Page 13 of Detour

I didn’t tell Drew about the boys across the hall. I didn’t tell him how Beckett’s jovial antics remind me of the ease Drew and I share with each other. I didn’t tell him how Coty has this crazy way of making me feel safe and threatened at the same time. I didn’t tell him about Marc’s penetrating personality that I can’t help but want to learn about. Last night was the first time I kept things from Drew. Even though my new neighbors are just that—neighbors—their presence is something I don’t want to share just yet.

Padding over to the fridge, I take out some eggs and a slice of cheese. Eggs I can do. Mostly. Scrambled eggs are my safe zone. Over easy, hard boiled, poached, those are far, far outside of my wheelhouse. My mom was usually too high strung to form an appetite, apparently assuming her child worked the same way. I didn’t. I went hungry more often than not since I didn’t know how to cook. The only time I’ve ever eaten regularly was at my last job where the restaurant provided one free meal per shift. Now I’m back on my own though and forced to figure it out, just like I always did, but with more food available to work with, so that helps.

A plate packed with cheesy eggs and toast in hand, I go out to the balcony to enjoy my late breakfast. The slow-to-warm weather is calling my name, so juggling the glass of orange juice along with my slippery plate, I somehow get the sliding glass door open only to find the balcony completely empty. Oh, yeah, I haven’t bought a patio chair yet. Shit. I mentally add it to my growing list, then sit on the gritty artificial turf-covered ground, trying not to look too hard at what I’m sitting on. I will sit out here. I will eat my breakfast al fresco. And I will enjoy it, damn it.

Mouth full of soggy eggs, I take in the crowded parking lot below noticing Coty’s Camaro and bike both parked in their usual spots. A lazy Sunday morning for both of us.

Just then the sliding glass door to my left opens revealing Coty as he steps out onto his balcony. Shirtless.

Jeee-sus.

He catches me gawking and raises his bowl of what I’m guessing is cereal in greeting.

My mouth still stuffed with food and my throat suddenly dry, there’s no way for me to swallow without needing the Heimlich maneuver so I flop my hand up haphazardly before letting it fall back to my side.

Coty smiles tightly, saving me from total humiliation, and continues scooping spoonfuls in silence. I, however, can’t take my eyes off him even if I tried and without a shirt covering his tattoos I obviously don’t want to, so I peruse his skin like the dermatologist I’m not. Roses on each side just below his collarbone with small birds underneath. Intricately feminine pictures, yet they fit him perfectly. Very interesting choices that I’d love to know the reasons behind. I drink in the rest of him as if he were the juice neglected at my feet. He’s once again barefoot which I’m starting to think might be his norm. His oversized athletic shorts reach just below his knees and just shy of his boxers’ waistband. Although boxer briefs might look good on him, too, I’m glad he’s sporting boxers. They’ve always been my favorite. Honestly, the guy would look good in a ripped paper sack. He’s so sexy without even trying. He just rolls over, throws on shorts, pours some cereal and BAM!—hottest guy alive nominee. It’s so unfair. He knows it, too. How could he not? It’d be like a bird not knowing it flies. Neither of them have to work at it, but they don’t flaunt it unnecessarily either. Coty probably thinks he’s just enjoying his breakfast outside, not even realizing he’s driving me insane with want like I’ve never experienced before. Last night ended abruptly but more than that it ended with a pit formed in my stomach. A pit called confusion. Why he slammed the door so suddenly after being so kind was strange, to say the least.

Unsure what to say, I remain quiet as I finish my food. The peaceful silence is only interrupted by a family of church-goers as they load into their van.

“Are you off today?” Coty’s voice wraps around me, settling like a cozy blanket on my arms. Even though it seems off, not as thoughtful, I still snuggle into it.

“No, I go in later.” My eyes stay on the van as it pulls away but finally give in to look over at Coty finding him watching me intently. “You?”

After a moment, he nods. “We all work together and try to keep similar schedules but our days off don’t always match up. Today I’m the only one home but it’s too quiet in there. You should come over and keep me company.” He lets that thought land between us, perched and ready to take flight before adding, “Unless, your boyfriend would care.”

Boyfriend?

My mind filters back to last night when I took Drew’s call. It was only after I answered the phone that Coty left without so much as a wave goodbye. Maybe he heard Drew’s voice and assumed that was my boyfriend. Maybe he had a bad case of diarrhea and couldn’t wait for me to get off the phone. Either seems plausible but with his guarded demeanor today and his near-accusation, it’s safe to say Coty’s stomach wasn’t the issue. I stop myself from blanching at the idea of Drew being my boyfriend. The mere mention of it is laughable but something has me staying quiet. Self-preservation or self-destruction, whatever you want to call it, they typically go hand-in-hand in my experience and this is no exception. It would be too easy to clear things up, but it would also remove a brick from the metaphorical wall separating us. The one that needs to stay in place. For everybody’s sake.

“Actually, I need to hit the library before my shift. I’ve got a paper I need to finish and print off before class tomorrow.”

Oddly, Coty’s face reveals as much relief as it does disappointment. Did he even want me to come over? Was he testing me? Another one of his tricky tactics in trying to figure me out.

He masks it by asking, “What kind of paper?”

Getting to my feet, I answer easily, “The bullshit kind. My English teacher didn’t get the memo that school is almost out and insists on assigning ridiculous projects up until the last minute.” Literally.

“Don’t you have a computer that you could type it up on? I could print it at my shop for you. It’d save you the extra trip.”

I’m already shaking my head as I gather my dirty dishes, blowing a strand of hair out of my face when I stand again.

“Well, shit, you should come over here then. We have every kind of device you could dream of, including three laptops. Our entire apartment is basically saturated with Wi-Fi.” Coty uses his hands, one still holding the bowl, to emphasize his point. “I can email your paper to Marc and have him print it there before he leaves for the day.”

“That’s okay. I, uh,” I stumble over my words, over my reasoning. “I was just getting ready to leave.”

His raised eyebrows mock me but he lets me off the hook by changing the subject. “You can always DM me if you change your mind.” I drop my gaze to the lot below, biting my bottom lip into my mouth. “You do have Instagram, don’t you?” My eyes meet his. The lines in his forehead crease. “No social media at all?”

“I don’t see the need.” While everyone else is celebrating their lives, I’m just trying to survive mine. No amount of filters in the world can disguise that particular struggle.

Quietly, he asks, “Are you running from something?”

Smothering my scoff is useless. He isn’t far off. I’m not running from something; I’m running from someone. Always have been, perhaps always will be. The characteristics our parents pass down to us don’t even have to be handed off at close range for them to still cause damage. Who knows what kind of features I carry from my father? And my mother…I’ll be working the rest of my life to stop traits I’ve inherited from her from coming to life and taking over. But still. Coty doesn’t get to make assumptions just because I’m not like everybody else. I’ve never needed validation from strangers because I know what I bring to the table and I’m okay sitting there alone. Especially without the selfies to prove it.

I run my eyes over my Jeep when Coty speaks again. “Hey, I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“You didn’t.”

“I’m impressed you’re able to live on your own, that’s all. Most people our age brag about every aspect of their life and an apartment to themselves would make anybody’s feed. You won’t tell me anything about yourself and all anyone does anymore is overshare. I like that you’re different. I like-” He stops suddenly, shrugging his shoulders. The move draws my attention back to his tattoos and away from whatever he was about to say. While I try, and fail, to stop staring at the only flowers I’m not opposed to he says, “I just want to help out, if you need it.”