Page 57 of Run, Run, Roommates
Everyone applauds as the team gets on stage and is handed their trophies and one of those giant fake checks.
“Oh shit, I know her,” Greg says. “She’s on Instagram and does these really popular underground concert pop-ups. No wonder she won.”
“That explains the amazing videos,” I add.
Once the applause dies down, the host steps back to the mic. “And our last award of the night goes to the team that raised the most money. As you know, this depends on both the team accumulating points and collecting pledges. The winner this year is Marco Russo and Brinda Shaw!”
Surprised that they would give out an award for that, I make my way through the crowd to collect our trophies. I shake hands with the people on stage and then go back to my table with Greg and Luis.
They congratulate me with handshakes and claps on the back. It feels disingenuous, since we only had one person pledge money for our team. Like maybe William should be here instead of me. Or at the very least, he should have gotten a trophy.
The music starts up again. As I chat with Greg and Luis, I debate about going home, but Brin’s not home, so I might as well hang out with my friends.
Luis is telling me about a trip he took to Costa Rica when Greg nudges me. He lifts his chin to the screen and I look up to see myself skating toward Brin, stopping next to her so we can smile and wave at the camera and she can take a few tottering steps.
“So what’s it like living with her?” Greg asks.
I blink at him. “It’s great.”
“I was wondering if you were roommates when I met her.”
“When did you meet her?”
“Maybe eight months ago.”
Yes, Brin had been living with me. I try to remember if Brin had ever said anything about a date, but if she did I can’t remember.
Greg leans in and tilts his head toward Luis. “I told him all about Brin. So, like, does she bring the guys home with her?”
I take a sip of my beer, buying some time. I don’t know what he’s talking about, but I’ve often found that if you leave room in the conversation, people will tell you more. I tell the truth. “No, she doesn’t.”
Greg smirks. “I guess that would destroy the illusion, right? Those girls aren’t there to bring men like us back to their shitty apartments.”
“My apartment’s not shitty.”
Greg gives me a look. “I’ve been there. You definitely live below your pay grade. And you told me it was because your roommate couldn’t afford better.” He laughs. “She probably regrets getting off the app. If she was still there, she’d definitely be able to afford better.”
“She is hot enough,” Luis agrees.
“Are you still on the app?” I ask.
“Nah,” Greg says. “They instituted an ID verification a while ago and I didn’t feel like going through the effort. And it got to be like, what’s the point? The women on Sugary were hotter and looking for guys to fuck, but it was too much work. They’re all gold diggers, anyway.”
This whole time, Greg’s smiling. It raises my hackles. Maybe it’s because there’s a vibe of “it’s not my fault these women don’t want me” or his use of gold digger as a slur, or maybe it’s because he’s specifically talking about Brin.
Greg and I meet up a couple times a month. We race each other on runs, play one-on-one on the court, and talk shit about our bosses. He never has trouble meeting someone at the bar to take home. He’s good-looking, charming, and he has clout—his boss has climbed the ranks in the art scene in leaps and bounds since Greg started working for him.
How well do I really know Greg? What signs have I missed about his behavior?
Because no one is going to talk about my girlfriend like that.
31
Brin
When I get home, Marco is sprawled on the couch, scrolling on his phone. He’d sent me updates throughout the night, which I saw when I was on break. Even knowing that we won an award, I still squeal when I see the trophies on the coffee table.
“Oh my god, they’re frickin’ cute.”
