Here’s what I can say about living with Wes Sullivan: it’s a lot quieter than living with Summer. And she wasn’t a party animal by any stretch of the imagination. I had to drag her to Vino Veritas at least every other weekend so she’d get some stimulating human contact. Not that I didn’t love her homebody ways too—she had a knack for pairing wine with baked goods, and picking the best shitty movies on the planet to watch when we didn’t feel like going out.

Wes doesn’t do wine or shitty romcoms. He mostly does silence.

Since our little exchange over whether humanity is fundamentally decent, at the end of which I pretty much called him an asshole—again—he’s kept a frosty distance. He leaves for work early, he comes back late, and he’s quiet as a fucking mouse. I’m sure if I asked him about it, he’d say he was giving me my space.

I don’t want this much space.

If I’m being honest with myself—if I’m being brutally, horribly honest with myself—the solo life isn’t for me. I can put a good face on it. I can put a good face on anything. I have a picture of Hollywood’s Man of the Year in my insurance agency cubicle, for God’s sake. I am upbeat.

But I can’t live in the silence.

Not anymore.

When I get home from work Friday night, Wes isn’t there, as usual, so I slip into the shower and afterward coil my hair into a casual bun at the back of my neck. As for wardrobe, comfortable chic will do. Yoga pants, and a sweatshirt that hits very nearly at the shoulders. I look good.

I pour two glasses of moscato, then think better of it. I’ve got plenty of time, I know, so I head down to the bodega and buy a six-pack of beer. Not the cheapest stuff, but not break-the-bank, either.

I’m standing near the couch, poised as if I got up when I heard the door, when he gets home.

“Hey,” I say, as he drops his bag on the table in the entryway and flips the lock on the door. “How was work?”

He deadbolts the door, tests it with a tug on the knob, and turns to face me. “It was fine. Some guy from my department brought bagels.” He looks startled, as if he didn’t plan to say this to me, but shrugs it off. An awkwardness descends between us and he clears his throat. “What about you?”

“Work was fine. I sold a lot of insurance policies.” The beer is making my hand cold. “The thing is, it’s too quiet in here.”

He raises one eyebrow. “Too quiet?”

“I—” I always have things to say, but looking at Wes in his office outfit has me lost for words. “I didn’t mean to call you an asshole the last time we talked. Not overtly.”

“Last time we talked...”

“When you were telling me that this place is a prime target for robbery.”

He gestures to the door. “I added a deadbolt.”

“I appreciate that.” I swallow. “But I only responded the way I did because it made me feel sketched out about living here, and this is my home, so I don’t want to have to—”

He blows a breath out through rounded lips. “My fault. I shouldn’t have made a big deal of it. I’m sure the building is perfectly safe.”

“Do you want to watch a movie?” I blurt out the question because my hand is freezing, and that’s the point I’m dying to get to. I want to break the ice. I want to make it comfortable to live here, and more than just in the “Rent is paid this month” kind of way. I don’t expect to be best friends with Wes.

In fact, I don’t want to be best friends with him.

But a conversation or two that wasn’t so strained would be nice.

Wes cocks his head to the side. “You want me to watch a movie with you?”

“I got you a beer.” I hold it up. “And I’ve furnished myself with my favorite Friday night beverage. I thought we could watch a movie together, if you didn’t have any other plans.”

He runs a hand through his hair. “Uh...” I must look like a hopeful puppy dog, because he relents. “Sure. Let me change out of these clothes.”

“Change for as long as you want,” I say, and realize a beat too late that it sounds like I’m coming on to him. Who knows? Maybe I am.

He gives me a look that’s half-grin, half what are you saying, and retreats to the bedroom. I hear the door close and he emerges a few minutes later wearing black sweatpants and a heather gray t-shirt that looks so soft I want to bury my face in it.

“Thanks for the beer.” He picks it up off the coffee table and I take a sip of wine. He cracks it open as I move to the other side of the couch. We both sit down on opposite ends.

