I accepted his offer before Nixon could say anything. “If you've got room for one more, that sounds great. I'm starved.” That wasn't even a lie—I'd been up for over an hour, and just the sight of all their food was making my mouth water.
Nixon looked a little annoyed that I'd crashed his man feast, but he made no move to stop me. I sat down at the dining table as the three men started transferring their breakfast in from the kitchen. Soon the dining table groaned with a steaming mountain of fried ham, potatoes, and eggs over easy. Their huge spread almost didn't leave any room for plates.
To their credit, they started with small talk in an attempt to include me. But they soon lapsed into dense military slang that left me totally lost. BOHICA? FUBAR? Chamber rides and monster mashes? Sneak and peek, E and E, rope-a-dope … say what? The testosterone in the air was almost overwhelming. What little I could understand of their conversation was full of swearing, dirty jokes, and combat anecdotes. They reminisced and laughed about hair-raising danger like it was a fun class trip to the zoo. Feeling somewhat ignored, I gave up trying to follow along and just concentrated on eating. Which was probably a smart move—the sheer volume of calories they'd already put away was amazing, and they might end up shoveling down my share if I wasn't careful.
“Hey, Avery,” Fox suddenly asked. “You've only known Nixon for a couple days, right? Is it weird to be living with someone who’s basically a stranger?”
Caught with a huge mouthful of ham, I mumbled, “Huh?” in the least sexy way possible.
Nixon grunted. “The only thing that's weird around here is your face, Fox.”
“It's your favorite face and you know it. You're just jealous of my dashing good looks.”
I finally managed to swallow and washed it down with a drink of coffee. “No, we met a few weeks ago. We were both visiting his dad in Montana after he married my stepmom. But yeah, we haven't known each other that long. So it's been… ” I chose my next words carefully. As tempting as it was to rip into Nixon, I also didn't want to deal with infinite grumpiness later. “We've had to work some stuff out.”
I couldn't help but glance at Nixon, judging his reaction, and saw Logan's eyes flick between us at the same time. How about that … it looks like the baby has a babysitter.
“Well, if you're interested in getting to know him better, I've got some pretty wild stories about Nixon.” Fox's grin turned crooked, showing his dimples. “I'd love to fill you in sometime.”
I had to giggle at the terrible innuendo. “I'm all ears.”
Nixon abruptly pushed out his chair. “Maybe another time,” he interrupted. “You guys give me a hand with the dishes?”
Logan got up, jerking his head at Fox, who frowned but obeyed. The three men trooped back into the kitchen, leaving me to sit alone at the table, pushing a few scraps of yolky egg around my plate … and wondering yet again how I was going to survive the semester.
When Cynthia had originally suggested living here, she'd made it sound like I'd have the whole condo to myself, since Nixon was away on military missions so often. That was why Russ had come up with this idea in the first place. But from the moment I’d first walked in the door, Nixon had been invading every square inch of my personal space, pretty much non-stop. Not to mention the other two huge dudes who just saw every square inch of me, back and front. Things probably would have worked out different if he hadn't been on shore leave. But as it was, my nerves were already wearing down to shreds.
Maybe I needed to back off for a while. Making myself scarce would give us both some breathing room. Even if Nixon didn't use it, I might be able to regroup … or even figure out how to get the upper hand. Fighting to regain a sense of calm, I took my half-full coffee mug to my bedroom, insisting to myself that I wasn't just running away again.
The next few hours passed both fast and slow. I fooled around organizing my school supplies for Monday, unpacking the last of my luggage, rearranging the stuff I'd already unpacked—while always keeping my ears perked toward the living room. Eventually the front door opened, then shut, and the apartment grew quiet. Fox and Logan were gone. I wasn't sure if Nixon had left, too, or just shut himself in his room. Either way, I was thankful for the reprieve. His constant maleness was just too distracting.
***
For the first week of my semester, I dedicated myself to avoiding Nixon like the plague. I grabbed breakfast on the way to class, studied in coffee shops for hours on end, and ate dinner out with my friends a lot. On the rare occasion that I came home for anything other than sleep, I did my best to stay in my bedroom. I only ventured into the kitchen for food when I heard the front door slam or the shower turn on. I was a little proud of my diversion techniques, but still annoyed that I needed to use them at all. It was absurd to hide from my roommate like this—to tiptoe around like a burglar in my own fucking home. How was I going to keep this up for another four months?