“Yeah, you. Why do you have to stand like that?”
I stare at the doorframe. Confused, I uncross my arms, and take a step back, draping my arm against the frame.
Sarina is now shielding herself from looking at me, with her palm pressed to her forehead. “That’s not better, you’re making it worse.”
“I’m making what worse?” I can’t help but laugh, partially from nerves, I’d be lying if I said I don’t feel butterflies reminiscent of my fucking teenage years when I’m around her, but also out of genuine confusion. Apparently, I’m not capable of fixing leaks or standing in doorways properly.
“Everything,” she hisses, dropping her hand.
“Everything?”
“Yes. Everything.”
“I’m not following.” The blank stare on my face has her looking exasperated.
“What I’m about to say is going to sound inappropriate but considering how we met, it’s tame.”
Now I’m really dying to hear this.
“For starters, you’re wearing men’s lingerie.”
“I’m sorry, did you just say I’m wearing lingerie?”
She lets out a sigh. “Jesus Christ, Tomás, must I spell it out for you even further?”
“Please. That’d be fucking great.”
Her heels click forward as she tugs at the bottom of my gym shorts. “Gray gym shorts with a short inseam, having all your tattoos on full display, is male lingerie. And then to top it off, you have no shirt on, leaning all nonchalant on that doorframe like you own it.”
“That’s because I do.” I don’t bother hiding the cockiness in my reply. She’s flustered and I like it. “And wait a minute, are you slut-shaming me?” I joke.
“Never. I’m just pointing out that you look very…slutty.”
I should bite my tongue. This conversation has already veered down a path we shouldn’t have let it go. “Is that a bad thing?” Well, so much for trying to steer it in a more appropriate direction.
She swallows, visibly. “No, no, it’s not.”
“Good. As long as you approve, that’s all I care about.”
A laugh is exchanged between us, and it’s almost like for a moment we forget who we are. I’m not her boss. I’m not her best friend’s brother. I’m just Tomás. And more importantly, she’s not off-limits.
“I should go,” she breathes.
I nod my head but neither of us move.
“I mean it.” Her voice is huskier this time, barely above a moan, yet it draws a smile to my lips.
“Tomás,” she whines my name, “seriously, stop.”
“Stop what?”
She tosses up her hands. “This.” Flustered, she shakes her head. “I mean that. I don’t know. All of it, but for real, stop or I’m going to piss myself.”
“You sure you’re from Colorado?” A blank stare shoots its way to me in lieu of a response. “It’s just that for someone who isn’t from New York, you fit right in.”
With arms crossed in front of her, plunging her cleavage forward, temptation intermingles with my willpower, testing it as I persevere to keep my eyes on hers.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
