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Him:
Perfect.
* * *
I smilewhen I see Theo standing at the entrance door to his apartment building, holding it open as I walk toward him, carrying a box of chocolate chip cookies that Kameron, who loves to cook, helped me make. I try to ignore the tummy flips, and the fact that I can literally feel my heart rate increase and work on suppressing the grin I feel creeping up.
“You didn’t have to bring anything,” he says as I get closer. He looks so good. So, so, so very good.
“One of my personal goals this semester is to learn to cook and now bake.”
“Love that you have personal goals. Any others that maybe I can help you out with?” he asks, reaching for the box, brushing his fingers across the back of my hand before taking it.
“You ticked a box or two yesterday,” I admit as he kisses my cheek and takes my hand.
“The exes with zero skills?”
“Yep.” I laugh as we walk into the open elevator. “And do you have any you need help with?”
“Yeah, teach me how to make those dumplings and spring rolls.”
“Noted.”
The door shuts, and we’re alone, in a confined space, not much smaller than the bathroom last night.
“How many exes?” he asks.
Taken aback, I shake my head. “One ex-boyfriend and one that I call an ex, but really, he was just an ‘ex’-periment. You?”
“Fuck.” He shakes his head. “One girlfriend and many mistakes.”
“Why mistakes?” I ask as the door slides open onto the fourth floor.
His reply as he steps out backward, keeping eye contact, is avoidance at its greatest. “Why an experiment?”
“Hmm.” I scrunch up my nose. “Touché.”
Smiling, he shakes his head and finally turns around and pushes open his door. When I step in, I am immediately hit with the smell of sauce.
“Smells delicious.”
His eyes rake over me in such a way I swear I feel it like it was his fingers,like in the bathroom. My nipples immediately harden, and he notices.Of course he notices.
But then, his phone rings and his whole, heated, sexy demeanor changes, and I swear I see almost panic in his eyes as he looks between me and his phone.
I walk to him, take the box, and nod to the phone, laughing. “Answer it.”
He mumbles, “Fuck,” and grabs his phone, moves to take a seat, and sets it on a stand. “Hey, Quincy,” he speaks and signs.
“I don’t want to go there anymore. I hate it.”
Her voice is clearer than I expected. Then again, she was able to speak until the accident.
“Slow down. Are we talking work or—”
She laughs angrily. “I’d rather be a waitress my whole life than go to that stupid college. I get sick of people looking at me and acting like—”
“Two years, and then you can transfer to anywhere you want to—”
