Constructing Us (New Adult Romance) (2 page)

Andy heard the front door open and male voices inside the apartment.  She set down a stack of books she’d been unpacking from a box and left her bedroom.  Walking into the living room were two guys; one was about 5’11” with a nice build, tattoo on his right arm, and very dark hair that was short but messy.  The other guy was smaller, with close-cropped light brown hair and glasses.  Both paused abruptly and their conversation ceased, clearly taken aback by the sight of Andy, who was standing in the hall, about twenty feet in front of them. 

“Hi,” she said with a smile, “Tragan?”  She looked from one man to the other, not sure which one was her new roommate.

After a momentary pause, the dark-haired, tattooed one lifted a hand halfway up.  “Hi…” he said slowly, either reluctant or confused.

“I’m Andy
Delphin,” she said brightly.  “Ethan’s friend.  I’m your new roommate.”

Tragan didn’t say anything, just looked at her.  Either he was
stunned or sorely lacking basic social skills.

“Hey, I’m Jamie Bardo,” the shorter one with glasses
said, then glanced at his friend, clearly waiting for him to jump in.  When he didn’t, Jamie gave a crooked smile.  “I’m a friend of Tragan’s.  You’ll probably see me a lot around here.”

“
Cool, nice meeting you,” Andy said, smiling.  Then she darted an eye to Tragan again and saw him still just looking at her.

“I work in collections at New England Furniture,” Jamie added
, sounding proud of his job.

“
Oh, on Mass. Ave.?” Andy said conversationally.  “Nice.  Well, listen, Ethan told me that you like to do your thing and you don’t need to entertain me,” she told Tragan.  “I’ll just see you guys around; I’m going to finish unpacking.” 

Once she’d disappeared into her bedroom, Tragan heard his friend say, “Hey, are you okay?”  Tragan turned his head, l
ooked at Bardo, who implored, “Dude--
speak
.”

So finally he did.  Those three little words: 

“
What the fuck?
”

~

An hour later Tragan and Bardo were at the Billiard Grill with their friends, Matt Winter and Dan Pellican.  Matt was Tragan’s best friend by far.  They’d met at community college a few years earlier and now worked together at Matt’s dad’s construction company. 

Right now
Matt and Pellican were facing off at pool, while Tragan was sitting in an adjacent booth with a half-eaten burger in front of him.  As usual, the Billiard Grill was packed and vibrating with music.  At least half of the patrons were clustered around the horseshoe bar in the center, with the rest gathered at the pool tables or vinyl booths that lined the walls. 

When he played pool,
Matt always preferred this specific table in the far corner.  He claimed he didn’t believe in luck, yet what else could you call it?  Either way, he was kicking Pellican’s ass at the game, as usual, and causing that tell-tale twitch in his opponent’s beefy shoulder.  The two guys were practically opposites as it was.  While Matt was tall, dark-haired, and quietly sensible, Pellican was stocky with a ruddy Irish complexion, auburn bristles on his head and a more combative personality. 

While the
waitress was setting down another bottle of beer for Tragan and clearing the onion rings basket, Bardo was on his feet, finishing his animated recap of how “Andy Delphin” was actually a girl.

As
Matt lined up his next shot, Pellican leaned on his pool cue.  “So, Tray, what did you say to her?” he asked. 

Bardo
answered for him.  “Nothing, bro.  You should’ve seen it.  He just stood there--slack-jawed--
staring
at her.  It was almost getting awkward.  So I jumped in to smooth it over,” he finished, sounding pretty pleased with himself.

Tragan blew it off.
  “Whatever, Bardo.  I was not slack-jawed.”

“On a side note,” Bardo added,
dropping back into the booth, “I thought she was cute.  Didn’t you, Tray?”

Begrudgingly, Tr
agan said, “Yeah, fine, I guess,” as his mind recalled the petite, honey-colored blond standing in his apartment.  Thick hair that fell past her shoulders, big blue eyes and a strip of perfect white teeth--which she’d exposed when she’d smiled casually at him and he’d just stood there, blinking stupidly back.