I gather the remote. Screen on. Netflix on. “I thought we could watch this.” It’s a comedy from earlier in the year, something about three guys and a bachelor party that goes awry. It should be a decent middle ground, if Wes is the kind of person who likes to laugh once in a while. I’m not sure if he is, but I know he won’t put up with a romcom, and I’m not in the mood to watch people be slaughtered for two hours.

“I heard about this,” he says, voice even, and takes a sip of his beer. “Supposed to be funny.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

It is funny. Not howl-with-laughter funny, but I laugh twice in the first thirty minutes and even hear the low rumble of Wes’s chuckle at some of the shenanigans. The guys at the bachelor party end up at a resort in Mexico, nobody remembering how, and that’s when the movie changes. There’s a beautiful girl at the resort—isn’t there always?—and all three men drool over her. The hot one gets the first chance at her, one night in the pool, her wearing an itty-bitty bikini and him wearing swim trunks that leave too much to the imagination. He says something, she says something, and then they’re lip-locked in the middle of the pool.

And I’m here with Wes, watching. They’re really going at it on the screen. I’m not embarrassed about sexuality, or a hot kiss, but heat rises to my cheeks nonetheless. Wes is silent on the other end of the couch. No. I’m not doing silence.

“Wow. He must have his tongue all the way down her throat.”

“I haven’t found another place yet,” he answers, eyes glued to the screen.

“You are really good at changing the subject.”

He glances over at me, honey-streaked eyes searching. Is he afraid I’ll kick him out onto the street right now? “I wanted to let you know.”

“So it’s going to be more than a month?” That’s what he’s saying, but I want confirmation.

He nods crisply and turns his attention back toward the TV. “I’ll stay out of your way.”

“Yes. We’ll both stay out of each other’s way.” Out of the corner of my eye, I can see him looking at me. “What?”

“You’re a puzzle, Whitney.”

“No, I’m not. I’m completely upfront about everything.”

He laughs, a genuine sound, and the tenor of his voice sends pleasure buzzing down to the base of my spine. “Why’d you invite me to watch a movie if avoiding each other is working for you?”

Now I must be red. “I don’t know. Maybe I only said that out of habit. I don’t necessarily want to be in your way, either. You have a right to your own life, like I have a right to mine, but I was hoping that we wouldn’t have to work quite so hard not to see each other, since we’re living in the same apartment, and—”

“Whit.”

The name on his lips sounds so familiar, so natural. “Yeah?”

“I get it.” He clears his throat. “I wouldn’t mind a casual conversation after work most days either.”

He doesn’t say anything more after that.

The texts start coming in on my phone when the movie is almost done, and I’m half-relieved to see that it’s my friend Alyssa. She wants me to meet her at Vino. I don’t want to turn her down.

I want to stay here and get to know more about Wes. I want to sit here with him and watch another movie, and then another, both of us looking forward, because I think that might be the only way he’ll talk to me.

Plus, the gray t-shirt is doing a number on my lady bits. When the credits roll, I look down to discover that I’ve got my legs crossed tightly enough to suffocate a man. If I keep them clenched together, I definitely won’t leap over to the other side of the couch and straddle Wes. That would be Wedding Search Two.

Not going to happen.

I get up and stretch my arms over my head, feeling his eyes on me. “That was funny.”

“It was.” He stands up too, wandering over to the kitchen.

“Some friends asked me to go out,” I say to his back. “So I’ll see you later.”

“I won’t wait up,” he says, and laughs at his own joke.

“Smartass.” It’s a step down from asshole. His shoulders are still shaking with laughter when I go past the kitchen to my bedroom.

It takes five minutes to go from movie-night-in to wine-night-out, and when I get back to the living room, Wes is settled in on the couch, flipping through Netflix with another beer in his hand. It would be so easy to sit down next to him, to watch whatever he’s watching.

But I don’t do it.

Wes and I aren’t going to be like that. Cordial friends, maybe. Roommates. Nothing more.

My phone buzzes with another text.

Alyssa: You on your way?

Whitney: Coming now!

“Bye,” I call over my shoulder as I head out the door.

“Bye,” Wes says, and something in his voice makes me hesitate. Is he going to say more?

I wait five seconds, then slam the door jauntily behind me and make my way to Vino.