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“I need bang,” she says, more a statement than a question, as if she’s speaking to herself.
Our food arrives a moment later, breaking up the tension I could have sworn was building only a few seconds ago.
Will holds up half her melt and hands it over. I hand her half the BLT and slide the plate of fries between us. For several quiet minutes, we eat, taking bites of the two different sandwiches and dipping fries in ketchup.
“How about you?” she asks, pausing between bites.
“How about me, what?’ I ask, looking to the side.
“How’s your dating life?” she asks.
Oh, that. Sheesh.“Nonexistent at the moment,” I say.
“Interesting,” she says. “Dr. Derek doesn’t have a girlfriend for once in his life.”
“I’ve been single plenty,” I defend.
“No, you haven’t,” she says. “You’re a serial relationshipist.”
“What the hell is that?” I ask.
“It means you hop from one relationship to another without coming up for air. And when it’s not a full-blown relationship, it’s a lady friend for your bed,” she explains.
“How would you know?” I ask.
“We’ve known each other more than half our lives,” she says, tilting her head toward me as if it’s all the proof she needs.
“And?” I say.
“And I’m very observant,” she says.
I think about her accusation, or rather assertion of my life, and can’t come up with any examples contrary to her point. I don’t like that.
“Well, I’m single now,” I say, the only real evidence I have.
“We’ll see how long that lasts,” she says, her tone teasing, a smirk plastered across her red lips.
After we finish and she insists paying since I paid for her books, we head back to her apartment, half the Sunday already behind us.
We bring the books upstairs and I set mine in my room as she makes room for hers on one of the bookshelves in the living room.
I walk into the hallway, immediately greeted by Will, who seems to be on her way to her bedroom. We nearly collide as she rocks back onto her heels.
“Oh, sorry,” she mumbles. I can smell coconut again, the scent of her settling into this small space. Her hallway is narrow and only a few feet long. It doesn’t take much to make the space feel intimate.
“It’s okay,” I say, my tone hushed, though I’m not sure why.
She slides past me, her dropped hand brushing against my thigh. The contact is brief, probably less than a second, but a ripple of sensation radiates from the spot.
I watch her walk into her room, her eyes glancing back over her shoulder before she disappears completely behind her closed door.
Okay, now that was tension, right?I’m not imagining this anymore. I don’t think. She has to feel that. Doesn’t she? I’m going to make myself insane asking these questions.
The truth is I’ve never given thought to Will like this, ever. I’ve never felt tension or been quite this curious. Over the years, for a second or two? A fleeting moment? Sure. I’ve always thought she was beautiful; I’ve always found her intelligent and funny. But…this feels different.
Clearly, I’m going insane. Maybe I do need to get back to my own social life. It’s taken a brief pause while moving and working ridiculous hours, but it should be getting back to normal soon. That will help. There’s that cute nurse on the third floor that always gives me flirty eyes, too. I could see what that’s about.
Oh shit.This is exactly what Will had just said at lunch. I’m already talking about a next woman when my ex and I just broke up like a month ago.What the hell is wrong with me?
