Page 57 of Maybe You

“Any brothers or sisters?” I ask.

“Not that I know of.”

I stuff the last piece of pizza in my mouth, slouch lower until the back of my head rests against the couch, and pat my stomach before I turn my head to the side and face Sutton again. I take in his dark blond hair and handsome profile and the air of easy enjoyment that surrounds him.

We look at each other. He’s smiling again.

“You have dimples,” I say absently. “Did you know that?”

He chuckles softly. “Yes. I’ve seen my face before. Did you think you were going to surprise me?”

“I thought your eyes were brown, but they’re actually more amber than brown,” I continue, unperturbed by the teasing.

“Are you just listing things about my appearance or is there a reason for the overview?”

“Just letting you know.”

“Ah.” He nods. “Dimples and amber eyes turn you on.”

That makes me snort. “Is that a guess?”

He shrugs and grins, putting those dimples on full display. “Just letting you know in case you didn’t yet.”

“I just came,” I deadpan.

“My work here is done.”

We fall silent for another moment. He lies down, head against my thigh. I don’t know what makes me do it, but I lift my hand and rake my fingers through his hair. His eyes stay on mine. I do it again. And again. I don’t think about the whys too much right now. All I know is by now I’m more relaxed than I thought possible, and it feels good. The dark blond strands are stupidly soft to the touch, and he smells nice—a hint of aftershave with a helping of expensive scotch. It’s not a bad combination.

“Tell me something,” he says. His voice is low, and his eyes are soft now. Unguarded. It’s a weird thing to think, but I can’t shake the idea. He’s always so upfront and straightforward, but this is the first time he actually looks exposed.

“Like what?” I ask.

“Something good. You look like you’re a good person.”

“I don’t know about that.” I pause for a moment to think about what I want to say. “I just try to do my best, I suppose? But that’s what everybody’s doing, so I don’t think I’m unusual in that regard.”

He keeps looking at me. Almost like he sees more than I’m willing to show. Waiting.

The moment is too intense.

I’m starting to suspect it would be easy to drown in his eyes, and I can’t afford to do that.

“You know how when people talk about their heritage they say things like I’m part Italian or part Scottish or whatever?” I ask.

He nods slowly, clearly not sure where I’m going with this.

“Well, when I was younger, I thought when they said that they were talking about a specific part of their body. So when somebody said they were part Italian, I thought they were saying that their arm, or leg, or butt were Italian. And I was always super confused about how they knew where their specific parts were from.”

He stares at me for a long moment before he absolutely fucking loses it. There are tears running down his face as he laughs and laughs and laughs.

His whole body is shaking, and he laughs.

He buries his face in his hands, and he laughs.

His lips are still twitching when he finally calms down enough to look at me again.

“I don’t know why you wouldn’t,” he says. “You need to know which country to contact when you need a spare part.”

---