CHAPTER 43
I stared at the closed door in a kind of stuck-in-the-mud horror. The kind where your body feels like it’s sinking into the ground . . .slowly. My body felt like it was getting heavier, and heavier. As if it were being pushed down by something. Well, I’ll tell you what it was being pushed down by: the thick, heavy air ofAwkwardness!(capitalA, exclamation mark) that was filling the room. I could feel his presence behind me, I could hear his soft breathing, smell his cologne, but I dared not turn around. We froze there together for a few moments, as if we were both trying to disappear, until it became unbearable to no longer talk. I turned around slowly and looked at him.
“Well . . .” I stuttered. Dry, scratchy throat.
“Well,” he echoed.
“This is not awkward. At all,” I said.
“Not at all.” I heard Mike swallow.
“What else did you tell your sister? I mean . . . did you tell her—?”
“No! Not any details!” he jumped in. “Just the bare necessities.”
“Bare? I hope you didn’t tell her about anything that was bare?” I replied. “Not that we were very bare, actually. Just partly bare. Not all the way . . .bare.” How many times could I say the wordbarein a sentence? Clearly too many, judging by the small smile that was beginning to play on his face.
“Nobaredetails were shared. I’m a man who doesn’t kiss and tell.” He stepped closer to me and smiled. I smiled back, stupidly. His big, green, smiling eyes were a little like a drug. One hit, and you were addicted. One hit, and you needed more. One hit, and you were always searching for the next one. But then he took a step backward and started walking away from me.
“What?” I said, with a clear hint of desperation in my voice.
He continued to back up, until he reached the wall. He leaned against it and folded his arms.
“We should probably finish that conversation we were having at the hospital,” he said, so abruptly that the mood in the room changed once more.
I nodded. “Sure.”
He ran his hand through his hair. “I just . . . I . . . You were . . .” he stuttered. He sounded frustrated with me and like he was searching for the right words to use. “You aren’t supposed to be here—you know that, right?” He said, sounding frustrated.
“I know! I know!” I said. “But aren’t you just a tiny bit glad I am here?” I looked up at him and smiled.
I could see he was fighting it. I could see it in the way his forehead was crinkling and that sexy scar above his eyebrow was quivering. But then, slowly, surely, tentatively . . .a smile.
I felt myself go weak inside. Like something bendable and malleable. “You felt something for me?” I heard myself ask in a very breathy voice.
His smile grew. “Don’t push it,” he said. “Technically, I should be arresting you, right here and now.”
“So why don’t you?” I asked.
“Well, you’re injured.” He pointed at my head. I’d almost forgotten about that. “Maybe when you’ve recovered in the morning, I’ll arrest you.” I wasn’t sure if he was being serious or not.
“And lock me in what jail cell?” I asked, with a smile.
“You know, if those cat people see you again, I might not be able to stop them from pressing charges,” he said, in a very serious tone.
“It’s a good thing the cat parade is over, then, and that Greta thinks she saw Liza Minnelli instead.”
At that, Mike laughed. “It really didn’t look anything like you.”
I shook my head. “No.” I smiled at him and he smiled back.
“You know, I’m really trying to be angry with you, right now, but you’re making it very hard. Because I should be angry with you!” He pointed at me, now. “I really, really should be furious with you.”
“But you’re not?” I asked.
“Unfortunately.” He pushed himself off the wall and walked into the middle of the room and looked around.
“So, what do you want to do?” he asked.
