Closets Are for Clothes

Chapter 2: Settling In

Chapter 2: Settling In

One trip was all it took using both our cars. “I need to introduce you to the concept of e-books,” I huffed as I lugged the last of five boxes of books up the stairs.

With a laugh that was half snort, Wes admitted, “I’ve got more than I want to admit of those, too.”

“Geez, when did you study?”

“A lot of them are textbooks.”

In the apartment, I left the box in the living room, showed Wes which would be his drawer in the bathroom, then reversed the entropy that had occurred in the medicine cabinet since Amber’s desertion so he’d have a couple shelves in that, too.

I glanced into the open doorway of Wes’s bedroom. A dresser drawer stood ajar, suitcases lay open on the bed, and he was busy hanging clothes in the closet. “Hey, I’ll rework the bookcase in the living room after I get something in the oven for dinner.”

“Thanks.” He gestured toward the bookcase built into the bed. “This’ll help, but I wouldn’t mind a couple shelves out there, too.”

In the kitchen, I went through the recipes Amber had printed out for me and decided on the mozzarella baked spaghetti since I hadn’t thought ahead to thaw the meat, and I had all the ingredients on hand.

With that safely in the oven, I tackled the bookcase. I’d kept quite a few textbooks myself, and despite my earlier commentary, I often bought copies of my favorite novels in print. Those would have to stay, but I rounded up all the framed photos and stacked them on the coffee table. I could buy Command Strips and put up a display on a wall.

My books and knick-knacks condensed to three shelves, leaving three for Wes. By the time I had a salad tossed together, Wes emerged.

“That smells great,” he said. “Italian?”

“Yeah, my ex-roommate was a wiz with one-dish meals and all things ground beef. She left me with instructions for my favorites.”

“Cool. Well, I got my clothes and personal things put away. I’ll deal with books tomorrow while you’re at work so we won’t have to trip over boxes for long.”

“When does your residency start?”

“A week from tomorrow.” He grinned widely. “I’ve got butterflies in my stomach. I’ve never been so scared to death and yet excited at the same time.”

“I can imagine. I kind of felt that way when I started working last year, but I’m sure that’s nothing compared to knowing people’s lives might be on the line, right then, while decisions are being made.”

Wes leaned against the counter and nodded solemnly. “One year? So, you’ve got what…a master’s then?”

The timer dinged and I pulled the baking dish out of the oven. “Right. That took two years.”

“What can I do to help?” He glanced around the kitchen.

I nodded toward one of the cabinets. “Grab a couple plates?”

As we sat with our laden dishes, Wes asked, “What do you usually do in your free time? I don’t want to mess up your routine.”

“Friday and Saturday nights I often do something with friends. Weeknights after work I just relax. Fix dinner, read, or watch a movie or TV. Maybe screw around on the Internet. The operative word is ‘relax,’ otherwise I’m flexible.”

“That sounds like me, except now my days off might vary week-to-week. I’ll probably end up catching sleep instead of going out.”

“No worries. I’ll keep the noise down when I know you’re home sleeping.”

“Damn this is good.” Wes sat back and patted his belly. “So much better than the cafeteria stuff I’m used to.”

I chuckled and waggled my eyebrows, but couldn’t help but hold my chin high, taking a bit of vain pleasure in the compliment. “I’m a regular June Cleaver.” Which was bullshit, of course, as attested to by the amount of dust I’d had to wipe up when I’d rearranged that bookcase. I was reasonably tidy, and kept the bathroom and kitchen mostly clean—probably due to memories of my mother’s reproaches when I’d been grubby back home—but chores like dusting often went by the wayside. Besides, I was no experimental chef. I relied heavily on recipes.

“I appreciate it. Thank you for all your help today.” He grinned broadly. “I’ll clean up since you fixed the meal.”

Awesome. I wasn’t going to argue, even though I probably should have offered to at least help. I used the time to take a shower instead. My original intention was for it to be a cool shower, because damn, my good intentions regarding not putting moves on my roommate were going to be more of a challenge than I’d thought, but then I figured a quick wank in a hot shower would have the same effect, and be more satisfying at the same time.

When I reemerged, wearing my sleep pants and a thin ratty T-shirt, Wes stood in the living room, sifting through my selection of movies on DVD and Blue Ray.

“My newer stuff’s digital,” I said.

Wes jumped and turned to me, apparently not hearing my approach.

