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There’s a silence that lasts for a few seconds where I’m cringing with embarrassment again. It sounds like I’m asking him out on a date. Something that I’ve done before — yes, I have, unfortunately — and he’s always said no. And let me also say that he never made an excuse or said anything polite to let me down gently. He’d just say no. One word and topic over.
God, how come I kept calling him and running after him even after those things?
How come I had hope?
What kind of an idiot was I?
A giant one, that’s what.
“Are you asking me out on a date?” he says.
I knife up on the bed at the shock. That not only did it sound exactly like I’m asking him out on a date, but that he had the same thought.
“No,” I say, quickly and kinda loudly.
The silence that ensues feels laced with amusement.
On his part of course, not mine.
I clear my throat. “Of course not. Why would you even think that?”
“Because the corner of Maple and Candle is a Chinese restaurant.”
“So?”
“So it’s your favorite Chinese restaurant.”
“How do you —”
“You told me, remember?”
Damn it.
I did.
Over one of my phone calls that apparently he remembers very well.
“You know, for someone who claimed to be so bored by my phone ramblings, you remember a lot of it.”
“I remember all of it,” he corrects.
“That’s —”
“And the only reason I claimed to be bored by your ramblings was to discourage you from calling.”
“I —”
“Which I think I’ve already explained.”
He has.
It was because he was trying to protect me from himself.
And even though he ended up doing exactly what he was protecting me from, I can’t hold on to my irritation with him in this moment.
Damn it.
Only he can both annoy me and make me melt in the same breath.
“Fine. Whatever,” I mumble. “And it’s not a date.”
“So what is it then?”
I search for a term. Then, “A… meeting.”
“A meeting.”
“A business meeting,” I say with sudden inspiration.
“A business meeting.”
“Yes.” I nod. “Think of it as two colleagues meeting for mouthwatering and amazing Chinese food.”
“I’m not supposed to wear a tie or something, am I?”
I roll my eyes. “No, you’re not.”
“Or a jacket.”
I roll my eyes again. “Not that either.”
“Thank fuck.”
“Mostly because I don’t think they’ve made a jacket the size of the Incredible Hulk yet.”
“That I am,” he says. “The size of a monster. And I’m not just talking about my chest and shoulders.”
I’ve been talking to him for years, I know how his mind works.
How he can make anything dirty and a dick joke.
And despite myself, I smile.
“You know it’s a green monster, the Hulk, don’t you? And no, I’m also not talking about your chest and shoulders,” I quip, knowing exactly what he’s talking about.
He chuckles. “Green or not, sounds like you’ve thought a lot about the heat I’m packing in my pants.”
The sound of it shoots straight down to my belly, all deep and low, and I bite my lip. “I wouldn’t call it heat. Rather an extraterrestrial thing.”
“Well, that’s a very high compliment then, isn’t it?”
“Is it?”
“Uh-huh. Because it will make you see stars.”
I shake my head at him even as my smile grows. “Can we give your ego a little rest please? For tonight. My mind is tired.”
“Are you sure you’re talking about your mind here and not something else?” he drawls, making another innuendo.
Which I immediately put a stop to. “No, I am definitely talking about my M. I. N. D. And not about something called P. U. S. S. Y.” I roll my eyes for the third time. “Are you happy now? You made me say it.”
He hums. “I would be. If we were in third grade or if Little Berry was around.”
“You knew that word in the third grade?”
“I knew it in the first grade.”
I gasp. “Shut up. You couldn’t have.”
“I could and I did.”
“Holy shit.” Then, “Do you think my brother knew?”
“I don’t wanna talk about your brother right now,” he growls.
“Yes, of course. Me neither. I don’t know why I said that.”
“So?”
“So what?”
“Are you gonna say it?”
I frown. “Say what?”
“The word that I knew in the first grade.”
“You want me to say it?”
“I dare you to say it.”
“You dare me.”
“Uh-huh.”
“How old are you?”
“Old enough to say it and not blush like you do.”
“I do not blush.”
“Yeah, you do.”
“No, I don’t.”
“You’re going to if I say pu —”
“Don’t,” I cut him off. “Do not say it.”
He chuckles again and I swear I want to smack him.
And then bottle the sound of his chuckle and put it in my pocket. So I could fish it out and hear it whenever I wanted.
In any case, he’s right.
I am blushing.
Which is the strangest thing.
I never blush. I have never blushed for another guy in my life.
Except him.
Not to mention, I’ve never blushed when talking about or reading about or thinking about sex. I read romance novels like it’s my job, or at least I used to. I can give my girls advice on their love life and their sex life like it’s nothing. Like I’m talking about the weather. I’m one of the most outgoing, out-there people there is.
