I really need to stop scheduling a late shift after a shoot. It was already a lot when I did shoots with others, but after a scene with Tank I’m exhausted. I’m not sure why exactly. In the beginning, hating him took a lot of energy, but we have a kind-of friendship going, I guess, and it’s been...interesting.

He’s not the man I thought he was, and I bet he feels the same way about me. I’m a bit ashamed that I had all these fixed notions about him that were so far from the truth when I hate it so much when others see me only as the fuckboy. Tank still calls me that, but I don’t mind so much anymore. It’s more of a joke now, since we both know we’ve moved past it.

But scenes with him are intense, for some reason. We did a mutual blow job scene today, followed by Tank having a go at my ass again, and it was another flaming hot scene. You can’t deny the chemistry between us, but that never was our problem. Now that we’re sort of friends, I expected the scenes to be different...less charged, but they’re not. I look forward to them and fear them in equal amounts.

Tank asked me to come over for dinner after. He’d made homemade lasagna, he said, and my mouth watered at the thought. Alas, my shift started at six, so I really couldn’t make it. Hell, I barely had time to eat so it was another banana and granola bar for me. I had a brownie as well, left over from a nurse who celebrated her birthday earlier that day and put leftovers for the late shift in the nurse’s lounge.

Still, by the time my shift ends, I’m a little lightheaded from lack of food. And sleep, maybe? It’s been another busy week. Hence my conclusion that I need to stop scheduling a late shift after a shoot. I’ve been working from nine this morning till midnight, and I’m feeling it.

Luckily, the traffic is doable this time of night, so I make it home from the hospital in fifteen minutes. I see the light spill under the front door, so apparently Paul is still up. When I walk in, he and his girlfriend Lorie are busy re-arranging clothes, so I guess I interrupted something.

“Hi,” I call out, pretending not to notice Lorie’s blouse is inside out.

I dump my messenger bag in my room and kick off my shoes. I need something to eat and then I need a shower. I’ve just set the timer for my microwave meal when Paul walks into the kitchen, holding hands with Lorie.

“We have some exciting news,” he says.

I gulp down half a can of Sprite before I focus on them. They look remarkably happy for a couple that fights as much as they do. They have a long-distance relationship, so Lorie is only here one weekend a month or so, and Paul also drives to Seattle every other weekend.

“Spill,” I say, trying to drum up some enthusiasm. I’m so fucking tired, I can barely stand anymore.

Lorie shoves her hand, which sports a big-ass ring, in my face. It only takes me a second before the implications of that ring hit me. But before I can say anything, she gushes, “Paul proposed, and I said yes!”

I’m proud to say that I’m able to drum up the appropriate response, which is to congratulate her, then him, and pretend to be interested in the details.

“Lorie got a job with a law firm here in LA,” Paul says.

I rip off the plastic off my microwave dinner. It’s supposed to be lasagna, but I can’t help but think it looks rather sad, especially when I imagine how Tank’s would have tasted. He’s quite the cook, Peter, another unexpected talent.

“I didn’t even know you passed the bar here already,” I comment, then take my first bite. It tastes like wet cardboard, but at least it’s hot and supposedly has extra vitamins, which is utter BS, of course, but it helps me pretend it’s somewhat healthy.

“I got the results today,” Lorie says.

“Busy day for you.”

She beams. “The best day of my life. I passed the bar, got a job, and a proposal, all in one day.”

“Good for you,” I say with my mouth half full. “Now all you need is to find a place to live, right?”

And then it hits me. She already has a place to live. Right here, in her fiancé’s apartment.

“About that,” Paul says, and my stomach sinks. “It doesn’t make much sense for Lorie to try and find her own place when we’re getting married anyway…”

I swear, this guy is the king of passive aggressive. Instead of saying it to my face, he wants me to draw the conclusion for him. I’m so fucked. “How long do I have until you kick me out?” I ask, rubbing my temples.

“The contract says two weeks,” Lorie pipes up.

My head shoots up. “Two weeks? Are you kidding me? How the hell am I supposed to find something in two weeks? I barely have time to even look between my two jobs and classes.”

Lorie crosses her arms. “It’s what the contract says.”

Spoken like a true fucking lawyer. I have no idea how I’m gonna solve this, but I’ll figure something out. I always do. And damn if I’m gonna let this cold bitch have the pleasure of seeing me at a loss.

