Page 47 of Run, Run, Roommates
Drew sits up, leaning in, and his voice firms. “You did. I know how much you saved Joe when you two came to the city. Marco is the hardest worker I know,” Drew says, looking around the table. “He knew more about housing protections and reporting discrimination than anyone. He made sure all us young broke kids knew what our rights were.”
Under the table, I put my hand on Marco’s thigh and squeeze.
“You two had your parts. You took care of Joe, Joe made sure you had fun,” Drew adds.
Marco huffs a laugh. “He was always taking us to drag shows and queer clubs.”
“Exactly,” Drew says. The conversation moves to other things: dancing, Ioann and Megan’s upcoming duet for next year’s ballet, raising a teenager, and Drew’s work as a lobbyist.
Later, I’m admiring their Christmas tree with Megan while the men wash dishes. “They have a beautiful tree,” Megan says. “I like the homemade decorations.” Megan’s been best friends with Ioann for years, and she’s originally from California. She’s not at all what I would have expected from a principal ballerina—down to earth, warm, but quiet.
I snort. “You should see the tree Marco brought me today.” I tell her about Billy Bob’s decorations while looking for the homemade ones on the tree in front of us. They’re scattered throughout the “nicer” ornaments, glass globes in gold, blue, and silver.
The homemade ones, though, are picture frames, hand painted with ribbons and rhinestones. They’re not Martha Stewart, but they’re obviously made with love.
“Brin, isn’t this Marco?”
Megan holds out an ornament. It’s round and painted in bright candy stripes. Sure enough, there’s Marco, his arm looped around the neck of a softer version of him.
I take the ornament and peer at it. “That’s Joe,” I whisper.
We bring the ornament over to the guys, and Drew smiles at it fondly. Marco dries his hands and carefully takes the ornament from me.
After a few minutes of reminiscing, with Marco telling us the story about the day the picture was taken, Drew says, “You should take that one.”
“No, I couldn’t,” Marco protests.
“We have a tree to hang it up on now,” I point out.
“I have the supplies to make more. And I still have that photo saved somewhere. I can make myself a new one,” Drew insists.
Marco takes it, and when we get home, he hangs it up on our pint-sized tree, right by the top.
“It’s the best ornament on the tree,” I say.
Later, when Marco is showering and getting ready for bed, I text Drew. We’d exchanged numbers before we left his house, and the ornament we brought home gave me an idea.
I haven’t gotten Marco anything for Christmas, since he didn’t celebrate, but I’m going to get him a last-minute gift in case he gets a tree to decorate for next year.
25
Brin
The only thing that wakes me up faster than a hand-delivered caffeinated beverage is the dawning realization that I’ve started my period.
“Shit,” I say, rolling onto my back. Merry Christmas to me.
“Brin, you okay?” Marco calls from the living room. Our bedroom door is closed.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Last night after the party we’d crossed another item off our sex to-do list: shower sex. Or, really, it was more Marco watching me with the showerhead, which was wildly hot. My cheeks heat just thinking about it.
I sling an arm over my eyes, attempting to pull myself together enough to check to see if I bled onto my sheets—Marco’s sheets, at that. Doubly embarrassing.
I need to shower and—I sit bolt upright. “Fuck.”
“Brin?” Marco’s edge of concern in his voice has increased. “I’m coming in.”
The door opens and Marco peers around the room before settling his gaze on me. His brows draw together. “What’s wrong?”
