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Kurt had been sitting on the couch watching TV and eating the latest batch of mint chocolate chip cookies Knoah had sent. On the floor, George had been massacring one of his stuffed animals. I’d given him a pat and sat on the couch near Kurt. He’d held out the cookie he’d already taken a bite from for me to try. This was how we’d become lately—familiar yet not intimate. It was a weird place to be. Yet I stuck to my motto—no pushing.
In LA, the moment I had pushed, things had turned for the worse. I’d learned this about Kurt—time and patience were something he required. I had surprising amounts of both with him. In the long run, I knew he was worth it.
“A package arrived for you. I put it on the table.”
I’d glanced back and curled my lip. “I’m going to return it. It’s a purse bag for George to fit in. But he’s already gotten too big for it.”
Kurt had choked on his cookie. “You were going to emasculate our poor dog. As the coparent, I cannot agree.”
Rolling my eyes, I’d taken a huge bite of the cookie. The flavor had burst through my mouth. “Oh my gosh, these are amazing. Give me one.”
Kurt had shaken his head. “No, you got your two bites.”
“You have more than a dozen in this box.”
He’d winked. “Yeah, I do. And they’re all for me.”
In a moment of pure insanity to have the cookie, I’d grabbed three and taken off toward my bedroom.
“Sawyer! Give me back my cookies.”
I’d barely got to my room with Kurt hot on my tail. With no other option, I’d shoved them in my mouth until I could barely move my lips.
“You did not just do that.”
“I did.” A few crumbs had come sputtering out as I tried to chew.
As if drawn, Kurt had taken a step closer to me. Mere inches had separated us, and my skin had tingled from his proximity.
“Hey, man! You in here?” Harlem had called from the front of the bus.
With this, Kurt had blinked a few times and taken a step back. But his eyes never left mine. “Yeah, in here.”
Before Harlem came down the hall, Kurt had turned, breaking the connection. That was when I noticed all the bags on my bed. I’d turned to spit the cookies in the trash can. Poor, poor cookies. “What are these?”
“Pajamas.”
I’d opened one of the bags to find five or six pairs of Lululemon pants. “Kurt, I don’t need this many pajamas pants.”
From the other room, he’d answered, “Yeah, you do. I threw out all your other ones.”
“What?” Kneeling, I’d opened the drawer under my bed and found all my pajamas and nighties gone. Anger had rolled through me as I stomped into the living room. “Where are my pajamas? You have no right.”
Harlem had just stood there, amused.
“George complained. And as a coparent, I thought I should fix it. Unless, of course, you aren’t concerned about what he sees and hears.”
I spluttered, which had only fueled the twinkle in Kurt’s eyes.
Without a decent comeback, I’d stormed back to my room and ordered more risqué pajamas.
My phone vibrated, startling me out of my memories. Jordan. I took a deep breath.
Jordan: How’s the road trip going? You liking Arizona?
Me: Yeah, it’s good. The band’s almost finished.
Jordan: What’s the plan tonight?
