Page 29 of Roommates' Alpha

“You sure?” I asked. “I can…”

“Everyone’s. Comfortable.”

I chuckled and wrapped a steadying arm around his waist. “Let me know if you want your chair back.”

He leaned against me instead, and for the briefest second, I thought I caught flickers of jealousy from the other three men. Part of me wanted to tell them they had nothing to worry about. It wasn’t anything more than Micah being a flirt.

Then the moment passed, and we all decided on a cheesy movie to start the night.

Chapter 8

~January~

Things had shifted, and I had started to realize that I liked the change.

After Friendsmas, Terry had insisted I start joining them for dinner on Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Sundays. At first, I wasn’t sure what to expect, but what I found was that they took turns cooking for everybody—and learning from each other.

Xavier had the best cooking skills of the four of them, with Micah being a close second. Terry and Crow were eager to improve their abilities, and I often saw them watching when there was somebody more experienced in the kitchen.

But it was the way they moved—the four of them in a dance to which I didn’t know the steps. I knew my way around a professional kitchen—the clamor and hustle—but this was different, more intimate. A hand on a shoulder or waist rather than somebody shouting ‘behind’. Laughter instead of the clang of new pans as the next order started.

Something inside me yearned for the ease they had with each other.

“You’re all coming Friday, right?” Xavier asked as he took a seat at the table on a Monday evening.

I looked around as everybody else nodded. “Um… what’s happening on Friday?”

“Oh,” he replied, a slight darkening of his cheeks indicating a blush. “Sorry, I meant to tell you earlier. I’m performing at the Giggle Bin starting on Friday. Best gig I’ve landed so far.”

I blinked. “Wait… I’m confused. I thought you did pedicab tours of downtown.”

He burst into laughter. “Naw, man. That’s just in the summer. My real job is comedy. Except the pay can be shit sometimes, so I do the pedicab tours to make sure I have plenty of slush in the bank.”

“When do you perform?” I asked.

Another laugh. “Wednesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays. Plus any conferences and side-gigs I can get.”

The strange dinner schedule suddenly made a lot more sense.

“What’s your show about?”

He smiled, and once again I was dazzled by the striking contrast between his teeth and skin. It always made his face seem more radiant.

For some reason, I wanted to feel that smile against my lips.

“The best comedy is social commentary,” he replied. “But I base a lot of my jokes around my life.”

One of my eyebrows rose, and the way everybody else leaned in told me that they were curious as well.

Xavier took a drink from his soda, and though his smile didn’t disappear, his expression did get a bit more serious.

“I call my parents Dad and Papa,” he started, “but really, they’re my uncles. And they’re both white.”

Silence as we all waited for him to continue.

He licked his lips and nodded. “My birth mama was black, and my dad white. I never got to know them—only about a year and a half old at the time of their passing. They worked together and were killed when the roof and part of a brick building collapsed on them during a tornado. I was safe in the bunker of a daycare, and it was only when nobody called or showed up for me that calls were made to extended family.”

He paused, sadness creeping into his eyes. “Dad and Papa were the ones who came first and took me in while all the details were sorted. They were my birth dad’s brother and brother-in-law. Mama’s family were all a couple of states away.”