Will is complicated. He just got out of prison, and I don’t even know the whole story on that. He spent the last, however many years, on drugs. He’s never been nice to me in the twenty years I’ve known him. Never given me any reason to believe he even tolerated my presence.
But last night, he didn’t push me away.
What would have happened if Ollie hadn’t interrupted us? What did I want to happen?
I’m deep in thought, imagining all sorts of scenarios that could have happened last night. Will grabbing me and kissing me harder, him shoving me away, another argument, when there’s a knock at the door.
I head over, assuming it’s someone selling something, and tug the door open without looking through the peephole, to reveal the very man I want to avoid, standing on my porch.
He’s got his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans and a determined expression on his face that’s incredibly handsome. Why didn’t I ever notice that before?
“Hi,” I say, the only thing I can think of.
“Hey.” His eyes trail over my frame, down to my hand. “Is that a feather duster?”
“Jess bought it.”
He doesn’t respond to that, looking past me into the house, then back at my face, and I feel like I should be saying something, but I have no idea what the protocol is for this. I thought I would have more time to figure it out.
“You gonna invite me in, or…”
“Right. Yes.” I step back, opening the door wider, gripping Jess’s feather duster like a weapon. “Sorry. Come in. Please.”
He steps past me into the house, and I close the door, following him until he stops in the living room, and then it’s just us, staring at each other, everything unsaid between us, so much ofsomethingthat it could choke you.
I look down at the floor, his stare too much when I know what his lips feel like.
“So,” he says.
“So,” I repeat, and that must be the wrong thing to say because his eyebrows climb to his forehead.
“Dude. Are you gonna make me drag it out of you? You kissed me. I feel like I’m owed some sort of explanation for that becausewhat the fuck?”
That’s true. He is owed an explanation. And I have one that makes sense, somewhere in my head. An apology, a lapse in judgment, an excuse that will make everything okay and normal, and we’ll laugh about it someday.
But everything in my brain disappears in the face of what I’ve done, and all I can do is blurt out, “I have feelings for you.” His stare stays on me, his eyes widening slightly, and I want to hide in a corner somewhere, but apparently, I’ve lost control of my mouth. “Romantic feelings. I like you.”
The staring continues for what feels like forever. Until he does something I’m not expecting in the slightest.
He laughs.
A genuine sound startled out of him, like I’ve told him my best joke. And I’m realizing I don’t think I’ve ever seen him laugh with his full body, head tilted back, tears in his eyes. It’s a nice thing to see, if only it weren’t at my expense.
I set the duster down on the coffee table and cross my arms.
“Jesus, man, I didn’t realize you were this funny,” he says, clutching his chest. “All these years, I thought you were an uptight dick, but that’s actually a good one.”
“It’s not a joke.” I hold his gaze even though, as I’m saying the words, I’m realizing that maybe I should have taken the out. “I wish it were.”
My serious tone must strike a nerve because his smile fades and his laughter dies down as he begins to understand. I can see it in his eyes. He’s looking at me differently now.
“You have feelings for me,” he says slowly, testing out the words that shouldn’t exist. “Like, what, you wanna bang me, or—”
Of course, that’s the first place he would go.
“That’s not what I said.”
“That’s what that means, though.”
