There. That was polite enough. Noncommittal.
I set my phone down on the coffee table and flopped back onto the couch like someone had pulled the strings from my spine. So much for the grand finale of this twelve-date experiment. What a way to close out a week of near-emotional whiplash, digestive sabotage, and existential dread with a side of seasonal depression.
Gina couldn’t say I hadn’t tried at least.
The apartment was quiet. Josh had gone to the gym a bit ago, and now the shower was running—steam already seeping outfrom the crack under the bathroom door. I picked up the remote, stared at it, and then remembered that I couldn’t start the next episode without him. We had rules. Our show was sacred territory.
Instead, I let the remote bounce softly in my hands, back and forth, like it might suggest something else to do.
Maybe I’d finish the newsletter post I’d half written that morning, if I could get past the part where I admitted the only highlight of the day was wrapping-paper-related injuries.
The bathroom door creaked open just then, and Josh walked out, rubbing a towel through his damp hair as he moved toward the hall. He looked unfairly good. And not in his usual workout gear either. Loose, dark jeans. A clean, fitted shirt that looked like it had been chosen on purpose.
“You look nice,” I said casually—or as close to it as I could get with my pulse doing a weird little double beat in my neck. “Aren’t you heading out soon?”
Josh looked over, pausing mid-motion to ruffle his hair one last time with the towel. “Yeah. But what about you? Aren’t you supposed to be leaving too?”
I lifted the remote like it held all the answers. “Change of plans.”
He tilted his head, waiting.
“My date canceled,” I explained, “ten minutes before I was supposed to leave.”
His expression flickered. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope. Is it bad to say I’m kind of relieved?”
He laughed under his breath and leaned against the wall, folding his arms. “Honestly? No. You’ve had a full day. I probably pushed you too hard with the whole wrapping shift.”
“Are you kidding? That was the most fun I’ve had in weeks,” I said, smiling. “In fact, I’m pretty sure I could count speed-gift-wrapping as date number nine.”
The joke hung there for a second too long before I noticed how still Josh had gotten, a tight look crossing his face.
“Not that I think it was a date,” I rushed to clarify, my face heating. “Obviously.”
Josh shrugged, but his eyes held mine in a way that felt suddenly … less casual.
“Well,” he said after a pause, shifting his weight off the wall, “since you’re officially off duty tonight, you’re welcome to come with me now.”
“To …”
“My friend’s place,” he said, running a hand through his hair, suddenly sheepish. “A few people from the school are getting together for some food and drinks. Nothing wild. Just a little holiday hangout. You’d fit right in. Plus, now that your night’s free …”
I blinked. “You want me to come with you?”
“I invited you, didn’t I?” he said. “Like I said, we’re just watching a Christmas movie or something. Other people will be there too. Don’t sit here in the dark again, all because yet another flighty asshole bailed on you. Unless you’re still not feeling better.”
I considered the offer. I didn’t feel too terrible anymore. If anything, sitting here, I felt restless. “What are we watching?”
“A classic, of course. What else?”
nineteen
“I wouldn’t callDie Harda classic.”
Josh chuckled as he led me farther inside of his friend’s apartment. I expected it to smell like the college apartments I had been in, but it oddly held the scent of cinnamon and air freshener.
“Depends who you ask, I guess.”
