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“Breakfast’s almost ready.”
A contented sigh escapes my lips; he blended into my life so easily. I trudge to the kitchen, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, and I’m relieved to see that he’s wearing one too. His is a red one from his favorite TV show,How I Met Your Mother, while mine is a gift from him, an ink blue from Oxbow, a world-renowned French surfing brand.
“I don’t deserve this.” I gesture at the stack of pancakes that’s piled on a small plate beside a bottle of pure maple syrup, a large bowl of berries, and some powdered sugar. He shakes his head, making his locks dance across his face like aL’Orealshampoo commercial, and I sit across my wall-mounted table from him.
“And now, let’s eat!” Nino’s proud smile brightens my small Brooklyn apartment. His tone turns cheerful. “Not bad for a Sunday brunch, right,timal?” Our knees bump under the minuscule table, and we chuckle.
“Especially for a Saturday!” That earns me a hearty laugh. “Cool tat, by the way,” I venture, cutting a chunk of syrup-soaked pancake with the side of my fork. “It’s both cute and badass if you ask me.”
His eyes bore into mine. “I’m not sure I like being called cute.” He chugs most of his coffee in one go.
“I meant your butterfly, not you, moron! It’s different than your tribal tat, endearing somehow… I like that you chose a tat that’s usually chosen by women.”
His brow spikes up. “What are you talking about?”
“Well, it might only be a trend here.” With my eyes downcast, I berate myself for bringing it up.
“Let’s say that’s how I express my feminine side, then. I’m comfortable in my own skin and wouldn’t change it for the world.”
I stare back at him and smile. “Good! Also, the badass part comes from its location. Must have hurt like hell to be inked on the Adonis Belt!”
“Oh, so you noticed that!” he teases instead of answering.
Out of reflex, I lean his way and slap his bicep. “Who wouldn’t?”
“Ouch!” He makes a big production of rubbing his arm and gets up for a coffee refill. Once seated, he adds, “So you don’t think I’m cute?”
I’m doing a piss-poor job at trying to decipher if he’s joking or asking for confirmation. His voice didn’t betray his intent. “Don’t be ridiculous! You know you’re as breathtaking as the models you work with. For the record, you just said you don’t want to be called cute, so…”
His brows knit and his eyes narrow. “Are you flirting with me?”
I wave my hand and discard the memories of his chiseled torso. “Nah… Stating a fact is all.” I thread my fingers through my wayward hair that’s in bad need of a trim. “Call me old-fashioned, but I’ll never flirt with anyone while in a relationship.”
“There’s no harm in flirting, Ash.”
“I beg to differ,timal.” The use of the Martinican Creole word earns me a thumbs up, but I must admit that I prefer hearing him say it. I eventually press, “As far as I’m concerned, it leads people on.”
“Am I leading you on?”
I cut him off, ignoring how goosebumps spread across my skin. “Are you flirting with me?”
He winks. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a big flirt.” His honesty troubles me. Perplexed, I return my attention to my second pancake, although the pit of my stomach is suddenly filled with unease. “Relax, will you? Flirting doesn’t mean that I’m hitting on you. Let’s call it a defense mechanism.” Without asking, he pours coffee into my almost-empty mug. “I know you have someone in your life.” He pauses. “Actually, Iknowit, but don’t believe it.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” My heart jumps into my stomach, and a bead of sweat runs down my forehead. I wipe it away with my forearm.
“Well…” He stops, gulping some coffee before continuing. “If I remember correctly, your boyfriend didn’t want to see me in Bali because he claimed that I took advantage of you by giving you mouth-to-mouth. Based on what you’ve said, the vibes I’m getting from him are jealousy and possessiveness… but he’s nowhere to be found. It doesn’t make sense to me.”
Annoyed, I grab my phone from the kitchen counter and browse through my pictures. “Here. This is Alex.” Alex, with whom I spent Labor Day Weekend in the Hamptons. Alex, who urged me to move in with him. Alex, who said he was head over heels for me but rejects any opportunity to meet my rescuer.
I flash the picture under Nino’s nose. “He’s not my imaginary friend.”
“Okay,” he says, then wolfs down another pancake. “I’m full,timal.”
“That’s all you’ve got to say?”
“I guess.” He shrugs, scrutinizing me. “I just don’t understand how you guys roll, but like I said, it’s none of my business. I’m grateful that you let me stay at your place; we barely know each other after all. It’s near my shoot, and I get to see you.”
For some reason, his noncommittal words irk me. “Funny, I thought we’d established that we were friends months ago. I must have misinterpreted our… interactions. Didn’t you agree that we formed our own littlegemeinschaft?” My stupid heart swelled at his reaction back then. Today, my eyes blink to suppress the tears that threaten to burst any second. Because of his words. Because of his tone. Because of his hurt.
