First Chapter: Undone
Jason
“That was fun,” Marnie murmurs. Her naked ass presses against my bare hip. Reaching away from me, she yawns and picks up her phone to check her texts.
Or TikTok.
Or I have no idea what.
I don’t know what she’s doing, and I’m not really curious. She can scroll on her phone all she likes, because we’re done with today’s activities.
Activity, singular—a Friday nooner.
I grin at the ceiling, relaxed and content, an idle hand grazing up and down my belly. It’s groomed. I’m no Sasquatch.
Drowsy, I smile wider at the randomness of my thoughts—the state of my body hair has to be among the stranger ones—but whatever. I like this postorgasmic mind-wander time. Sex makes me forget about my crappy workweek.
All the crappy workweeks.
And for that I’m eternally grateful.
“Yeah. It was fun,” I say.
What do normal people do after sex? Run their fingers through each other’s hair? Trace circles on each other’s skin? Whisper sweet nothings?
What’s a sweet nothing, anyway?
In all the time that Marnie and I have been getting together—a few years now—I’ve never had a lot to say to her. Or she to me. Between our high sexual appetites and nonexistent need for a relationship, we don’t talk much outside of the bedroom. (Kitchen table. Couch. Hallway.)
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not unfeeling. I care that she’s happy and healthy, and if she needed something, I’d give it to her. She’s also very beautiful, so banging her is no hardship.
At all.
I don’t, however, envision myself spending the rest of my life with her, nor she with me. I don’t feel any spark with her beyond a simple and straightforward fondness. At most, we’re friends.
“I’m getting a new roommate,” I say to Marnie’s spine. Her skin’s a rich, dark umber, and I run a finger down her warm back. Not sure why I’m feeling talky.
A long moment passes, so I nudge her.
“What?” Marnie says absently. She stops scrolling and looks over her shoulder at me, only she can’t quite see me, so now she’s talking to the ceiling.
I repeat myself. “My new roommate moves in today.”
That’s why I took off work early. But I skipped lunch to sneak in sex with Marnie before I have to go meet the guy and give him the keys. It’s convenient hooking up with someone who works from home.
“Greg moved out? I didn’t even know.”
Maybe I mentioned it. Maybe I didn’t.
“Yeah, he’s moving in with his girlfriend. Becky found me a replacement. Some guy she met at a bar. He paid first and last and the deposit. Sounded nice enough.”
Sounded flamboyantly gay on the phone, but whatever. There was a gay guy in high school I had a lot of classes with, so I got to know him. We’d do homework together. There were plenty around at my superliberal college, too. No biggie.
My sister vetted New Guy, and I trust her judgment. Plus, she’s a realtor who does property management. If she thinks this guy would be a good roommate for me, she’s probably right.
“Cool.” Marnie’s voice sounds distant—even though we’re sharing a bed.
“Greg was hardly ever there, you know? The perfect roommate. New Guy will have big pants to fill.” I don’t know why I can’t shut up. Maybe it’s dawning on me that I’m going to be living with a guy I’ve never met. I should perhaps rethink having my sister do everything for me.
“I think the expression is ‘big shoes to fill.’”
“Greg was the size of a small elephant, so it’s both big pants and big shoes.”
She giggles. “What kind of elephant big are we talking about here?”
“Man, we get random after we fuck.”
“Yeah.” She finally sets her phone down and flops over, the tight brown spirals of her long, curly hair bouncing as she moves. Her half-lidded brown eyes widen to catch mine, and she squeezes my hand.
I knife up, breaking the contact, and head to the bathroom to ditch the condom. When I get back, I hunt around for my boxer briefs while she watches me from the bed, legs bent in a zigzag. Perky breasts exposed and vulnerable.
She’s so sexy.
Too bad I’m not in love with her. But she’s not in love with me, either.
I check my phone. “Fuck. I’m running late. How’d it get to be two?”
After I tug on my underwear, I hike my jeans up and lean over Marnie’s reclined form, giving her a quick kiss while simultaneously doing my best to pull on my T-shirt. The move doesn’t work that well. After I’m all done up, I pause, sitting on the side of the bed to slide on my socks and boots. She wraps her arms around me from behind, resting her chin on my shoulder.
I interrupt my shoe-tying to tug her into my lap. I give her a big hug, my arms wrapping the whole way around her body, then kiss her gently, once. I embrace her again and lay her back on the bed as she smiles.
“You’re the best,” I whisper in her ear, not knowing if that sentiment goes too far toward the girlfriend scale rather than the land of friends with bennies. But it’s the truth.
“See ya later,” she whispers back, her eyes closed and her button nose tilted up. And then she fumbles around for her phone again.
I’m dismissed.
After tying my other boot, I skedaddle, closing the door to her bedroom and the door to her house behind me, and climb in my car to go home.
It’s a warm August day full of leafy trees and that feeling that school’s about to begin. Kids run around, some on bikes and some on skateboards. Or they huddle over their phones.
I pull up in front of my Victorian house and park behind a U-Haul van. I own the whole place, which has been divided into apartments I rent out. I’ll be sharing the two-bedroom top floor with my new roommate.
