Page 21 of I'm Your Guy
My feet stop on their own accord. I watch as Hudson sticks a couple of hooks onto the house and then positions the lights across them. Gavin makes some kind of comment, and then Hudson reaches down and casually strokes his hair.
Then he hops down, moves the ladder a few feet, and starts over. I’m frozen in front of my window, still as a statue, watching them. As if I’m witnessing something far more unusual than a couple of guys doing a little work outdoors.
Because to me, it is.
EIGHT
Carter
On my way home from DiCosta’s place, I say a little prayer.
“Dear Lord in heaven, did you send me Tom DiCosta? Or are you sending me back to Montana? Because I think it’s one or the other.
“If you send me back home to Briarton, I will get a job at Home Warehouse. I will wear that tacky orange apron, and I will sell cheap paint and beige carpet tiles with a smile. I will accept my fall from grace as honorably as I can.
“But if you send me a twenty-thousand-dollar lifeline, I swear I’ll learn my lesson. I won’t trust another man for the rest of my life. And I won’t have masturbatory fantasies about my new client. That would be rude. I guess maybe you showed me those abs of glory to lead me into temptation. And those big, rough hands…”
I sigh. “I can be a good boy. And financially savvy. I just need one more chance.”
The Lord says nothing. But maybe he’s thinking it over.
When I get home, I sit right down and work up a contract for Tom DiCosta. His email address is HotShotDiCosta at gmail, which makes me roll my eyes. Only a man child would call himself a hotshot. He’s probably a finance guy. Or a surgeon. Someone with a god complex. I should probably know more about him before I decide to work with him.
I type Tom DiCosta into the Google search bar. But then my fingers hesitate over the Return key. The truth is that I can’t afford to ask too many questions. If I talk myself out of this job, I might as well pack my bags and drive back to Montana.
If he works for big pharma, and his company is busy mowing down the rainforest, do I really need to know?
No, I do not. I close the tab, hit Send on my email and hope for the best.
With that done, I double down on adulting. First, I send Macklin a one-line email, asking him for his half of the rent money. You really left me in the lurch, I explain. As if he doesn’t know.
He’ll probably ignore me, but I have to try.
Then I call my friend from art school and brace myself to ask for another favor.
“Yo! Carterliscious!” Rigo shrieks into the phone. “We missed you at brunch this week. And last week. And…” I can practically hear his wheels turning. “And I haven’t seen you at the gym! Where the hell have you been? Didn’t anyone tell you that it’s important to party with your friends after a breakup?”
If my friends didn’t have pricey taste in brunch, I probably would be partying with them. “It’s been, um, a little rocky on this end of town. In fact—” I swallow hard. “I called to ask if you know anyone who’s looking for a roommate. I need to find a new place to live. Uh, quickly.”
“Oh, honey. The rent is too much?”
“It’s way too much without Macklin here. And I’m in kind of a hurry. I’ve only got until the end of the month.”
There’s a beat of silence while Rigo does the math. “Holy shitballs! You got evicted?”
“Yup.” Redheads blush easily, so I’m probably the color of one of Andy Warhol’s soup-can paintings right now. Luckily, Rigo can’t see me. “Like I said, it’s been a rough patch.”
“Oh Carter. You can crash here for a little while if you need to.”
“Really?” I didn’t want to ask. But if he’s offering…
“You totally can, at least before the holidays. We just found out that Buck is coming back from deployment at Christmas.”
“Oh wow! You must be so excited.”
“Honey, you have no idea. It’s been four months, and I’m out of my mind. We are going to have all the sex when he gets home. On every surface of this apartment.”
I laugh. “Yes, you are. And that is why I will make sure to find a roommate before his plane touches down in Colorado.”
