Pull Over - a short story

Chapter Two - Jambalaya

Pull Over

Chapter Two - Jambalaya

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I moved into Elliott's apartment last year.

To my surprise, it started a fight with Dylan. Maybe I was naïve to think it wouldn't. It feels classic and cliché – the 'girl moves in with her guy best friend and the boyfriend instantly becomes jealous' moment. But Dylan and I were already a year into our relationship, and we had been down the Elliott and I are just friends road too many times for me to count.

Maybe that was another sign I should've noticed. More insecurities painted red that he wanted me to fix. He wanted me to reassure him. He couldn't just trust me, no, I had to do all the work.

I'm too much. I'm going to fuck my best friend. I can't be trusted. I'm too much.

My year living inside the life of Elliott DeMarco has taught me... just about everything I need to know about him. He brushes his teeth for exactly two minutes each morning and each night. He opens a new pair of contacts every day. He likes his eggs scrambled with hot sauce. He washes his bed sheets once a week. He locks the front door from the outside when he leaves and I'm alone. He watches one new movie every Friday night, and if he hates it, then he turns on 50 First Dates before he falls asleep. He puts my towel in the dryer if my shower lasts longer than 15 minutes – he knows it's long for a reason, and he knows that I'll want nothing more than a warm towel to wrap myself in.

Elliott DeMarco is somehow the perfect roommate, but we've never shared a hotel room. And we have definitely never shared a hotel room with a heart-shaped tub in the corner.

"Why is it just... there?" Elliott and I stand at the door, dumbfounded by the sight before us. It's every cheesy Honeymoon Suite from every nauseating rom-com collided and crammed and smashed into one.

But the bathtub is absolutely the worst part.

"I guess it's supposed to be romantic," I shrug. "There's still a regular shower, so that's all that matters."

"You mean you didn't want to wake up in the middle of the night with me staring you down from the heart tub?" His hip bumps into mine as I laugh.

"I would get in the car and leave you here," I say. "Do you need to change?"

He cocks his head to the side, placing his duffel bag on the luggage rack, and then he turns back to me. "Do you want me to change?" He looks over his outfit. "What's the itinerary say?"

"Change out of car clothes." I have it memorized.

"Then I suppose I'll change out of my car clothes." He doesn't say it smug, like I expect him to. Instead, he quickly finds an outfit from his bag, smiles at me, and walks to the bathroom on the other side of the suite.

I let out a breath, sitting on the edge of the bed. We're only a few hours into this trip, these fourteen days, and I already feel an exhaustion looming over my body. I know there is an outcome to this trip, and I know that I don't know what that outcome is. I want something predictable, I want something I have control over, but I have none of that. No predictability, no control.

For once in my life, I feel like I've given the wheel away.

"J." Elliott's voice pulls me from my own head. "Hey, what's wrong?" He sits next to me, but I shake my head.

"Nothing," I swallow. "Sorry, let me change and we'll get going."

"Jac–" He tries to stop me, a hand placed gently on my knee, but he knows not to say it. He knows you don't have to do this will only push me further. So instead, he squeezes his fingers, digging them briefly into my skin. I stare at his hand as he does this, breathing in the moment.