“Oh, so you were purposefully avoiding me?”
“Well, you just were sleeping so peacefully, sweetheart. It would have broken my heart to wake you up.” I’m not sure if my tone is meant to be snarky or playful.
His, however, is definitely snarky. “That’s funny, because I seem to remember someone yelling in my face the last time.”
“Have you ever considered that you just have a face that makes people angry?”
“Oakleigh,” he groans. “I do not have time for your particular brand of crap right now.”
“If you don’t have time, then why are you here?” I ask, now feeling a fire light beneath me.
“Because you just finished work.”
“And?”
“And…I’m here to drive you home.”
“If you don’t have time to drive me home, why are you doing it?”
“Because that’s what boyfriends do. I don’t care how busy I am, I’m making sure you get home safe.”
“Could I not just message you to let you know I got home?”
“Would you?” he asks knowingly.
“If it stopped people thinking I have a homeless boyfriend who likes to sleep in the hospital waiting room, then yeah.”
“You’re hilarious.”
“Who the hell shoved a stick up your ass?”
“You did.”
“Me? How?”
“Because can’t you see that I’m trying?” He storms closer to me, his hands now balled into fists. “Can’t you see that I’m trying to be more than just your best friend’s annoying brother? I’m actually trying to be your?—”
My breath catches. “My what?”
He looks like he’s in pain, like he’s chewed on something bitter, but he can’t spit it out.
“Your friend,” is what he eventually says, but I can’t help but feel like he’s forcing himself to give that answer. The word “friend” on his lips sounds foreign and rough, the implication even more so.
“My friend,” I say, if anything so that I can see if the words taste just as sour when I say them out loud.
“Is the thought of being friends really that far-fetched?”
“It is when you’re also telling people that you’ve been fucking me for the last eight months.”
He steps even closer, close enough that I can smell the muskiness of his cologne and the floral whisper of his fabric softener. “I don’t recall telling anyone about us fucking. Do you?”
I don’t answer in some pathetic attempt to keep some of my dignity. The heat spreading across my face rats me out and there’s no way of hiding it.
“Unless…” He leans down, his nose brushing mine and leaving a stinging sensation in its wake. “Unless it’s actually you who has been doing that?”
My spine snaps straight. “You wish.”
He lets out a low hum and for a second, I think that yes, maybe he really does wish. How can I not think so when the frustration that had pulled his face taut has now vanished, and in its place are eyelids that droop with lust and a bottom lip that is pulled between teeth.
