He Shoots, She scores

Chapter Five: Gracie | Two-Timing Pig

"So? How are your new roomies?" Nessa asks, saying the last word scandalously.

I lock my bedroom door and huff as I belly flop onto bed. I shift my phone from one ear to the next. "Awful. Well, two of them are fine. The last one is just such a dick."

For the next half hour, I rant nonstop to Nessa about how awful Weston is. Everything from how he basically chucked my belongings, to his freak out about my nice baking present. "He was upset cause I used his eggs, Nessa! You can just buy them from literally anywhere! God, Weston is so stuck up. And for what? And what kind of name is Weston anyway?"

It's suddenly silent on the other end. "Hello? Ness?"

"Wait- your roommate- his name is Weston?"

"Yeah, why? You know him?"

More silence. Then: "Is he like super tall, brown hair, middle part?"

"Yes, yes, and yes. Uh-oh." The pieces begin to click together now. "Is he-"

Nessa screams from the other end. "I can't believe that the very same jerk who ghosted me after sex is now living three feet from you!"

"I'm so sorry, Ness. Boys suck."

"New plan. Gracie, you're going to stay there and you're going to make that two-timing pig's life a living hell. For me, and all the other girlies he's stood up."

I bite my nails. "Nessa, you know I'd do anything for you, and if he was literally anyone else, I'd do it in a heartbeat. But he's my roommate. It's different. I just want to live here without any conflict, you know? Plus he already hates me enough as is."

"Fine. I guess you have a point." She sighs. "But if I ever stop by your place, there's no stopping me from tracking mud all over his bed."

"Duly noted."

Later that evening, RJ gives me the quote on quote 'official tour' of the house like some dramatic real estate agent. He takes his job quite seriously though and has me giggling the entire time. We start in the foyer. "This is Fern. We don't water Fern because he died like the second week we had him, but now we have this superstitious ritual where we gotta kiss fern leaving, otherwise we'll play like shit during our games."

I laugh. "Are you serious?"

"Oh, very serious. The one time I didn't kiss him, I took a face plant to the ice."

"Wow."

"Obviously, this is the kitchen." RJ hops onto the kitchen island and swings his legs, his heels hitting the counter with a thud everytime. "I assume someone has told you about Weston's very strict no eating his food rule, and if you weren't aware, you are now. This is where we play poker, eat, laugh, share embarrassing stories of our childhood ...whatever is said in the kitchen stays in the kitchen. Understand?"

I salute him. "Ay ay, captain." We move farther down.

"My room. Eli's room. Weston's room. If there's a sock on the doorknob, do not enter. For Weston's sake, just assume there's always a sock on his doorknob." I nod, taking mental notes of every detail. I notice that only Weston keeps his room shut. Both RJ and Eli leave theirs wide open for viewing. From a sneak peek, I see that both their bedrooms are decorated with hockey jerseys and sticks along the walls, along with various trophies on the shelves.

"The living room. Another sacred location in this house." RJ jumps onto the sofa, landing in a perfect pose. "The TV gets busted sometimes, so you gotta kick it twice in the back to re-boot it." He gives a demonstration, and after two therapeutic boots, the news channel turns on. "Sit wherever you want. But Weston has another no eating on the couches rule. This came about when we found a year-old banana peel wedged under the cushions."