Page 7 of Their Little House Boston (Five Little Roommates #3)

Boston

It was great having Elliot help me unpack and get settled in. That time together made this feel more like a place I belonged than a room I was renting. For a few minutes, I thought I might go downstairs and join the others for movie night when I was done. Movies were fun, right?

But I chickened out, unsure what I’d see there.

Were they going to be wearing diapers, sucking on pacis?

Was it going to be a show written for young children or a horror movie or a rom-com?

Would they have snacks I’d want to share or baby food?

I didn’t know what I expected from a social evening here or age play in general.

Instead, after Elliot said his goodbyes, I stayed in my room, wandering down to the kitchen when my stomach finally protested too much about being empty.

I stopped by the movie night long enough to say hello and not appear like I was avoiding them.

It was very different than what I thought it would be.

There were blankies and stuffies, many of which were not much different from my koala.

They weren’t necessarily baby or toddler toys like I half assumed.

In fact, one of them had a huge bear sitting on an empty chair—I guess so he could watch too?

I didn’t even know who the bear belonged to, but he made me smile.

But as I scanned the room, Elliot wasn’t there.

Was that the real reason I’d made sure to put in an appearance?

Elliot definitely was a factor, and not in the best way.

I was attracted to him. Very. Mixing home and play was the epitome of bad decision-making, and I wouldn’t act on it.

But making good choices and shutting down feelings weren’t the same thing.

Maybe he went up for the night, or he was in his room. As much as I wanted to see if it was the latter, I refrained. Being too needy wasn’t going to open the door to friendship, and I wanted at least that from him.

Instead, I wandered in to the kitchen, made a cup of instant noodles to curb the hunger, and then went to bed.

A week passed, and I’d managed to avoid the playroom without coming across as weird or rude. I’d met all my roommates, even if just in passing, and every one of them seemed nice. But I connected most to Elliot. And not just because he was hot, although he was exactly my type.

Looking back on our few interactions, he intrigued me.

He was little. He had to be if he was living there.

The odds of two of us accidentally finding this place and keeping quiet were slim to none.

Besides, he talked about little things in passing.

Although, in a lot of ways, I’d have thought he had daddy vibes: he helped me with my room, cooked and cut things up for me, checked in to make sure I was doing well.

One day, I’d need to ask him about that.

Maybe after I moved out and could share the truth—that I wasn’t really little.

If that was true. The longer I stayed here, the more I questioned if maybe I was.

Not in the way these people were. I didn’t ever act on it.

But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t appreciate the little things that Elliot did for me, things normal friends wouldn’t.

My day at work had been long and boring, waiting for different test runs of our reports to go through before checking to make sure they were working properly. It was a lot of sitting, and with sitting came my brain wandering…straight to the playroom.

What harm could it do for me to go in there and try it out? Maybe I’d like it. It might be exactly what I needed. Or it could be awkward and weird, and I’d never have to do it again.

There were no rules to this, except for the one I already broke—the one where I signed up to rent a room in a house I probably shouldn’t be living in. I was glad I did it, though. In so many ways, this place was perfect and I was already learning new parts of myself.

When I got home, I took a quick shower, wanting to wash the city bus off me. I grabbed the most youthful shirt I had, bought at an amusement park the previous summer, and a pair of pajama pants. It was hardly what anybody would call little attire, but it would work.

I’d already checked, and the little room wasn’t checked out for any visitors for the rest of this month. It was safe. Still, I was nervous as I reached the door. I didn’t want to share my first time there with all my roommates. The pressure would be too high. I wanted to explore on my own.

The lights were off when I arrived, which was good. I’d have at least some time to myself. I flicked them on and went around the room, taking in a book station, crafts, cars, and blocks—including the huge plastic bricks. That’s where I started.

I stacked them aimlessly, no final project in mind. They were all squares and rectangles. There wasn’t much I could build other than a wall, and before I realized it, all the bricks were used, and I had a very large wall of plastic in front of me.

That silly task, that playing, allowed me to escape from my own mind for that time. Was that how it was for everybody? Is that why they enjoyed this so much?

“I liked your tower.”

My head snapped up to see Elliot in the doorway wearing footie pajamas and a huge smile.

“I thought I saw the lights on. Can I join you?”

I nodded, unsure what to say or how to say it. Was I supposed to be using a small voice since I’d already been playing? Was there a protocol to all of this?

We took my wall/tower apart and built it together again.

After dismantling it, we didn’t really talk, just adding one block after another, taking turns and enjoying each other’s silent company.

Once all the blocks were used, we took it apart again and stuck everything back in the bin. Block time was over.

I was about to excuse myself to go to bed. This already had been a big deal for me, and I didn’t want to push it. This time in here gave me a whole lot to think about.

But just as I moved to stand, Elliot asked me, “Can I read you a book?”

Like I could turn down that face.

I nodded, and we went over to the beanbags, sat down, and he grabbed a book about a koala, probably because he’d seen mine. Elliot seemed the kind of guy to pay attention. And I was right.

“Your stuffie’s not here.”

“I didn’t know if we could bring our own toys, or if this was shared toys only,” I explained. It was an actual thought that had gone through my head on multiple occasions during the short time I’d been here, so not exactly a lie. The logistics of the room fascinated me.

“It’s always up to you. And you never have to share your special stuffies. Not ever.” There had to be a story there.

Koalakins lived on my bed, and I did almost snag him but stopped short, unsure if I’d brave coming in here at all. Next time, I’d bring him with me. Because one thing I’d learned today was that there would be a next time.

He opened the book to the first page and read the words on it. He flipped to the next, but this time, he made up a story based on the pictures, not reading a single one of the words. I loved it.

It made the story exciting and new, even if it was completely ridiculous and not at all close to what the author intended.

Sitting there, listening to him read, being in this space, not having any cares in the world, at least for this moment, was comforting in a way I never expected, almost like a hug.

It was also painful, my sides hurting from laughing so hard, especially as he read the third book.

The voices he made… How could I help but join him.

But also, between the laughing and the listening, I was struggling. Struggling not to lean forward and kiss my roommate. Talk about the fastest way to complicate things.

I needed to keep my growing attraction to him under control before I messed up what was looking to be something great.