“Feels like there should be a better word for that.”
“You sucked faces. Exchanged germs. Swapped saliva. Canoodled.
Snogged.”
“The other day you told me in great detail about that Ukrainian guy you pegged, and I didn’t make half the fuss.”
“It’s different.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m a seasoned pegger, but you never do this. You were all like,
‘Neuro’s my wife now, zip up my chastity belt, dig a moat around the Bee-fence,’ and now you’re making out with your nemesis who is apparently into you
—”
“Was. Was into me. And it’s just a kiss.” If I say it enough, maybe it’ll erase how close I got to being naked with Levi on my kitchen floor. How I’ve been obsessing over his whereabouts all day long.
“FYI, I’ll return to the States for your wedding, but I recently discovered the bridezilla subreddit, and I’m not
going to dye my hair blond to fit the ceremony’s color scheme—”
“Not happening.”
“Right, you’d probably ask for teal green—still a resounding no.”
“Reike, it was just . . . a kiss. He doesn’t care. And I have no intention of caring ever again. One round of returning wedding gifts was enough.”
“I never got mine back!”
“You never sent one. Anyway, it was just a kiss. Purely . . .” Physical.
Burning. Good. Electric. Obscene. Heavy. Dangerous. Good. Wild. Good, good, good. The most erotic moment of my life. But my head has cooled off, I’m not a horny black hole of sexual tension anymore, and I can see how dumb it was. A stupid idea. Three out of ten, would not do again. Plus, I have other concerns. BLINK. My job. Who’ll feed Félicette once I’m gone.
“Nothing. Purely nothing.”
“Right. Emotions are still scary. Boundary maintenance is a priority. The Bee-fence is up in arms. So when you see
him at work tomorrow—”
“I’ll be too busy building the best damn helmet this world has ever seen and securing myself a lifetime of
professional stability. Away from Trevor.”
“Of course. And I assume The Wardass is perfectly okay pretending that—”
A knock at my door and I glance at the time—10:28 p.m. “Gotta go. It’s probably Rocío coming to reiterate that I’m not her real mother. Or that after you die the enzymes in your digestive tract devour your body from the inside.”
“Of all your colleagues, this girl is my absolute favorite.”
“She was caught porking. On my desk.”
“How does she constantly top herself?”
I roll my eyes. “Bye, Reike.”
“Warmest regards, Beetch.”
It’s not Rocío. Instead, there’s a large chest where her head should be.
And several inches above that, Levi’s face. “You forgot this in the rental.” He lifts his left hand, my backpack dangling from his fingers.
“Oh. Thank you.” I hug it to the front of my body. I’m wearing a sleeveless top I’ve owned since middle school and pajama pants that could moonlight
as underwear. I really thought it’d be Rocío at the door. I may be blushing all over. “Did you, um, want to come in?”
He shakes his head. “I just wanted to return the backpack.”
I nod. He nods. There’s a stretch of silent, more awkward nodding, and then he says, “I’ll get going.”
“Yeah. Sure. Have a good night.”
He’s wearing a light blue Henley that does marvelous things for his back.
Which I have now touched. Extensively. That’s why I stare as he walks away: I’m mesmerized by how broad, firm, solid he looks. And that’s why when he reaches the stairs and turns around he finds me still there. Still looking.
He smiles. And I smile. The smiles linger, warm, honest, and I hear myself ask, “You sure you don’t want to come in?”
