Page 18 of Playing the Backbeat

He leans back, crossing both his arms and ankles, relaxed already in our newly shared space. “Rule two,” he says, holding up two fingers. “All mail needs to go in the same place every day.”

“My mail has a place.”

“Places, it seems. I can spot five piles of mail without moving.”

“You’re exaggerating.” I wave him off. “Besides, I know where everything is.”

“I’m sureyoudo. But I’ve lived with someone with your organizational style before,” he smirks. “It didn’t work out well for me.”

“Dom?”

“Of course.” He shrugs, grabbing another cookie. “And I lost more mail in a year than I ever have in my life.”

“Are you saying my place is dirty?”

“No, it’s really clean. But I have a feeling this is one of those pile systems whereyouknow where everything is, and I’ll never catch up.”

He’s got a point, reluctant as I am to admit it. So, I don’t.

“How important is mail,really? You should go paperless. Mother Earth would thank you for it.”

He ignores me. “You pick the spot. But justone.”

“Fine. We can use this.” I take a small basket from the counter that already has a few pieces of mail, plus some ChapStick and— “Hey! I was looking for these!” I hold up my earbuds.

“See? Wins all around.”

“Okay, rule three.” I move on, unwilling to give him credit for the discovery. “Keep any and all hookups contained to your room. I don’t want to come home and be forced to witness you trying your best tofind it.”

He reaches back, rubbing his neck. I don’t miss the sliver of skin exposed across his lower abdomen with the movement. I have to fight to refocus my attention elsewhere.

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” he admits, chin tipping down.

“What do you mean? Do you have a secret wife I don’t know about? Are you done with casual? Gotta say, I’m honored you’d grace me with your presence, but you probably should have moved in with her.”

“Nope,” he says on a sigh, rocking onto his heels. “Things have been busy at work. I haven’t been going out much. That’s all kind of fallen on the back burner.”

“Hm…bit of a dry spell?” He hesitates for a moment before nodding. “Don’t be embarrassed. I’ve been living in the desert myself.”

“For a year?”

I scoff. “Try a year and a half.”

His eyebrows lift and he studies me, surprise evident in his features.

“What?” Defensiveness prickles at my skin. I hate the scrutiny.

“Why?” He sounds genuinely curious, no judgment in his voice like I expected.

“I don’t know.” I tug my hoodie down, tucking my hands in the slightly too-long sleeves, and cross my arms. “I guess it was getting old. The surface-level shit.” He nods, and I feel his stare everywhere. “What about you? Don’t use work as an excuse, we both know it isn’t one.”

Propping his hands on his hips, his shoulders sag. “Work is my typical excuse, but I guess if I were honest, I’d say…maybe a bit of the same as you. The last date I went on was fine. But it was just that. Fine. It didn’t make me feel…I don’t know. Forget it.”

“No, what do you mean?”

“I figured when I met the right person, it would be thismoment. Like my veins turned to fire. Like I couldn’t drag myself away from them. Like I could stay talking with them until I passed out with exhaustion, but it was worth it to not have to say goodnight too soon.”

I reach for a cookie and fiddle with it for a moment. “That’s movie kind of stuff. Didn’t peg you for a romantic.”