Page 52 of Newly Tied

“Now it is what?” I pressed him as he locked the door, then flipped the deadbolt before turning back to me.

“You know what it is,” he said irritably.

“Tell me.”

“We’re going to date, idiot.”

I scoffed. “I don’t know about that.”

“What do you mean you don’t know about that?”

I toed off my shoes because Lang did not like people tracking whatever into his house, and I didn’t mind that. Why would you want to bring into your home all the crap you walked through in the course of a day on filthy city streets?

“Explain yourself,” he insisted, crouching down and unlacing his dress shoes to get them off.

I walked into his place and then turned to talk to him, instantly surprised at how close he was. I tried to sidestep, but he crowded me, bumping me back into one of the built-in bookshelves on either side of the short entrance hallway.

“Tell me now,” he demanded.

“It’s more than datin’, ain’t it?”

“Meaning?” He stared into my eyes, his hands on my sides, keeping me still, not allowing me to move away from him.

“Meanin’, you date to see if you like someone, right? Well, you already like me, more than a bit, so datin’ ain’t needed at all. What I figure is we’re gonna be together until one of us don’t like it no more.”

“Oh.” He exhaled sharply.

And that fast I was terrified. “Unless that’s not what you⁠—”

“No,” he rushed out. “That’s good. Starting is exactly what we should do.”

I stared into those dark eyes I knew so well. “If you decide you want to see someone else, you tell me first. That’s only fair,” I told him. “I’ll do the same.”

“Why are you trying to end us before we even get started?”

“I’m not endin’ nothin’,” I snapped at him. “We need to be clear is all.”

“Can we be clear in the shower?”

He wasn’t wrong. We were both covered in sweat, and though we’d both showered before going out for the night, that was many hours ago at this point.

I shoved him back, not hard, but enough to get him to budge, and then, moving fast, I crossed the living room and went into his bedroom. I flipped the switch that turned on the recessed lights, and I was walking by the bed, headed toward the bathroom, when he shoved me sideways and I toppled onto the quilted comforter.

Sitting up, I smiled at him as he began to pace at the end of the bed. “What was that about?”

“I want to say something.”

I wanted him showered so I could attack him, but it seemed he had things he needed to get off his chest. “Go ahead, then.”

He cleared his throat. “I’m not tripped up because you’re a man,” he told me, continuing to pace. “What’s messing with me is you being my friend.”

“Stop movin’,” I said, chuckling, “and tell me what that means.”

“I have moves. There are usually moves.”

“Oh God no,” I muttered, lying back on the bed. “I’m so terrified right now.”

“What?” came the mock indignance, and the laughter bubbled up out of me. “This is exactly what I was worried about,” he growled. “You laughing at me.”