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“No, I moved into my own apartment, and I found the assistant teacher position. Now, in a strange turn of events, I live with you.” She turns to me, a grin on her face, and I narrow my eyes when she starts to giggle at her joke.
“So, you’re one of those types?” I ask and take another drink. I see my driveway not too far off in the distance, and I find myself wanting to turn around and go the other direction to keep this conversation going.
“What type would that be?”
“The type who laughs at their own jokes.”
“I happen to think that I’m hilarious,” she says, grinning at me, turning, and walking backward. “Don’t hate the player; hate the game.”
“Oh, good one. I’ve never heard that before,” I counter, a snort sneaking through my defenses.
Her eyes widen. “Dr. Morrow, did you just snort at me?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head, and she laughs.
“I think you did.”
She turns and starts to walk forward again, giving me the perfect view of her perky ass in those little shorts. I don’t drag my eyes from it until she turns, stepping on my driveway and looking back at me.
“Come on, slowpoke. I’m starving.”
It seems maybe we’ve recovered from my little outburst yesterday.
“You going to eat that?”
I look up at Alice, who is pointing at my pickle, and I shake my head. She reaches over, taking it off my plate, and bites into it, a small line of juice trickling down her chin. I reach up and wipe it off with my napkin, and we both freeze. My napkin on her chin and her holding a pickle slice to her lips.
“Sorry,” I say quickly and pull my hand back.
What the fuck, man?
“It’s okay,” she says, shaking her head. “Thanks for cleaning up after me.”
After our run, we both took quick showers, and then Alice fixed us grilled cheeses, complete with tomato soup and pickles. I inhaled everything but the pickle. I’ve never been a fan, but I can say, watching Alice eat one might change my mind.
“What?” she asks.
I widen my eyes. “Huh?”
“Why are you staring at me?”
“Just watching for more stray pickle juice,” I say, pushing back from the table to stop myself from saying any more idiotic things.
“You put on a good show, Simon, but I can tell,” Alice says.
I cock my head to the side. “What do you mean?”
“You aren’t really as gruff on the inside as you seem on the outside.”
“Yes, I am,” I say, my inner panic button blaring. I don’t want to get attached to her, and I sure as hell don’t want her reading more into our relationship than what it is.
“You can’t fool me.” She shakes her head, pointing her half-eaten pickle at me.
“I’m not trying to fool anyone. I’m not what you are looking for, Alice.”
“Whatever you say,” she says with a smile, going back to eating her pickle.
“Are you busy Friday night?” I find myself asking. I’m afraid of having to watch this show by myself or alone with Alice. I’d much rather have the buffer of other people between us.
