Topsy Turvy Kinda Love
people here now as there were earlier.”“You all packed up yet?” I watch as she moves to her station to get her well set up for the evening. She seems so at ease and natural in her environment. Like she’s been doing this for years. It’s mesmerizing… well, she is.
“Nah, finally getting around to it tonight. I don’t have that much to move. Anything else you need help with before I head out tonight?” I get my station cleaned up and shut down for the night.
“Nope, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Sure will.” I smile once more before turning to leave for the night. I have things to pack up and get ready at home. Wyatt moved out earlier this morning, so it’s just my stuff in our apartment. He’ll be back on Friday to help me move over to Mia’s place. A thrill of excitement shoots through my veins at moving in with my crush.
I paint another stroke over the same line I’ve been going over for the last fifteen minutes, and my hand shakes. My nerves are out of control today. I take another hit of my joint, hoping it’ll take the edge off. I allow my eyes to crawl across the room. Although I’ve already cleaned up, I know there’s still a few things out of place. He probably won’t even notice, but I know they’re there, so it’s going to bug me. Dust on the bookshelves. Artwork littered throughout my apartment. I’m sure there’s a bra or two stuffed somewhere…. Maybe a thong out of place.
Taunting me.
This is the first roommate I’ve ever had. I still can’t believe I offered. My hand trembles again, and I shake it out. A shaky hand is the worst thing for an artist. It really fucks with a straight line. Why the hell am I so nervous?
A knock on my front door pulls my attention away from the stubborn black line in front of me. Brooks is here… to move in with me. He’s patiently waiting just beyond my front door, waiting for me to open it so I can invite him into my home. I saw him earlier this week, but it’s a different feeling. Like I’m going to vomit. I would call them butterflies, but I don’t believe in that or anything love related.
My heart jackhammers an uneven rhythm in my chest and not even weed can calm it right now. If anything, my senses are heightened. Breathing is the hardest thing I can manage. I snuff out my joint against an ashtray and put my paintbrush in a cup of water beside the canvas—something to come back to later.
I give myself a pep talk. There’s no reason to freak out. I make my way to the mirror in my living room, fixing my hair. I make eye contact with myself. You are Mia fucking Preston and you are a badass. You got this.
Brooks is hot as fuck, I’ll give him that, but I’m not down for a relationship right now… or ever. I do one-night stands and casual hookups, that’s it. Fulfilling my sexual desires and needs, it’s just physical.
I’ve been preparing for this moment. I don’t understand why I’m so thrown off, but then again, I do. Letting him move in with me is the most intense thing I’ve ever done. I’ve never lived with a guy or even another roommate before. We’ve worked at Topsy Turvy together for the last year. Boundaries will need to be set right up front, but what the hell, I’ve never had boundaries before… I’m very much the do first, deal with the consequences after type of girl. But nonetheless, boundaries need to be set even though I know I’ll be continually tempted to blow through because as much as I like sex, I know he likes me for more than just friends-with-benefits. And it’s not fair to drag him along. No matter what I say to Zara. Brooks will never be a meaningless fuck.
Another knock comes at the front door, and I curb my mental pep talk.
“Coming!” I yell as dirty images and thoughts creep into my mind of us doing just that. I mist some air freshener around where I was smoking to cover the weed smell and straighten out my clothing, worried about wrinkles like I’m going on a first date with a guy I’m into.
Get it together! I tell myself.
I whip open the door, and words get caught in my throat at the sight in front of me. Brooks looking hot as shit in a black t-shirt and grey sweatpants stands awkwardly outside my door. Damn that man lingerie. I have to check myself to make sure the drool isn’t falling out of my mouth because hot tamales, that is a dick print if I’ve ever seen one. I just can’t look away, and I know I should.
“Damn, son… you packing some serious heat down there. Didn’t your momma ever tell you not to go out in public looking like a slut?” I blurt out, the filter between my mouth and brain clearly turned off.
A blush covers his cheeks. “Um… what?” he says, looking down at his outfit. I continue my ogling, eyes roaming over wide built shoulders and down bulging biceps that I swear are getting bigger as I stare. The black cotton tee molds obscenely well to the washboard abs and chiseled pecs he’s packing just below it. Bro works out, for reals. Now, if only I had some water for a wet tee shirt contest.
Stop it.
“Oh…nothing. Sorry.” I brush it off as if I wasn’t ogling him like a total pervert just now. I’m not really sorry at all. I’ve never been that blushing virgin who takes peeks as sexy men. No I openly ogle them like a pervert. My brain is screaming at me that all those before mentioned boundaries have fallen to the wayside. It’s the Titanic, and I don’t have a lifeboat or a lifejacket. Looks like