Finn asks when the big day is and as Charlotte gives him the details, my phone vibrates.
That’s cute and all, but your boyfriend should only be calling you babe. I look up and meet Austin’s dark stare before he’s drawn into their conversation.
When Charlotte brings up moving out, Austin mentions he still needs a new roommate. And then, like a clown rolling up to a party, the worst thing happens.
“Oh, yeah? I’m in the market,” Finn says. “Ideally, I’d like to buy a place, but I might be interested.”
I almost choke on my fry. I make a mental note, in bold letters, to talk him out of that idea. There definitely won’t be any getting over Austin if my boyfriend is sleeping in his house.
Not that Finn is my boyfriend. Not that I want him to be my boyfriend. Not that I know what I want at all.
But, really, does anybunny?
Eight
“Dating is about finding out who you are and who others are. If you show up in a masquerade outfit, neither is going to happen.”— Henry Cloud, How to Get a Date Worth Keeping
You’re a wise one, Henry. I bookmark the site, so I can come back later. My boyfriend is here. A few days ago, at a celebration after his SuperFit competition, Finn introduced me as his girlfriend to a competitor. So it’s official; we’re a couple. Dating advice is now a thing of the past. I’ve graduated to relationship articles, and the site I’m on says couples who cuddle together, stay together. Tonight we’re going to watch a show, because I can’t even imagine going out with my quads like this.
When I open the door, Finn, glorious against the backdrop of a tangerine and violet sky, frowns. “You aren’t dressed.”
I glance down at my joggers and T-shirt. I did indeed remember pants. So… “I’m dressed.”
He steps inside. “You’re wearing pajamas?”
“Lounge wear.”
“How fast can you get ready?”
“Like…making popcorn ready? I didn’t think you’d want any.”
He chuckles. “Like clothes. For the show we’re going to?”
Ah, it appears there’s been a misunderstanding about the type of show. “It’s um”—I wink—“like Netflix-and-chill kind of show.”
Emphasis on the “chill” part. Finn and I haven’t had sex since the blue balls. The taxing mental preparation for the SuperFit competition apparently required no surplus energy be expelled in bedroom activities. After he won, I thought he’d throw me over his shoulder caveman style. I was wrong. Once the celebration ended, he needed to rest his muscles.
“Sitting around all night?” he asks. “That’s not really my vibe.”
It’s my whole vibe, so that’s concerning.
I follow him into the living room. “It’ll be romantic.”
“Babydoll.”
Since we’re now a couple, I’m babydoll. So there was no misunderstanding, I clarified this is a true pet name.
“You’ve been home all day,” he says. “Let’s go out. It’s good to be flexible.”
His boyish grin doesn’t make a dent in my staying-in-tonight armor. I’ve gone with him to work out three times a week. That’s six times in two weeks. That’s more than I’ve done in my entire life. Plus, I’ve given up pasta. We never have dinner dates at Italian places, because his macro count rules his meal choices.
I’m definitely flexible.
I even look the other way when he gets more waxes than I do, so no hair will distract from the clean lines of his muscles. And let’s not forget the couple’s tanning date last week. The least romantic thing ever. I have zero desire for couple’s melanoma later on. I tipped my girl twenty dollars I couldn’t afford to not turn my bed on.
I even decided to queue up Jack Ryan for tonight so that Finn won’t have to suffer through deciphering the Letterkenny jokes my friends and I favor. So really, I’ve made an awful lot of concessions to his vibe. He can give me this. The whole reason I wanted to stay in was because his gym overworked my body.
“Well, I haven’t been home all day. I had tea with June.”
To remind myself of the chemistry between us, I step between his legs and press my lips to his. The spark flares immediately. Maybe I shouldn’t complain about his regimen. At the competition, I discovered he wasn’t even close to being the craziest SuperFit guy. Shocking as it is to consider, some people are much weirder, obsessive, and bizarrely even more muscular.
He squeezes my ass. “Okay, we’ll stay in,” he says.
“I’m going to open new worlds for you tonight,” I promise.
After all, he really has shown me things too—working out is horrendous, but all my lower back pain from hunching over the potter’s wheel is gone. I might not eat pasta with him, but who knew Japanese food was so good?
Streaming shows are universal. We can enjoy this. It’s all about compromise, according to the relationship experts.
“Get comfy,” I tell him. “It’s good to relax.”
He picks my favorite spot on the right end of the sofa, but that’s okay. I’m flexible. I dim the lights and settle beside him with my legs stretched, feet propped on the coffee table. It’s cozy with his arm draped along the back of the couch. If I laser focus on the television, his hand tapping the cushion doesn’t bother me at all.
Ten minutes in, when Jack is taking a row on the Potomac, Finn rises from the couch. “All that water is making me thirsty. Mind if I get something to drink?”
I hit pause. “I’ll grab you one. There’s Vitamin Water in the fridge.” That’s another thing. My refrigerator is now stocked with healthy items. So again, he can give me this.
“No, you stay there.” He beelines into the kitchen.
When he returns, I press play, and he remains standing, guzzling water, pacing like a lion trapped in a cage.
“You all right?”
“Yeah.” Finally, he resumes his seat, and Jack, the stoic hero, is back in suspenseful action.
“Come on, man,” he says to the TV. “You know he’s the bad guy.”
This type of commentary continues through the first half. Finn’s not only a talker during TV-watching, he’s a doer. He heads back to the kitchen. I pause again.
“Just grabbing more water,” he calls out. “You could have let it play.”
“You would have missed the clue.” As have I. I’m sure if I could hear what they were saying, I’d know what was going on.
“I’m not a spy-thriller guy,” he says. “But if you like it, we can watch it.”
“I’m not into it either.” The whole point is to find something we both enjoy doing. “What do you like to watch?’’
“I don’t watch a lot of TV.” He sits. “When I do, it’s more real-life action stuff that doesn’t follow a script. Bear Grylls. American Ninja Warrior. Ever seen Floor Is Lava?”
“Nope.”
I offer him the remote and Jack disappears from the screen. He’s replaced by a game show that involves teams of three making it through a wonky house to challenge their strength and endurance.