“Fine,” I say. “I’ll move out two weeks from now at the latest. Congrats on your engagement. If you’ll excuse me, I need some sleep. Try to keep the noise down when you pick up your sexual activities, would you?”

* * *

Ten days later, I still don’t have a clue of where to go. I’ve tried everything I can think of, have responded to every Craigslist roommate wanted ad I could find, but it’s hopeless.

So far, I’ve been rejected because I was a man, a gay man, and because I wasn’t willing to fork over a two-grand deposit. Let’s not even mention the guy who recognized me and was more than willing to let me pay part of the rent in other ways. Imagine that coming from a fifty-something dude with bad breath and a beer belly, and it sums up my week perfectly. FML.

I honestly don’t know what to try next, other than begging Paul and Lorie to please grant me an extension. Or move into a cheap ass motel, maybe, but man, that would suck. I’m still trying to come up with a solution when I walk into the studio for my sixth shoot with Tank.

He’s in the shower when I enter the locker room, and I call out a half-assed greeting to not make him feel like I’m ignoring him. I slowly get changed into the worker’s outfit I’ve almost become used to by now. When Tank walks past me, not even bothering to sling a towel around his hips, I barely look up. There has to be a solution, but what am I missing?

“What’s wrong?” Tank asks.

I look up from tying my steel-toed boots to meet his concerned expression. “Nothing.”

He scowls, so I add, “Nothing serious. It’s just…” I sigh as I finish tying my boots and stand up straight. “My roommate’s girlfriend is moving in, so I’ll be homeless in a few days. If you know of anyone looking for a roommate, let me know.”

“Damn, Campy was looking for one for ages and that Jackson dude only moved in weeks ago,” Tank says.

“Yeah, sucky timing on my part. Had I known sooner, I obviously would’ve moved in with Campy. None of the other guys need a roomie or even have an empty room, except for Rebel, and I can’t—”

“You can’t ask him,” Tank interrupts me, his voice stern.

“I know, big guy, so back off. No need to go full grizzly on me, okay? I know.”

He pulls his shirt over his head, then drags his cargo pants over his long legs. I love it when he goes commando in these shoots. It’s so fucking hot.

“You can move in with me.”

I freeze. There’s no way I heard that correctly, right? Tank did not just offer to let me move in with him.

“What?” I ask stupidly.

“Move in with me. I have a spare room.”

His face is serious. Not that Tank is the type to make jokes and especially not jokes like this, but he’s dead serious right now. I don’t know what to say. In all honesty, I never even considered asking him, which is strange in a way, since I know he has a free bedroom.

“Unless you don’t want to…” Tank says, and only then do I realize I’ve been staring at him all that time without ever answering him. The flash of hurt on his face tells me he did not take that well.

“Thank you...I’m...speechless. This is more than I ever expected from you.”

“Because you still think I’m an asshole.”

For the first time, I hear the pain behind that statement. Maybe all the ribbing and fighting we did impacted him more than I’d realized.

“No, because I haven’t adapted yet to the fact that we’re friends now. I still think you see me as the enemy, so it didn’t even occur to me to ask you.”

“I had a roommate before, but I didn’t like it ‘cause he was a slob and left his shit everywhere. Plus, he kept playing with my models.”

I smile as I raise my hands. “Hands off the Legos, I promise. And you know I’m good with cleaning and shit.”

He sends me a careful smile back, as if he can’t quite believe this is happening. “I know. And you can stay until you find another place to live. You’re not required to stay long-term if you don’t want to.”

Is this his passive-aggressive way of saying he’s only offering to be polite and wants me gone asap? Somehow, that doesn’t seem like Tank, who’s always been damn straightforward in his communication.

“Are you sure you don’t mind me staying with you?” I ask to be sure.

He shrugs. “It’ll be nice to have someone to watch movies with.”

“Or to cook for,” I add, a smile playing on my lips.

“That, too,” he says with uncharacteristic tenderness, and my eyes are opened to another truth. He’s lonely. He’ll never admit it, but he’s lonely. He’s yearning for human contact, maybe even someone to take care of a little? My heart goes all soft on me, and before I realize it, I step in and kiss him softly on his mouth.

“Thank you, Peter. I really appreciate it, and I can’t wait.”

His broad smile breaks something inside me, something that’s been hard and frozen for a long time. He sees me. Out of all the people I know, it’s Tank who sees me...and still wants me.

“Me, either,” he says.