Now h
e straightened up in his seat and continued, “Look, there are a lot of girls who are cute--doesn’t mean I want them
living
with me.”

“True
speech,” Pellican agreed gruffly, then stabbed the floor with his cue when Matt made another shot.

“What’s the big deal?” Bardo asked.

“C’mon, man.  I don’t want to live with some chick,” Tragan grumbled.  “I can just see it now.  ‘Get your feet off the coffee table, don’t chew with your mouth open, piss with the door closed.’  Uch.”  He shook his head at the thought of an etiquette monitor invading his home.

Matt
chuckled quietly, while Bardo went into trouble-shooting mode.  “All right, I’ll solve that for you now,” Bardo said and began enumerating with his fingers.  “Remind her that the coffee table is
yours
.  Don’t share a meal with her.  Piss when she’s not home.”  He tipped his head, still considering the third one.  “Well, if you really can’t hold it, then, yeah, close the door.” 

Bardo tore a careless
bite of his sandwich off before informing the group, “Now that I’m part of Corporate-America--”  Pellican rolled his eyes and Matt managed a brief wry look.  Prior to landing his new job at the New England Furniture Company, Bardo had worked at the Sam Adams warehouse with Pellican.  Now he continued to educate his blue collar friends.  “I’ve learned exactly what constitutes sexual harassment.  And exposing yourself, even just to go to the bathroom, would count.”

Impatiently Tragan
rolled his eyes. “Yeah, thanks.  I wasn’t planning on exposing myself.  Jesus.” Matt chuckled again, more audibly this time and Bardo shrugged innocently.  Meanwhile Tragan shook his head and declared, “Whatever, I’m calling Ethan.”

“In
England
?” Pellican said. 

“Yes. 
This is bullshit.”

“What are you gonna say?”

“I don’t know,” Tragan admitted.

“Damn,”
Matt muttered when he missed his shot.

“Finally!”
Pellican exclaimed and shoved his way forward as Matt moved back. 

Now that his turn was done, Matt was able to address the issue
at hand. “Man, just forget it.  It’s done.  She’s already there.  It’s only a few months, right?”

“That
’s not the point,” Tragan argued--even though inwardly he knew Matt was being the voice of reason, as he usually was.  “The point is, Ethan tricked me.”

Matt
shrugged.  “BFD.  It’s only a few months,” he repeated. 

“
Yeah,” Bardo piped up.  “And besides, maybe this is a sign.  Maybe your life could use a ‘woman’s touch,’” he joked. 

Hunched over the pool table with his cue poorly lining up,
Pellican snorted at that.  “Or maybe
something
could use a woman’s touch,” he threw in with a brusque laugh.

“S
hut-up,” Tragan said to his friends, who proceeded to cackle at his expense. 

“Hey, man.”

“Uh, h
ey…” Ethan said, sounding cautious or maybe confused.  “It’s one in the morning here, by the way.”

“So
you didn’t tell me that ‘Andy’ was a chick,” Tragan stated bluntly as he walked from the T stop toward Grove Street. 

Impressively,
Ethan found the balls to stand his ground.  “You indicated that you didn’t want to know anything about your new roommate.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, more or less,” Ethan insisted.  “If you recall, I tried--”

“Bullshit, you could’ve told me.”

“Well, what’s the difference anyway?  Andy’s easy-going, and I’m sure she’ll be too busy to bother you.  It’s not like she’s going to redecorate.”

“How do you know?
” Tragan retorted.  “How do you know her anyway?”  As someone who didn’t really have female friends, he was suddenly curious about the nature of Andy’s relationship with Ethan.  Had they been an item?  Not that it mattered, though it would raise Ethan’s stock considerably.

“We went to school together and our
parents are friends.  I’ve known her practically since we were kids,” Ethan said.  Okay, so never dated.  Hmm, it was hard for Tragan to picture being purely platonic friends with a girl, at least one as attractive as Andy.  Then again, he’d only gotten a quick glimpse of her during their awkward introduction earlier. 

