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I fish a sparkly purple pen with a giant pom-pom on the top from my purse followed by a little spiral-bound notebook that I had lying around my office (read: neatly placed in a drawer in its own organizational container and lined up against six of its multicolored pals). I fan it out in front of my face, and the breeze of it tosses my hair like I’m standing on the beach.
“Nothing excites me more than getting to crack open a fresh three-by-five top-bound memo pad.” I pretend to snort its scent. Fine, I really do snort it.
Back in the day, Derek would have quipped that I’m such a nerd. And then he would have pulled me into his lap right here in the middle of the café and made out with me until my lips were bruised and there was a hickey on my neck. It’s the kind of thing I would only ever do with him.
Now, he looks at me like I’m offending his senses.
I glance down, mainly to give myself somewhere else to look so he doesn’t see whatever emotion I’m trying not to feel. I’m split down the middle. Part of me is still guilty over how I broke up with him in college—knowing full well that I was callous and hurtful. That part of me really wants to apologize and make amends. But the other half of me is balking at his rude reaction to me after all this time. After he brazenly moved on from me so easily back then like I was a crumb he could flick off his shirt. It seems at odds with his “I will make you pay” attitude.
I get comfy in my seat and force my gaze up to him again, willing myself to be serious when it doesn’t come easily for me. “Derek. I feel like we have some things we should talk about. Namely…the way I broke up with you. If you’re up for it, I’d like to explain everything.”
“Rule number one…”
My eyebrows fly up at his sudden assertive tone.
“No discussing our history.”
I gawk at him. “You can’t be serious. A little communication would go a long way between us.”
He smiles but it’s not a nice one. It’s vicious. “I’m communicating to you now that I don’t give a shit about your reasons for breaking up with me because I’m over it. And if you have a problem with it, feel free to walk now.”
I grit my teeth and write the rule into the notebook. “As tempting as that offer is, I think I’ll make like the gum stuck on the bottom of my favorite sneakers and stick around.”
“Number two…” snaps Derek, making me jump.
“Someone’s an eager beaver.”
“…No prying into personal lives,” he says, and by the way he’s whipping these rules out so quickly, I imagine he has been rehearsing them all the way here. They’re meant to remind me of my place—which is not in his arms, in his bed, or in his heart. They’re meant to hurt me. And suddenly, I can see into the future. I can see exactly what this list of rules is meant to accomplish.
And because I don’t want him to see that he’s gotten under my skin already, I point my pen at him. “That’s good. Surface friends only. Gives us more time to focus our conversations on your career.”
“Rule number three, no friendship.” His arctic blue eyes are frosted over with hatred.
I imagine I look like I’ve swallowed a lemon. The more time I spend with this new Derek, the less inclined I am to be his friend anyway. I hurt him back then and he wants me to pay for my transgressions now? Fine, I can see the fairness in it. But I don’t have to look like I’m paying for them while I do.
I smile sweetly the entire time I jot down his no-friendship rule. “It’s good you mentioned this one because I was just about to knit us matching BFF Christmas sweaters, but now you’ve saved me the effort.”
“Number four…” He holds up each of his fingers except his pinky.
“Goodness, you’re taking this seriously.”
Derek sits forward, eyes catching mine. A zing pulses down my back. “No kissing.”
Now see, the problem is not with this rule itself. I can appreciate it. We used to kiss and although we don’t plan to kiss again, it makes sense to put it on the list because if I remember correctly, we used to do that particular activity quite well and as often as possible. The problem is with the challenging glint in Derek’s eyes as he delivers it. This glint implies that I want to kiss him but he’s going to withhold his gorgeous brooding mouth from me as torture. And although I might have imagined his lips on mine again at one point, notanymore. Not after the way he’s treating me today. Not after realizing he’s grown into an oversized baby.
And that’s why I sit forward too—until we’re a few inches apart and I can feel his knee press into mine. “Fantastic rule. But I’d like to take it a step further.” I hold his sharp gaze for one beat before looking down and speaking as I write. “Rule number five, no unnecessary touching. Because, you know, we wouldn’t want anyone”—Iadd special emphasis on that word so he knows I’m meaning him—“getting their emotional wires crossed at any point.” I remove my knee for extra emphasis.
His jaw tics and then I see it…the slightest tug in the corner of his mouth. He might as well have painted the wordsGame Onacross the wall. It almost excites me because challenging each other was what we enjoyed most. We played little games all the time. But this feels different because it’s not for fun or for the sake of flirting. It’s laced with cruelty—Ican taste it.
“Just so we’re both on the same page, could you expound on what constitutes unnecessary?” He pauses and his eyes drop to my mouth for a split second—inspiration sparking in his eyes before they slide back up to mine. “For instance, let’s say you’re walking, and I can tell you’re about to step on a snake, should I reach out and pull you away or leave you to the snake?”
I set down my pom-pom pen because I take all snake queries very seriously and he knows this about me. “That should be filed undernecessary touching.As in, me about to step on a snake necessitates you picking me up and allowing me to stand on your freakishly large shoulders until I can grab hold of a nearby tree branch and climb it all the way up into the clouds where I will never have to see that damn snake ever again. Got it?”
“Got it.”
He waits until my pen is once again in hand before droppinghis voice like dark silk. “Now let’s say we’re in an important meeting with the GM and I look over and notice that you have some chocolate on your mouth left over from the candy you snuck off his desk on the way in. Not wanting you to feel embarrassed from said chocolate, I lean over and drag my thumb across your bottom lip, cleaning off the chocolate and then licking it off my thumb.” He pauses long enough for that scenario to permeate my brain. And permeate it does. “Would that be considered necessary or unnecessary contact?”
A vivid fantasy of the whole thing plays out in my head. I imagine what his callused fingers would feel like dragging across my lips. And then staring at me the entire time he licks the chocolate off his own thumb as a blatant reminder of late nights in his apartment, tangled up in sheets and blocking out the world for as long as possible.
