“That we’re on-screen boyfriends, and if you come around to the house, they have to be nice to you.”
“Oh.” He paused. “Would they have not been if you didn’t ask?”
“Yeah, of course they would. They’re nice guys. Well, they can be dicks to me, but they’d never be dicks to you.”
“Dicks to you? You call Tate Tater Tot. I’d consider that you being a dick to him.”
“Everyone calls him that.” I shrugged. “Because he has the brain function of a potato.”
“You’re a bully to him. And he puts up with you, why?”
“No, I’m not a bully...” I sighed. “Maybe...” Christ. “I didn’t make the name up. I didn’t start it.”
“Well, maybe you can stop calling him that.”
I felt duly admonished. Probably rightfully so, but I was nothing if not petulant. “You can’t talk. You called me generic.”
He sounded amused. “Did I touch a nerve?”
Yes.
“No.”
I hated that we were having this conversation while I was lying on him with his knee raised. “You know, if I was ever going to be lying all over someone like this, I would’ve thought they’d be saying nice things to me.” I pulled at a thread in the hole in his jeans. “Say something nice to me.”
He sighed. “You’re not generic. Feel better now?”
“Yes.”
I did. Immediately.
“So about my friends,” I began. “I know you’re not a fan of anyone who doesn’t meet your cool-recluse vibes, but they’re good guys.”
“Hm.”
“Well, you’re gonna have to spend time with them at some point, so maybe work on acting like you can tolerate them,” I said flatly. “What about your friends? You tell them yet?”
“You might find this hard to believe, but I don’t have a lot of friends. I try not to socialize. It’s exhausting. There are people that I work with, people that I have classes with.”
Figuring we were doing the whole get-used-to-touching thing, I took his hand and brought it around to rest on my belly, threading our fingers. “You don’t hang out with anyone?”
“Not really. I do sessions with the study club. Sometimes we go to Bean Necessities afterwards.”
I played with his fingers. It all sounded so sad to me, even though I understood his social battery depleted easily.
“So does hanging out with me like this tire you out?”
He didn’t answer, and when I tried to turn around to see his face, he held me in place. “Shush,” he said. “I’m trying to watch TV. This is my favorite episode.”
I chuckled and settled back against him, surprised by how comfortable this was. Me sitting between his legs, resting my back to his chest, his arm draped across my stomach.
I thought maybe I could begin to feel the press of something against my lower back... maybe it was his jeans. But then he brought his right leg up.
“You’re not very comfortable,” he said.
“You’re very comfortable,” I replied.
“You’re too heavy. And bulked up. Are those muscles from hard work or genetics?”