“
If she’s your friend, how come I never met her?” Tragan said.  He was sure she’d never been to the apartment before, at least not when he was there.

“You’ve never met
any
of my friends,” Ethan pointed out.

“Oh, right.
I guess that’s true.” 

As
Tragan rounded the corner and walked toward his apartment building, a cold wind blew across the trees that lined the street, and light, icy drops began to hit his forehead.  Here, in this quiet little neighborhood, the lights of Boston and bustle of Brookline seemed to fall into the distance.

Through the phone--
across the Atlantic Ocean--Tragan heard Ethan heave a tired sigh.  “Look, she’s not bothering you, is she?”

“No
.  Nothing like that,” Tragan admitted, because he didn’t want to be a complete dick here.  Granted he’d met her for only two minutes, but she seemed friendly enough.  “I was just surprised.  I’ve never lived with a girl,” he added as an afterthought…though when he voiced it he realized that was the real issue.

“Trust me, she’s
not annoying.  But there
is
one thing I should tell you, now that you’re actually interested in hearing what I have to say.”

Whoa,
England was giving Ethan all sorts of backbone right now.  “What?” Tragan said impatiently.

“
Andy is…well, Andy’s sick.” 
Sick?
  “It’s not contagious or anything,” Ethan hurried to add.  “It’s just she’s got something called Bronsteg Disorder.  It’s an autoimmune thing.  She got diagnosed with it a couple of years ago and had to leave school for a while.”

“Oh, man…” Tragan muttered
to himself, totally caught off guard.  “She seemed fine,” he added stupidly.

“She
is
a lot of the time,” Ethan said.  “But sometimes she gets these bouts of fatigue.  Headaches, dizzy spells.  It has something to do with her blood pressure.  To be honest, it’s a rare condition and I don’t think they know much about it.”

“Well…
is it fatal?” Tragan asked uncomfortably.  Goddamn, this was all too heavy for him.

“I don’t think so,”
Ethan replied.  “It’s just…something she manages.”

“She didn’t say anything about it,” Tragan refuted.  Which was absolutely ridiculous since he’d hardly given her a chance to say anything; he’d been too busy standing there
, saying nothing, making her want to leave his unwelcoming presence and return to her room.  Maybe she would have said something if he’d actually shown he was capable of engaging in a conversation.

“Andy’s not one to play her situation for sympathy,
” Ethan remarked.  “If anything, she would rather not to talk about it--so maybe don’t tell her that I told you, okay?  In fact, the only reason I
am
telling you this is because I don’t want you to force her out of the apartment.”

Tragan scrun
ched his forehead at that.  “Jesus, I’m not a dick,” he said with annoyance.

Ethan
didn’t address that claim.  Instead he explained: “She’s participating in a drug study at St. Catherine’s Hospital right now--something that may help regulate the Bronsteg.  That’s why she offered to take over the lease for me.”

“
Because the hospital’s so close to our place,” Tragan thought aloud, climbing the stone steps to his building.  “Makes sense.”  As he shoved the heavy front door open with his shoulder, he made a snap decision to hurry Ethan off the phone.  To distance himself from this whole conversation.  Andy Delphin’s health wasn’t his issue--and wouldn’t be.  She’d do her thing, he’d do his.  A simple, straightforward roommate situation. 

Obviously he
felt sorry for her now that he knew all this, but he didn’t want to get sucked into the details, because it was her business.  Like Ethan said, maybe Andy didn’t want people getting all concerned.  Maybe she just wanted to be treated like everyone else. 

And
possibly--hell, most likely--the idea that Tragan could be expected to have any responsibility or obligation here made him uncomfortable.  Which was why he hung up with Ethan after a few more words, and pushed his ex-roommate’s concerned, self-righteous tone right out of his mind.  Tragan’s life was simple and that was how he liked it.  So it was good that he and Andy weren’t going to be in each other’s way.