboard along with a gallon of orange juice from the fridge. While he did so, he started his rant. “Wake up, take a shower, brush teeth, and eat breakfast while watching whatever’s on BBC America. Which, happens to be Doctor Who. I finish up any homework that I hadn’t finished the night before, get dressed, and prepare myself for the rest of my day. I do this every day of the week, starting at the same time every day. I’m not too strict about it, but it works for me and it helps me get ready.” Pausing to take a breath, Locke took a bite of his bacon and egg croissant before continuing. Meanwhile, I just sat there, watching him talk about something so small, but so seemingly important to him.
“Then, Leo shows up last night at five in the morning drunk off his ass. I settle him onto the couch, reusing a waste basket over and over for him as he purges himself. Then, he falls asleep, and I go to get his car. I come back, everyone’s still asleep, except now, I have no place to sleep. I go out to get a few things, missing both the seven and eight o’clock showing of Doctor Who and eventually skipping my morning routine entirely. So no, I am not a morning person.”
I sat back in my chair once he was finished, a little surprised that he felt so strongly about his morning routine. Though, there was one question I felt that I needed to ask. “Why didn’t you come sleep with me?” I asked, arching an eyebrow at him. After all, it was his bed. I would have rather slept on the floor than have him have nowhere to sleep.
“I’m not going to sleep with you, Rowan,” he deadpanned.
“Okay, fair enough, but why wouldn’t you wake me up? I would rather you have slept in your own bed than not sleep at all,” I told him, reaching out to grab the cup of orange juice that he poured for me.
“I didn’t want to wake you up,” he answered simply, once again avoiding eye contact with me.
I sighed, realizing that it was like pulling teeth to get information out of him. “Please, the next time that happens, just come into bed. We’re friends, right? It’s not a big deal.”
Locke’s cheeks flushed as he took another bite of his breakfast sandwich. “Maybe not to you,” he muttered, flipping open the daily newspaper.
Realizing that Locke was shutting down conversation for the morning, I tried to stop him by gesturing to the last white bag on the table that he hadn’t unpacked. “What’s in this bag?” I asked.
Locke looked up from his newspaper, staring at the bag and saying, “It’s yours. Open it.”
Frowning that he bought me something, I opened up the bag, looking inside. Inside was a few closet organizers, an array of chocolate bars, and a bottle of Midol. When I looked up at him again, his cheeks were flushed red even though he wasn’t looking at me. This time, he had a right to be. The last two items were something that a woman might want if she were on her period.
“I—I uh, wanted to get something to make you comfortable here, but I didn’t know what to get, and I didn’t know what I could get you that you didn’t already have and so I—got you something that I thought any woman might want. On a certain day. Or days,” he flushed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m sorry. This was… inappropriate. I apologize.”
I smiled in spite of myself, standing up from my chair and walking over to Locke to hug him. “Thank you,” I whispered, trying to get him to look at me and see that I wasn’t upset and there wasn’t anything he needed to be embarrassed about. I wanted him to be comfortable around me. Trying to lighten the mood, I let out a chuckle that I hoped didn’t sound horribly fake. “It’ll come in handy eventually.”
“A-are we still on for today?” he asked, glancing up at me, after looking at my arms that were still wrapped around his broad, hard shoulders.
“I don’t know, is your substitute for a morning routine complete?” I asked, teasing him a little bit before releasing him.
“Yeah, I think so,” he gulped, reaching to take another sip of orange juice. “I’m feeling pretty sunshiny all of a sudden,” he winked at me.
I mockingly gasped in horror. “Oh. My. God. You’re a Leo in disguise.”
Locke shook his head and walked toward the bedroom. “Nah, I was just wondering what it would be like to be him for a second.”
And so, this nerdy, sweet enigma of a man left me wondering why on earth he would ever want to change himself to be like Leo.
***
Hey guys,
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L.C.