Falling for my Biker Roommate

11

I needed to prove something to myself.

Garrett texted mid-afternoon asking if I still wanted that rain-check coffee. I stared at the message longer than I should have, then typed back yes. Leo was downstairs working the lunch rush. I changed into a soft sweater and jeans, put on a little mascara, and left before I could talk myself out of it.

The café sat two blocks from the harbor. Garrett was already there, neat blue button-down, friendly smile, the kind of man who probably never left his laundry on the floor. We ordered lattes and sat by the window. He talked about insurance policies and a weekend fishing trip. I nodded at the right times and tried to feel something—interest, butterflies, even mild curiosity.

Nothing.

My mind kept drifting back to the kitchen at four in the morning. The spoon. Leo’s fingers under mine. The way he had looked at me when I asked if he ever thought about kids. I stirred my coffee too many times. Garrett asked if I was okay. I forced a smile and said I was just tired from the hospital visit.

Twenty minutes in I knew I couldn’t stay. I made an excuse about needing to check on a delivery at the restaurant. He looked disappointed but polite. We said we’d try again sometime. I already knew we wouldn’t.

I walked home faster than usual. The apartment key felt heavy in my hand. I pushed the door open and stopped cold.

Leo was flat on his back in the middle of the living room rug.

He wore only low black jeans, the button half undone. Grease streaked across his chest, his stomach, and one cheek. A motorcycle carburetor sat in pieces on a dirty towel beside him. His arms were stretched up as he worked a small wrench, muscles shifting under the skin. That sharp V-cut at his hips disappeared into the waistband of his jeans like it was designed to ruin my concentration.

I stared a beat too long.

He glanced over, still on his back, and wiped the back of his hand across his jaw. It only smeared the grease more. His eyes flicked from my face to the sweater I had worn for the date and back again.

“How was the date?” he asked. Voice casual. Too casual.

“Fine,” I said. The word came out tighter than I meant.

“Good.” His jaw flexed once. He looked back up at the ceiling and turned the wrench again like the conversation was over.

We both knew we were lying.

I kicked off my shoes harder than necessary and walked toward the kitchen just to have somewhere else to look. “You’re getting grease on the rug.”

“It’ll clean.” He didn’t sound sorry. “You’re home early.”

“It wasn’t that interesting.”

Silence stretched. I opened the fridge and stared at the shelves without seeing anything. Behind me I heard the soft clink of metal parts. I could still picture the way his stomach had tightened when he reached for the wrench. My pulse refused to settle.

“Garrett seem nice?” Leo asked after a minute. Still on the floor. Still half-naked. Still pretending this was normal roommate talk.

“He’s fine.” I closed the fridge without taking anything. “Stable. Talks a lot about boat insurance.”

Leo gave a short, humorless sound that might have been a laugh. “Sounds thrilling.”

I turned around. He had pushed himself up on his elbows now, watching me. Grease marked the lines of his abs. A dark smear ran along the sharp cut of his hip. I forced my eyes up to his face.

“It was just coffee,” I said.

“I know.”

“I’m allowed to go on dates.”

“Never said you weren’t.”

The air between us felt charged again, the same way it had in the kitchen hours earlier. I crossed my arms. “You’re one to talk. You disappear on that bike whenever you feel like it and I don’t ask questions.”

His eyes darkened a little. “You want me to start asking questions?”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. The truth sat too close to the surface—that I had spent the entire coffee date comparing Garrett’s clean hands to the ones currently covered in motor grease, and that Garrett had lost by a mile.

Leo sat up fully, resting his forearms on his knees. The movement made the muscles in his stomach shift again. I looked away toward the window.

“I’m gonna shower,” I said.

“Yeah. Me too. After I finish this.”

I walked to my room without another word. Behind the closed door I leaned against it and let out a long breath. My heart was still beating too fast. I could hear him moving around the living room—the soft scrape of tools, the occasional quiet curse when something didn’t fit right.

I changed out of the date sweater and into an old T-shirt. When I finally came back out he was still on the floor, but he had pulled a rag over the worst of the grease on his chest. He didn’t look up this time.

“Night, Lily.”

“Night.”

I went back to my room and lay on the bed in the dark. The apartment felt smaller than usual. Every few minutes I heard him shift on the rug. Once I thought I heard him sigh.

We were both terrible liars.

And we both knew it.