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Bobby’s eyes cast down to my chest, as if reading his thoughts off my red shirt.
My hand’s somewhere on his leg now after he shifted, so I give him an encouraging pat on his thigh. “C’mon. It’ll be fun. You can tell me how it went when it’s over. We can make fun of him together if it all goes south.”
That makes Bobby break a little smile. After a second more of thought, he looks up at me. “Jimmy?”
I lift an eyebrow. “Yeah?”
“Will you take me? Like, be my chauffeur again?”
My heart swells up. “Sure thing, man. I’ll drive you and wait in the parking lot of whatever restaurant it is, or something. I’m assuming—if my mama really had a hand in this—she’ll probably have set you guys up on a date at her own restaurant: Nadine’s.”
Bobby rolls his eyes endearingly. “That sounds like Nadine.”
“Nadine 101, right there,” I agree with a chuckle.
Bobby nods. “Alright, then. I’ll go. And you’ll take me. And …” He bites his lip in thought, then meets my eyes again. “We should have a code or something. Like, for when it goes bad.”
“If it goes bad,” I amend for him.
“And if I give you that code—like a text or something—then you’ll know to make up some emergency and come in and get me. You can pretend you drove in from Spruce, and there’s, like, some emergency I gotta go home for.”
“Already planning your escape route, huh?”
“It pays to be prepared!” Bobby smiles at me. “I think I feel pretty good about this, now. Maybe it’ll turn out alright after all.”
“Maybe,” I agree lightly, my hand rubbing his thigh firmer.
Bobby swallows, then glances over at my hand. “Uh, Jimmy?”
“Yeah?”
“Your hand is on my butt.”
My eyebrows pull together in confusion. I follow his eyes to my hand.
And I realize that I’ve been rubbing his ass, not his thigh.
Oops.
I slide my hand back to his thigh, then laugh it off and shoot him a look. “What’s wrong with rubbin’ your ass? You got a good one. All those years of squats and soccer playin’ did it well.”
Bobby bursts into laughter, his whole face going red, and he rolls right off of my lap, shaking his head. “Dude,” he tries to say between his bouts of laughter, “the things you say sometimes …”
I grin and fold my arms, watching him as he laughs, amused.
He stops suddenly, somewhere near the end of the bed, then looks up at me. “You crashin’ here tonight?”
I shrug. “Figured it’s a bit late to be driving home down those unlit country roads. Is it alright with you if I stay over?”
“Sure. That’s … uh, fine. Just …”
Bobby hops off the bed suddenly, rushes to his closet, and starts searching around inside it for something. I watch a blanket get tossed to the floor, followed by a jacket, followed by a striped scarf I’ve never seen him wear, followed by another puffier jacket. I watch him for all of ten seconds more before I go, “Did you lose an eyeball or somethin’? What the hell you lookin’ for?”
“I had an air mattress,” he grunts, still pulling things out of his closet, “somewhere in this mess …”
“Why do we need an air mattress?”
He stops and glances back at me over his shoulder, silent.
I gesture at his bed. “Your double-size spread here is enough for both of us. I slept on it with your snoring ass last couple times I crashed here, too.”
“Yes, but—” He cuts himself off and eyes me. “I do not snore.”
“Yeah, you do.”
He ignores me and goes back to rummaging through his closet like a maniac. “I’m gonna find that air mattress. You’ll love it. It’s really super …” Out flies a jacket. “… duper …” Out flies the empty box to a PlayStation. “… comfortable.”
“Get your butt back over here, Bobby. I told you we don’t need it. We’ve got your bed. Why are you bein’ all weird, suddenly?”
He stops, lets out a sigh, then shuts his closet door in defeat. “Alright,” he mutters, then spins around with another sigh and returns to the bed, where he leaves a notable amount of space between us when he sits down and leans against the headboard. “But you and I are not cuddlin’ like we did in the hotel room.”
I lift my hands in surrender. “Hey, I can’t help it if I’m so dang irresistible that a dude’s gotta look for an air mattress for me so he can behave.”
Bobby shoots me a sharp, knowing look, though I see a glint of playfulness in his eyes. “You better watch it before I challenge you to another soccer match in my backyard and dance circles around you with my lightnin’ legs.”
I smirk. “Yeah, yeah. Just wait ‘til my foot’s all better.”
He lets out a chuckle, then crosses his legs at the ankles, his thigh muscles popping out when he does. Despite our best efforts to leave room between us, our arms touch when we both lean back against the headboard together, our arms crossed over our chests. I lean forward briefly to tuck a pillow underneath my left leg so that my bad ankle is supported. It’s throbbing a bit, but I think I can manage without one of those dumb painkillers tonight. They make me all heady, anyway.
