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“Because”—I squeeze my eyes shut—“I was embarrassed. I spewed all that childhood trauma on you and then I sobbed on your shoulder.”
He huffs. “I’ve told you loads of personal stuff.”
He has. The difference is, I’m used to having people tell me details about their lives. I’m not used to sharing about myself. I’m still not sure when I got comfortable enough with him to tell him those things. “We didn’t have plans. I didn’t even know how long you were going to be in New York. Or where you were going next. I didn’t know if I’d see you again.”
“I wanted to see you,” he says softly.
The words stampede through me. The first time we slept together, we separated afterwards. He left town, I went home, and it was fine.
This time, I left. And he came after me. What does that mean? What do I want it to mean?
“I had a job interview. They called me while I was shopping with Kelsey.”
“How did it go?”
“I think it was good.”
“That’s good.” He pauses. “And you didn’t see the pictures?”
“No.” I’m unsure if I should reveal how purposefully I’ve been avoiding news about him. At the same time, he came all this way on Valentines Day because he wanted to see me. I don’t want him to think I don’t care. I’ve already told him, but it bears repeating. “I didn’t think we’d see each other again soon. I assumed you’d visit your family or stay in New York or something.” I bite my lip. “March 15 is coming up quick.”
“So that’s it?” He looks dejected.
“I don’t know.” I drop onto the sofa. The heaviness of unspoken words hovers between us. “You only have a month until you’re eligible to join a new team.”
He sits down next to me. “I only have a month and…”
Is he offering that month to me? To us? I need him to spell it out. I don’t want to misunderstand. “And…”
“If I stay here, in DC, maybe we could hang out?”
Laughter bubbles up. “Hang out? Like friends? Or more?”
He looks directly at me, his expression serious. “Football is…I’ve already explained that I need to stay focused. Once I sign, I can’t offer more, but until then, I like you, and I want to be together. We’re friends already, right? And we have fun together.”
“So, you want to date for a month? Exclusively?” I ask.
“Yes. Exclusively. Of course.”
I’ve never had a relationship with an end date. However, I’m always waiting for the end. Maybe it’ll be easier if I know it’s coming. If I can look at the calendar and see it, I’ll be able to prepare myself. “Why?”
He shrugs. “I like being with you.”
It’s such a simple statement, and yet, something flickers across his face as he stares at me. Affection? It’s gone so quickly; I can’t be certain it was ever there. But I am certain I don’t want him to leave my apartment.
I’ve never had anyone tell me they like being with me. Letting him stay tonight might end badly. March 15 might be an exceptionally crappy day, but how can I say no? It’s Valentine’s Day, an eligible, gorgeous man is sitting on my sofa, and he wants me. “I like being with you, too.”
We could, and maybe should, pounce on each other, clothes flying, to establish exactly what our agreement entails, but instead I say, “Are you hungry? I’ve got pad see ew, pad thai, and kee mow on the way.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “Three noodle dishes for one person?”
I laugh. “It’s not like I was going to finish all three.”
“Not one of those dishes fits into my diet.”
I didn’t think about that. “I can order something else. What do you want?”
He shakes his head. “I’m hungry. I like noodles. I’ll get back on my diet tomorrow.”
