Room for One

2

Toby cursed the economy that let people rent three bedroom houses for little more than he was charging for a room. The only difference was that he included all utilities in the price, and did not require tenants to sign a lease. He liked the freedom to kick people out once they proved problematic, and his tenants liked being able to leave without any penalties once their situation improved.

He was lucky that his photography career had taken off. Giving up ever making a name for himself in the fine art world, he turned at first to catalog work, then made a name in erotic/fetish photography. It was to the point where watching two outrageously gorgeous people tie each other up and fuck like bunnies was nothing more than a working day to him, but the money was really, really good; because while everyone had a webcam, few people had the right lighting or the skillset needed to make a scene look pretty. In the course of five years he paid off the debts Alan left him with and had more than enough coming in to cover the mortgage and bills. At this point, tenants were almost a luxury item, and he usually ended up renting to people he wanted to help out, just because he could.

Alan spent years isolating Toby from everyone and everything he loved other than photography, so Toby wallowed in having developed an extended network of tenants and former tenants, some of whom were almost like family to him. People in the house meant he was not alone anymore; people in the house meant he was safe.

There were rare bumps in finding tenants, though, and this was one of them: everyone seemed to be settled down, the apartment complexes near the university were offering killer deals for the summer, and Toby could not get a respectable bite off of craigslist to save his life. So, he was back to Steff's friend-of-her-boyfriend musician guy, Dakota VonHeffan or VonHorken or Von-H-something.

"So, you've got a steady job and references." He looked at the information form he'd had Dakota fill out. The guy nodded enthusiastically in answer. He was medium build and pretty, with soft broad lips and gorgeous, deadly blue eyes, and a tuft of wild hair on top. Toby guessed he was in his late twenties, which put him about five years younger than him. Dakota wore jeans and a T-shirt and a hoodie, though, making him appear younger.

"Why do you need this room?" Toby put the paper down on the couch next to him and watched Dakota shift uncomfortably in the lounge chair across from him.

"Well you know I'm in a band? Or was. Am?" He waved a hand around uncertainly and Toby tried not to be distracted by his long, elegant fingers. They were almost feminine. "We were all renting a house, but not really. Jason—our bass player—was renting it, and we were roomies... and then things kind of blew up with his girlfriend, and we all got kicked out. I've, uh, been couch surfing for the last two weeks."

Toby imagined he did not lack for offers to share a bed, either, but instead of saying so just smirked. Dakota picked up on it, though, grimacing and running a hand through his hair, making it stick up even more.

"Yeah, yeah, I could, you know, work that for a while. But I need my own space. I don't just play, I write the songs for the band. I need privacy to do that."

"You lost your bass player, though, right?"

"Sure, but we'll get a new one." He stopped and studied Toby with his fierce eyes. "Look, what else do you need to know? For me to get the room?"

Toby sighed. It had been a foregone conclusion from the start that, short of revealing himself as a serial killer or jobless, Dakota was getting the room. "You know the deal? No lease, no harm no foul for getting kicked out or leaving without notice. Rent amount non-negotiable, includes utilities and internet access, and you are expected to clean up after yourself. Parties are okay with a week's notice to Steff and me. And your guitar better have headphones. I don't want to hear it."

"So no band practice in the garage?" Dakota frowned, obviously hoping that he could negotiate it.

"The garage is my photography studio. No entry."

Dakota sighed and looked at the coffee table for a minute. "Frank's got space for band practice. I was just hoping for something less of a drive. But okay. I need a place short-term, so yeah. Deal."

"How short-term were you thinking?"

"Three to four months? Is that okay?"

Toby nodded. That might work out perfectly—Dakota would be leaving right at the end of the summer, just when, in Toby's experience, people were often looking for a place.

He stood up and held out his hand, and they shook on it. Toby figured he could put up with a musician for four months, especially if the guy had headphones for his guitar.