“I’ve got an Apple TV and a Roku hooked up. Some of my movies are on iTunes, and some on sss Digital.”

“Oh. Cool.” He clutched a movie case as if it were his defense against…well, I didn’t know what. I wasn’t threatening, but his ears turned red, and he returned his gaze to the movie and cleared his throat. “This sounds good. The Matrix. I haven’t watched that in years.”

“Sure. I haven’t seen that one in a while, either.” I hoped he didn’t think I had a problem with him flipping through the movies—they were on display where anyone could see them, unlike the porn I had hidden under my mattress as if I still lived at home, terrified my parents would discover my collection.

I spotted a glass of water on the table next to the recliner, so I lay on the couch and stretched out with my hands locked behind my head, propped on a stack of throw pillows.

While he sifted through the basket of remotes on the coffee table, I decided I should go ahead and fetch a glass of water for myself, too. “You want popcorn or anything to snack on?”

“No, thanks.” He focused on the task of figuring out my entertainment system with a pointed concentration. It was hardly rocket science, so I left him to it.

I grabbed a bag of pretzels and my drink and returned to the living room. Wes was working the remote to get the movie started. I lay again on the couch. As I’d said, “relax” was the operative word for evenings.

Wes snagged the throw pillow from the armchair and reclaimed his seat in the recliner, casting a quick peek in my direction. The red on his ears spread, infusing his cheeks with a rosy blush. He stared at the screen, clutching the pillow on his lap.

What was that all about? I peered at my body to make sure nothing was amiss. I’d put on the same kind of thing that I always wore to bed. I was covered. Well, maybe a bit of my abdomen showed since I was stretched out, but they were the same garments I’d worn around my family without thinking twice about it, and even around Amber without her commenting. And she would have said something.

Technically, yes, it was sleepwear, but I was as covered as if I were wearing a track suit. If I were completely honest, I supposed that this set was a bit timeworn and frayed, but still, I wouldn’t have considered it indecent.

As long as I was being honest with myself, I had to admit that if it were Wes wearing it, as opposed to, say, my brother, then I’d probably be a little turned on. Or a lot. I stared at the TV screen but conjured up an image of a sleep-tousled Wes rather than a confused Neo, and thanked my lucky stars I’d just taken care of business in the shower, otherwise I’d be transferring a pillow to my own lap.

Was Wes attracted to me? I blinked a few times, trying to wrap my head around the idea. It shouldn’t throw me, because I knew there wasn’t anything out of the ordinary about my looks, but it tended to catch me off guard when someone initiated things with me, rather than the other way around. My skin tingled at the thought of my old university crush getting hot at the sight of me in my jammies.

Was he suffering over there, thinking I was straight, and trying not to be pervy? Should I put him out of his misery? Let him know I was gay, too, and plenty interested? A slow smile crept over my face.

I sat up, put my feet on the coffee table, and grabbed the snacks. I couldn’t put on much of a show with pretzel sticks and a glass of water, or maybe I just lacked the imagination, but I did my best, making a point of leaving the little rod hanging out of my mouth and manipulating it with my tongue as I slowly sucked it in, nibble by nibble.

I repeated the process, alternating it with leisurely sips of water, then got up to saunter to the kitchen for a refill. I resisted the reflexive urge to pull down the shirt that had ridden up, and grabbed an open bag of Cheetos for good measure. Once sitting, I offered the bag to Wes.

He shook his head and gave a fleeting smile, keeping his eyes locked briefly on mine before returning his gaze to the TV. The trouble with cheese puffs was they left a heck of a mess on one’s fingers. With nary a napkin in sight, I had no choice but to lick them. Slowly. One finger at a time.

Eventually, I gave up. It was a work night, after all. Wes busted out a couple yawns, and I got the feeling he wanted to go to bed, too, but maybe I’d been successful and he wasn’t able to remove that pillow, let alone stand, until I left the room.

I stretched and rubbed my eyes. “I’m gonna call it a night.”

“Goodnight. What time do you get up?”

“Around six.” I stood and gathered the debris field I’d created. “Don’t worry, I’ll be quiet.”

I’d no sooner slipped between my cool, sea-green sheets, than Wes entered the bathroom. When the shower turned on, I grinned and closed my eyes. It was probably wrong of me to drift off to sleep with images of what he might be doing in there running through my head.