Page 15 of The Roommate Game
I went to the gym, ate brunch with the guys, then hung out at Ty and Brady’s place and watched a basketball game till it was time to deal with my roommate obligation. I tried to get Brady to join me, but he passed…and reminded me that a bunch of guys were meeting up at The Tavern to see a band that allegedly didn’t suck.
“Meet us there at nine.”
I’d given him a thumbs-up, wondering if I could get away with ordering a club soda while I was out with my friends.
I turned my truck down the country lane leading to the Bluffs, a divide between the residential area where most of Smithton lived and a whole lot of farmland. Our nearest neighbor were a quarter of a mile away…unless you counted the cows and sheep grazing in the nearby field.
The row of cars at the curb and parked under a canopy of trees were the only hint that something was happening. Not necessarily a party, though. There was no heavy bass raising the roof, no laughter, no buzz of that rip-roarin’ good time Rafe had promised.
Then again, he’d mentioned inviting someone’s grandma, so I supposed I should have been prepared for anything.
Even a dozen people in my living room with their asses in the air.
O-kay…
I pushed the door open and was met with a soundtrack I associated with feel-good massages, streaming from a portable speaker. Something atmospheric and mellow, like birds chirping over the sound of wind and rain. And the petite woman in yoga gear facing the small group on mats looked like a woodland fairy, offering words of encouragement, like, “Your breath is your power. Melt your heart to your thighs.”
What the fuck?
I dropped my workout bag in the foyer and circled the group as they collectively lowered their torsos to their mats. I spied a girl with long, purple hair in the family room speaking in hushed tones to another group of yoga folks who were sitting cross-legged with their eyes closed…meditating? Rafe’s best friend, Celine, and a silver-haired woman who might have been his seventy-five-year-old buddy were there, but Rafe was nowhere in sight.
I moved on to the kitchen, where a buff dude with a bandana around his forehead greeted me with an up nod.
“Namaste. Would you like a tofu nibble?” he whispered in a deep timbre. “It’s softened tofu with soy sauce, rice vinegar, green onions, and garlic. Great on a sesame cracker. I also made a creamy edamame dip, crispy tofu bites with chipotle sauce, and vegan crab cakes using chickpeas and hearts of palm.”
I glanced at the neatly arranged appetizers, unsure if I was impressed or grossed out. There wasn’t a bag of Doritos or a can of onion dip in sight.
“I…um…”
“Try thebaba ganoush.” He slid a bowl forward and handed me a slice of pita bread.
“Baba what?”
“Baba ganoush,” he explained in a barely audible voice. “It’s eggplant, olive oil, tahini…”
Eggplant? I wrinkled my nose like a petulant five-year-old, but it wasn’t bad.
“Tasty,” I conceded. “Uh…who are you?”
“Jackson.” His disarming grin showcased his pearly whites and dimples, making him ten times more attractive than I’d have thought otherwise. “I’m a friend of Rafe’s. He asked me to make vegan appetizers. He knows I’m committed to animal welfare and environmental sustainability…and I like good food.”
“Oh, okay. And why are we whispering?”
Jackson gestured to the purple-haired woman. “Harmony’s teaching a class on meditation. With that in mind, we’ve asked that everyone refrain from using the blender until she’s finished. After that, definitely try Rafe’s banana-kale smoothie. It’s amazing.”
Yeah, I’d seen the green sludge he made and called a meal. No, thanks.
I glanced at the menu board propped beside the blender Aunt Celeste had bought me last Christmas. Bananas, blueberries, strawberries, ginger, spinach.
“So, Jackson…” I craned my neck from the yoga class in the living area to the meditation party in the family room and back to the vegan spread. “Is this a hippie party?”
He smiled. “No, it’s more of a wellness retreat.”
“What the actual fuck is that?”
“An opportunity to align your body and mind using your inner strength and core energy.” The words tripped off Jackson’s tongue as if he were reciting poetry rather than spouting a load of crap. Note: he was still smiling.
All-righty then.