It’s okay, Isla, you can do this. You’re a total badass, and you’ve got this.
He knocks again, and I steel myself before wrenching the door back open.
“Look, I gave it a shot, Danny, but this isn’t working out.”
He looks at me like I’ve slapped him, turning ashen. He gasps, as though all the air has just been kicked right out of his lungs.
“What?” he asks me, breathless.
“I’m a morning person. I’m an early bird! I like starting my day with a workout. I like getting up early and taking fifteen minutes to meditate when the sun’s coming up, and having a cup of tea or a smoothie out on my balcony before I start my day! Not rolling out of bed barely in time to pee before my first meeting of the day! And I hate cooking. I mean really, really, don’t like it.
“And you know what else? It’s a total slap in the face to feel like you’re not making an effort and like you’ve given up already, but . . .
I can’t keep this up! I keep trying to—to be the perfect girlfriend for you, to make so much effort, but I can’t keep it up. I can’t do this forever. Sometimes I like it when my legs are all fuzzy and I don’t have to spend a small fortune getting my nails done and eyebrows threaded.
And you know what? Sometimes—yeah, sometimes I fart too! But this is who I am, Danny, and I’m sorry, but you’re just going to have to deal with that. Okay?”
Danny stares at me with those big, dark eyes, and his lovely long eyelashes, mouth hanging open, before bursting into laughter so suddenly that I jump back.
“Uh . . . ”
Catching his breath, he steps toward me, putting his hands on my arms, drawing me into him.
“Isla, honestly. ‘This isn’t working out.’ I thought you were talking about us for a minute, not—not your workout schedule! Jesus Christ.
You scared the life out of me for a second there.”
All the pent-up anger I’ve been holding on to for the last few minutes (and, all right, all the tension that I’ve let build up over the last few days) suddenly rushes out of me, and I’m laughing, too, brushing his hands away when he strokes some wispy hairs back from my face, pulling me toward him for a kiss.
“Don’t,” I say, still giggling. “Danny, I’m all gross and sweaty.”
“I don’t mind,” he murmurs, kissing all over my face and making me laugh again before his hands are around my waist and he draws me close, his lips on mine, and I can feel myself positively melting into him.
I’d never had that feeling when I kissed a guy, before Danny. There was always too much tongue or bad breath or that one guy who didn’t so much as kiss as just suck on my upper lip. (Which, honestly, I’d tried to work past, because he was really hot and I’d met him through tennis and on paper we were a great match, but . . . ) Danny, though, takes my breath away.
I don’t even care anymore that all his stupid noise while he cooked and his stupid podcast blasting through the Alexa speakers was grating on me, or that he said he can’t watch a movie with me this evening because he has to do some more work after dinner, or even that he’s seeing me so gross and sweaty, midworkout, when he’s barely even seen me without makeup on, before this week.
I don’t care, because he’s kissing me, and the way his tongue drags over my lower lip and the way his body is pressed against mine feels so goddamn wonderful.
“You know, you ruined my workout,” I mumble against his lips, when we finally part for air. My hands press against the bare skin of his back, warm and smooth. “You should definitely have to make that up to me.”
Danny laughs. “Aren’t I already cooking dinner for you?”
“Hmm . . . ”
He scoops me up so suddenly that I squeal. He pulls me against him, hands on my butt, and hoists me up, wrapping my legs around his waist. He grins at me, one eyebrow quirking upward when he says, “You know, I can think of an alternative way you could burn some calories.”
I laugh, trying to wriggle down. “Get off. If I’m not going to finish my HIIT class, I need to take a shower.”
“Oh yeah?”
I know exactly what he’s thinking and my arms tighten around his neck, even though he’s already let me go and set me back on my feet.
I stick my chin out. “Yeah.”
Danny’s nose nuzzles against mine, his breath ghosting over my mouth. “How about I join you?”
“You’d better,” I tell him, already kissing him again as I walk backward, dragging him into the bathroom with me.
Maybe having my boyfriend around during lockdown isn’t so bad after all.
apartment #17 – serena
Chapter Twenty-one
Let’s just set the record straight right now: I’m not a bitch.
I’m not, typically, an impulsive person. I like to think things through, understand where they’re going and how I’ll get there. Plan is maybe a little strong, but I like to at least have an idea of a plan. I like to consider consequences.
It’s safer that way.
It doesn’t mean you don’t make mistakes; it just means you were prepared for them and aren’t caught totally off guard if (or when) shit does hit the fan.
I also don’t consider myself hotheaded. It’s not like I don’t get angry, I’m just pretty good at keeping a lid on my temper and managing the situation. I can be snappy, sure, but I don’t just lose it.
I am also not prone to flights of spontaneity.
End of.
I didn’t use to understand how people couldn’t think things through, or just lived in the moment like that.
It used to drive me slightly nuts when I was first dating Zach, but it gradually became one of the things I loved most about him. The way he’d show up on my doorstep after work and announce he’d made us a picnic and come on, we were going to the park for the evening; when he booked us a weekend in Edinburgh for my birthday without telling me until we got to the airport, having packed a bag for me and picked me up from work. (He forgot to pack me any bras or mascara, but I forgave him pretty quickly for that.) He’s easygoing, happy-go-lucky, and always seems to believe things will just work themselves out.
It’s not like I’m a pessimist or anything, but I always feel like I have to work to make something happen. Zach’s the kind of guy who shows up at the shopping center at peak time instead of leaving early to beat the rush, yet just happens across a prime parking spot right near the doors. He actually won a grand on a scratch card last year.
It took me a little while, sure, but I came to see this as a good thing.
They always say opposites attract, and we did.
For the last four years, we did.
And then . . .
Oh, then.
I grit my teeth just thinking about it all, and feel my blood start to boil. It’s been so hard not to be angry at Zach, at our relationship, at lockdown, at everything this week. And fuck, I cannot believe we’re stuck here and I can’t just put some distance between us and not have to see his face all day long.
We’ve done our best to tiptoe around each other since our fight yesterday morning. For the most part, he’s stayed in the bedroom playing video games, and I’ve stayed in the living room working.