A slim, pale, dark-haired guy hops out of the van. He’s wearing skinny jeans, a tight, light-blue T-shirt, and red Chucks.
Must be my new roommate.
Before opening the car door, I study my reflection in the rearview mirror. God, I have sex hair. I do my best to comb it with my fingers, but it’s hopeless. Oh well.
I get out and walk toward him.
The precise cut of the guy’s hair makes me want to get mine trimmed, although I keep it on the longer side. He’s got very blue eyes that gleam from several paces away. And there’s a manner about him that’s graceful. A dancer, almost. At six-one, I have to have four or five inches on him, at least.
“Hey,” I say when I near him. “It’s Dave, right? David Murphy?” I extend my hand.
Is he wearing lipstick? Lip gloss? I don’t know. His cheeks are sparkly with some glitter shit, too.
Not sure I’ve met a guy who wears makeup before. But his sexuality isn’t a problem. I’m not a homophobe.
I care more about whether my roommate has a criminal record and if they can pay the rent, but my sister’s skip tracing—fancy background search—takes care of that. I don’t want anyone stealing my shit. Other than that, my tenants can do just about anything.
He pauses and grimaces before he shakes my hand, his hand narrow but strong, and I wonder what I’ve done wrong already. Did he not want to touch me after I messed with my hair? Did he see that?
Then he starts to explain, and I realize that the reaction was for the name, not the handshake. His words all come out in a rush. Like he speaks at one-and-a-half speed.
“My mother named me David, and my last name is really common, so I have quite possibly the most boring name on the planet. Try googling it. There’s a million of us Murphys out there. That’s the real Murphy’s Law. Can you do me a favor and do what most people do? Call me Murph. I’ll answer to Davey, too. But only if you’re good.”
A laugh bubbles out of me at the end of this speech. “Got it, Murph. I’m Jason Falkner. Welcome.” I fish out a set of keys from my pocket and hand them to him. “Well, this is it.”
“Thanks.” The guy hits me with a mischievous smile as he looks up at me and accepts the keys. Then he pulls a key chain from his pocket and threads them on the ring. The plastic rectangle adorning the chain says, I’m gay, and since we’re getting to know each other, I also like nachos. When he’s done, his eyes trace my body from head to toe. “It comes with a built-in handsome man, I see.”
I snort, trying to hide a blush. “Right. Only good-looking people live here,” I say. Then, realizing he might take my sarcasm as hitting on him, I clarify, “I mean, I’m kidding. Well, you’re plenty good looking. But I don’t exclude people based on what they look like. Or choose people based on their looks.” I let out a laugh. This is hopeless. Murph’s eyes are all kinds of delighted at my misery, a hand cupping his mouth to hide his smile, so I change the subject as fast as I can. “You know what? Let me help you with your stuff.”
Murph opens his mouth like he’s going to protest, then shrugs. “Glad you think I’m hot. And I’m not gonna say no to a kind offer of assistance.” He turns and opens the van door, which has a mattress, bed frame, boxes, and suitcases stacked inside.
It’s not weird to think he’s adorable, right? I mean, anyone would. You could put him in your pocket.
“What is all this, anyway?” I gesture at the open van door.
“Clothes. And more books than I can carry. Don’t worry, it’ll stay in my room.” His eyes twinkle. “What happens in my room stays in my room.”
I chuckle and hoist a retro-modern lamp in one hand, in addition to slinging a bag over my shoulder and grabbing a dark gray duffel. “This is Vermont, not Vegas.”
“You can take the boy out of Vegas, but you can’t take the Vegas out of the boy,” he says airily. He picks up another two bags and walks with me up to the front door. I swear he sashays as he moves.
“You’re from Las Vegas?”
“Yes, cutie. Mom’s a showgirl. Dad’s a gambler. Got out of that one-horse town as fast as I could.”
“So you came to Vermont.” I can barely keep the incredulity out of my voice. While there are gay people in Vermont, I’m trying to remember if I’ve ever met one as, I don’t even know the word—feminine?—as him before. I’m coming up short.
I look over at him, and his grin widens. “Yep.”
“From Nevada.” My tone remains flat.
“Yep.”
I shake my head. “You know there’s only one area code, right?” I gesture with my elbow to indicate all of my home state. “And the most cows per capita in the country.”
Now I get a full-on hearty laugh from the little guy, and it’s a good one, full of mirth. “I know. I’ve lived here for a while. I like it a lot.”
Furrowing my brows, I try to place him. Burlington isn’t that big, and he’s the kind of guy who stands out. “My sister says you tend bar?”
“Yes. At V and V.” That’s Vino and Veritas, the new LGBTQ bar and bookstore. Well, it’s not so new anymore. But it’s made a splash in Burlington. “I love it there. All the gossip, all the time. Plus the bookstore side is where my heart lies.” I keep my eyes ahead and aim for the door, but I can picture his eyes shining, and I can see how the owners would love him. He’s effervescent.
He’d talk to each and every customer, remember all their favorites, and know all the goings-on in this part of the world. You can just tell he’s a people person.
That’s great for everyone except someone who keeps to himself, like me.
I exhale and dig out my own keys.
Oh, man. What have I gotten myself into?