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Last night, the word felt like armor. It felt like a cure-all for any of the many problems I could list off about this arrangement. Today, it feels flimsy and weak. In the face of Andi Summers and her thousand megawatt smile, the word “casual” might as well be a wet piece of paper for all the good it’s going to do me.
I should tell her we’re not decorating together, because that’s the kind of cutesy bullshit boyfriends and girlfriends do, and we’re not supposed to be boyfriend and girlfriend.
I should, but the way she lit up at the idea means I’m absolutely not going to let her down. One step down the slippery slope of my impending demise, here I come.
17
ANDI
Jesse is quietly untangling string lights on his knees while I’m humming and looking for places to hang up things. So far, I’ve made it through one of three huge boxes his mom and dad kept in the basement with all kinds of cute decorations. Jesse has mostly been messing with the same strings of tangled lights.
“Where are those guys?” he asks.
“Expecting them?” I glance over my shoulder at him. He looks irresistible in a cable-knit gray sweater and jeans, with his dark hair all tousled and messy. It’s taking everything I have not to tiptoe over to him, wrap my arms around him from behind, and kiss him on the cheek. But we’re casual.
Casual, Andi. Yep. I totally know what that means. I’m definitely not just kind of rolling with this and acting like I’m not super lost. I mean, is a casual super secret girlfriend allowed to ask her casual super secret boyfriend for a kiss? Can I hold his hand? Do I still have to pretend I never burp?
So many questions.
I stand up straight, tilt my head, and then adjust the dangly santa head again where I have it hanging from a cabinet knob. “Your parents had some really good stuff.”
Jesse grunts.
We’re grunting now, it seems. That’s how I know he’s uncomfortable. He thinks if he talks another language, I will leave him alone. He still doesn’t know who he’s dealing with.
I grunt back at him. I try to put as much emotion into the grunt as I can. I hope it’s a grunt with a slight note of curiosity and a bit of reprimand that lingers on the palette.
He glances up and the corner of his mouth twitches.
I give another grunt. This one is more overtly questioning. It’s a talk to me, bitch, kind of grunt. Strong on the tongue and tasting faintly of aged oak barrels. Or at least that’s what I’m going for.
He finally caves, chuckling and shaking his head. “Honestly, I was hoping the guys would come back because this kind of thing doesn’t feel casual. That’s the truth.”
“Oh,” I say. “Well… If quietly decorating is too intimate, maybe we need some dance music in here?”
“What? I’m not seeing how that would help.”
“Because silly dancing would make this way less intimate. It’d just be fun. The kind of things super casual chill girls do with their not-boyfriends.”
He grins. “I don’t see how–”
I cut him off by starting a song on my phone. I crank the volume up. The song is Santa Claus Is Coming To Town.
Jesse sighs, but he’s smiling as he watches me stand there while I give him a silly stink eye and start dancing with just one shoulder and hand. I’m snapping and tapping my toe, daring him to get into it.
“Do you want me to put it on the house speakers?”
I blink. “You have house speakers and I’m just learning about it?”
“Here.” He holds his hand out for my phone.
I do a little dance to close the distance between us, hand him the phone, and start doing a little boogie in place while I wait.
He taps a few times, waits, and then the crummy sound from my phone flickers and is replaced by booming, full sound coming from everywhere all at once.
“Oh shit,” I laugh, having to raise my voice. “This is awesome!”
He’s barely holding back a smile as he stands. “It’s not bad.”
