I gasped at his vulgarity. I’d never seen Pete’s anger so sharp like this. My stomach soured at his tone. Worse, I found myself feeling guilty. I had only been laughing a moment ago, and now I went shaky with nerves.
“That’s uncalled for,” I said.
The muscles of his jaw clenched, and he glared at the TV, not looking at me.
“Sorry.” He spat the words. “This game is just pissing me off.” He gestured toward the TV with his beer. “And maybe don’t flirt with the guy right in front of me.”
I had to force my mouth closed. I was always open about my friendship with RC. As far as I was concerned, there was nothing to hide. We were just friends. Pete was just mad about the game. He’d had some beers and he was jealous. It wasn’t okay, but if he was buzzed, I wasn’t going to pick a fight. RC was my friend and that wasn’t changing any time soon.
Pete never seemed to mind, but lately, he’d been making more and more of these comments. Maybe he was picking up on the fact that at one point, I’d had a fanciful crush on RC? Or maybe it was plain jealousy. Regardless, I tried to picture how I’d feel in his shoes. My emails with RC had slowed down a bit since Pete and I started dating, and though Pete always insisted it was “fine,” I felt a little weird about emailing him back in front of Pete.
I put my phone away.
Later, when Pete mentioned spending the night, I asked if he could go back to his place tonight so I could get some work done. It was true, but I also needed some space. Between the call with my mom and his weird outburst earlier, I was emotionally drained.
Pete froze and turned to me. I had my arms wrapped tight around my middle.
“Hey.” He stepped forward and cupped my chin. “I’m sorry I acted like a dick earlier. I know you two are just friends. Isn’t he some old retired guy? I don’t know why I got so jealous. I just like you so much.” He threaded his fingers into my hair and pulled me close. “I’m sorry, okay?”
I nodded. I had needed to hear his apology more than I thought. Tension melted out of me.
“Let me cook for you tonight, okay? No more football, it’s just pissing me off anyway. Just a nice dinner, you and me? Okay?”
I relaxed and let my arms go around him. It had just been a weird moment. Nothing to worry about. He was here and he wanted to take care of me. “That sounds nice. I really do have to go work a little.”
“Yeah, of course. What work does an admin need to do on a Sunday?” he asked.
“I want to get some more revision done.”
“Oh, I thought you meant your real job. Okay, sure, baby. You goworkand I’ll let you know when food is ready.”
I leaned back. I heard the condescension in his tone, but he was watching me with warm, hopeful eyes. He’d just apologized. I didn’t want to pick a fight about whether my writing was “real” work or not.
In the spare room I used as an office, I opened my WIP. I was working on incorporating the comments RC gave me. He’d loved the book and offered some tweaks that were super helpful. Soon, I could start querying the book. I felt a tremble of anxiety but pushed it down. I would work on it, but first, I wanted to quickly reread his latest message and reply. He might still be up.
I checked that my door was closed and locked before reading through his adventures again. RC had been in the shower when he heard the screams of Agata. After making sure she was okay, he couldn’t resist snapping a picture of the scene unfolding. “I was going to come to her rescue, but she’s scared me enough times I thought a quick pic for you wouldn’t hurt.”
I smiled into my palm as I opened the attached picture and studied it without the prying eyes of Pete. Agata was exactly how I pictured her. Petite but threatening. Zooming in, I took in every detail of his home that I could. Relishing in this glimpse into his life. The dining room was quaint and much smaller than I’d expected. There was an ancient-looking buffet off to one side and a china cabinet on the other. The walls were a warm yellow and covered in small frames filled with art and photos. I couldn’t make out any people in the pictures as the action had blurred the background. His home was absolutely as charming as I imagined it would be.
I was just about to close the image when my eyes snagged on something in the corner of the picture. The china cabinet’s back panel was a mirror. The angle of the photo was such that I could just make out the photographer.
I swallowed.
I glanced toward the door again. Pete clanged about in the kitchen. My heart thundered in my chest as I zoomed in on the picture.
The image was grainy, yet the figure was clear enough. It was RC. My RC. He was holding the phone in one hand; the flash going off obscured his face completely, but his other hand held a towel secure around a very fit and verynotold body. The arm holding the phone was perfectly formed, leading to sculpted shoulders that connected to a trim waist and tightly flexed abs, like he was laughing. He’d mentioned spending time in his home gym as part of his rehabilitation, so I assumed it was some sort of physical therapy for the condition that left him stuck at home and in need of assistance.
What did this mean?
There was no way he meant to capture himself. There was no way this was anything than an oversight in a rushed email. And yet a tingling sensation covered me head to toe.
RC was gorgeous.
I didn’t realize I was biting my lip until I tasted blood.
This was not good. I’d just gotten over this crush. I’d happily settled into the friend zone. I was not so vain that seeing grainy footage of a beautiful body would immediately change my feelings. But all the desires and dreams I’d been pushing down and avoiding came springing back up. My overexcitable brain took this image and ran with it. I had a body to match to a name. A beautiful body.
I stared at the picture for much longer than I would ever admit. I eventually turned to revising my novel, but my brain kept going back to the picture of RC. It wasn’t just his figure; it really wasn’t. I’d been handed another clue to the mystery person who consumed so many of my thoughts, and this time my brain wasn’t about to let the puzzle go unsolved.
