“I like blue. Ocarina of Time is my favorite Zelda game. I like autumn and spring.”
I watched his lips while he spoke. He had this tendency to half smile most of the time, like the universe was a gentle, funny place, and nothing rattled him. Maybe it was his innate calm that placated me.
“What else?” I bit my lip, wanting to know everything about this guy I’d somehow managed to overlook once before.
“I thought you were cute the first time I saw you, but you know that because of my diary.”
“And now?” I scooted closer so our knees touched.
His little smile grew into a full grin. “Now? I think you’re here.” He lifted my hand and pressed his lips to my palm. “You’re beautiful, and you make me feel seen.”
I wanted him to pull me onto his lap. I wanted to pick up where we’d stopped before. “So now we know all our favorite things.”
“Some of our favorite things.”
I hesitated. I’d never talked so openly about the physical aspect of a relationship. Nature usually dictated every move. Usually a look led to a touch, a touch led to a fuck, and a fuck led to an awkward goodbye and a silence that went on forever.
“Can I touch you now?”
He sighed, but not in exasperation, more like in anticipation. “Touch me where?”
I placed my finger on the side of his neck at the opening of his collar. I’d developed a fetish for his hidden neck, the tempting cord disappearing beneath the fabric of his shirt. “Right here. You have a beautiful neck, Alfie.”
Dragging my fingernail along his skin, I teased his collarbone, and he let his head fall to one side.
“That feels nice,” he whispered.
“Yes. You do.”
I somehow refrained from tearing off his shirt and running my tongue down his chest, but he lifted his hand and placed his thumb in the exact same spot on my neck, and I thought I might burn from the contact.
“Who knew a neck could be so damn tempting?” He licked his lips.
My restraint broke and I pressed my luck, unbuttoning his top button. When he didn’t object, I opened the next and moved my hand down another couple of inches. He had hair on his chest, dark but not abundant. He watched me as I explored a part of his body that shouldn’t have felt so forbidden. How could a guy’s chest turn me on like some hard-core Internet porn?
I looked into his eyes. “Would you kiss me at least?”
We both leaned in, and he gently pressed his lips to mine. “Always.”
But always didn’t last forever, and soon we broke apart, breathing heavily. I wished we’d already reached a point of trust he needed to come into my house and stay the night, but I knew he was right. I hated it, but because Alfie was taking such care of our emotions, I knew I wouldn’t wake up in the morning filled with shame, regret, and anxiety. I wouldn’t wake up asking if our relationship was based on nothing but sex. I wouldn’t worry our friendship wouldn’t outlive an orgasm.
And that added a brick to a wall I hadn’t known I was building. It was a wall to a house where I might one day unpack my bags and settle in with a boy who’d known how to coax me to alight, like a skittish butterfly.
Chapter 22
Friday morning was merciless. I’d need to demand flextime hours to date a guy who was only available when I wasn’t. The coffee in the break room wouldn’t cut this exhaustion, so I went around the corner to a local coffee shop and ordered a latte with an extra shot of espresso. Bleary-eyed, I scrolled through social media and clicked a notification that popped up, saying I’d been tagged on Instagram.
My screen filled with my smiling face, touched by sunset orange—and Tristan’s lips on my cheek—with a comment that read, Spent an evening with my girl. Jesus, Tristan.
He had to know Alfie would see this and jump to conclusions. I hadn’t seen him since Wednesday.
I sent Tristan a text.
Would you please indicate that photo was taken last week?
My phone rang a minute later.
“Hi, Tristan.”
“I finally got your attention.” He sounded sulky. “Are you worried I’ll make your boyfriend mad?”
I didn’t acknowledge his question. “It’s misleading, and you know it.”
“Why? He posted pictures of the two of you enjoying a romantic afternoon.”
My fist clenched around my coffee cup until it dented. I thought about hanging up. I thought about telling him we weren’t an item, but I needed his help to fix this. “We took his dog to the park. Would you please just do me this one favor?”
Silence for a few ticks of my heart. Then, “I will, but on one condition.”
I listened to his request and considered telling him to fuck right off, but I cared enough about Alfie’s opinion to agree.
I pitched my empty coffee cup and went back to work on a weird defect that allowed one player to turn another’s inventory against them through alchemy. The documentation read, Mistakes may create poison.
Indeed. This was proving true in my current predicament.
Tristan’s knock at the door jarred me into reality. I messaged Marco. Got a minute to stop by?
Be there in a sec.
Tristan slipped his messenger bag off his shoulder and unzipped it. When Marco arrived, without waiting for an invitation, he opened his laptop. “I wanted to share a couple of drawings I did recently.”
Marco shifted. I could tell he felt ambushed. And yet, he took a long look at the drawing and said, “Yeah, that’s impressive, man.”
“I was hoping you might have some openings.”
Marco glanced at me so quickly it was like nothing, but I knew he wasn’t happy with me for putting him in this spot. “So, yeah. If and when we get the green light for another project.”
Tristan placed his laptop back in his bag. “Sure. I’d love you to keep me in mind.”
I actually felt a bit sorry for him. Still, if we didn’t have a place for him, there was nothing any of us could do.
As soon as Marco made his excuses and left, I turned to Tristan. “I did what you extorted. Now will you please—”
“You kissed me. Did you know that?” He moved closer, and my office shrank.
“Once. A couple of weeks ago.”
“No, before.”
I rubbed my eyes with the heels of my palms. “What are you even talking about, Tristan?”
He pulled his journal from his messenger bag and thumbed through the pages. A loose sheet slipped out, but he caught it and jammed it back in. He found what he was looking for and turned it to me. I scanned the first line.
Thirteen girls have come on to me since this morning.
Typical.
“Am I one of these nameless girls?”
“No. Read here.” He pointed halfway down the page.
The brown-haired girl from my writing class was at the bar, shooting tequila. I asked if she was okay. She put her hand on my shirt and pulled me toward her. I was surprised and grabbed her shoulders to make sure she didn’t fall. And then she kissed me. And not like a peck. We could have been in the back of a car with a kiss like that. She backed off and apologized, but it was hot. I said, “You can do that again if you want.”
I stopped reading and looked up. “Is that supposed to be me? I have no recollection of that.”