“Why wouldn’t we be official after a few weeks?”
She lifts a shoulder. “Most guys seem to take longer than that before they want to define the relationship.”
“How long?” The subject sits like a stone in my gut, but the question chokes out anyway.
“Months? None of my relationships have lasted super long, but most guys don’t even want me to call them my boyfriend until like five or six mon—” Her gaze meets mine, and she snaps her mouth shut. “The numbers aren’t really important right now.”
I hate to think what murderous thing my face must be doing. She’s been dating guys who don’t know being with her is a privilege they could never deserve. They didn’t want her to call themboyfriend? They should have been on their knees every damn dayin gratitude she spent any time with them at all. Her exes are idiots.
Which I already figured since they’re exes.
“Weeks is fine,” I grind out. “I wouldn’t need more time.”
She flashes a tiny smile. “Okay. Great. I wouldn’t, either.”
We clear away our dishes, and after some pushback on her part, I get her to tuck the leftovers into her fridge. She moves into the living room and flops onto one end of the giant leather sofa. I take the other end, brushing against the blanket laid out over the back. It scratches my skin as if I rubbed against steel wool.
“What is this?” I touch the material I took for a blanket, but it sure isn’t meant for getting cozy. It’s thick and rough, with fibers poking up everywhere. I check my arm. “It scratched me.”
“Sorry about that.” Only now do I realize she’s up against the other couch arm, not touching the “blanket.” “The interior designer picked it up somewhere. My parents think it brings the whole room together.”
“Do you like it?”
She side-eyes the thing. “It’s unique.”
“That’s a no.”
She frowns at me but there’s no bite to it. “Do I get to go to your house and critique your decor choices?”
I raise my hands in surrender. She could do a whole reality TV show about how awful my place is. “I’ll keep my thoughts to myself.”
She braces her hands against both knees. Her gaze skates my way but doesn’t hold there. “So. Um. PDA?”
I blink at her. “More context, please.”
“Well, you know.” She looks around like she’s searching for backup. “We should probably figure out how much PDA we’re willing to do. Are you a PDA kind of guy?”
I haven’t really been in the past, but that’s all out the window when it comes to Rose. I would accept any and every form of affection she wanted to bestow on me and still have “more”hanging on my lips. Who’s there to witness it wouldn’t enter into my wholehearted “yes.”
“I don’t mind it.” Simpler than going into all that.
“So like…what’s on the table? Touching? Cuddles? Kissing?”
Each scenario plays through my mind in vivid detail. An inferno rages through my veins, firing me up from my head to my toes.
“All fine.”
“Okay.” Her body relaxes, easing against the firm couch cushions. “I guess we should figure out the end date, then.”
It takes my overheated brain a minute to sort through those words. Right. This pretend relationship needs an expiration date stamped on it. It’s a good reminder to pause my frenzied imagination.
I’ve never been much for daydreaming, but it’s easy for my thoughts to drift when it comes to Rose.
“I was thinking…” She bites her plush bottom lip. I have to study the metal donkeys in front of the fireplace, standing in descending size like nesting dolls, or that imagination will go into overdrive again. “Maybe we should wait until the concert series is over. That will give the algorithm time to find the next new thing, and for town gossips to get bored of us.”
Two and a half months. It’s too much for me to be so close to her and won’t be nearly enough. But just like I know what will happen when Troy asks Rose to switch shifts, I know what I’m going to say to her before I fully think through her suggestion.
“Sounds fine to me.”
