Page 168 of Bad for Me

"Should I hide all the knives, scissors, and whatever other sharp objects we have in the house?"

"I could maim him with blunt objects just as well," I quip. "Seriously, it's all good. He's helped me a lot the last few days, and I really appreciate his expertise."

"I told you he'd grow on you."

If you only knew.

"Quit worrying about me. Go enjoy your weekend."

Michael makes a face. "It's not too early to be going out of town and meeting her parents, is it?"

"To be fair, her sister is getting married and you're just her date. The rest is all happenstance. But to answer your question, no, I don't think so. You're clearly enamored with her, and from what Ian tells me, you two have been dancing around each other for two years. Not that you ever deemed to tell your old man about it," I say in mock offense.

"Alright, I'm sorry. It was one of those things, ya know? I didn't want to admit to myself that I had feelings for her, because I didn't know she liked me that way and it would have sucked to get rejected."

"I get it."

"Says the man who hasn't even attempted to date anyone in the twenty-three years I've been alive."

"I've gone on dates. They just didn't go anywhere."

"Why, though?"

"Because there was nothing about them that made me feel like I'd prefer their company to my own. They didn't light me up."

"Maybe you should try to find someone that lights you up, then."

"Meh. I'm pretty comfortable in my old age."

"You're old, not dead. And jokes aside, you're not even that old."

"Mmm hmm. Thanks for the pep talk. Now get the fuck out of my house before you're late to pick up your girlfriend and make a shit impression on her parents. I raised you better."

"Alright, alright, I'm leaving!" He gives me a hug before pointing at me. "Don't kill Ian." Picking up his duffle and garment bag, he yells up the stairs. "I'm out! Don't let my dad kill you!"

"Have fun, man!" Ian says, bounding down the stairs. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do," he says, thumping him on the back.

"Name one thing you wouldn't do," Michael calls over his shoulder.

"I'll text you when I think of something!"

Ian watches Michael get in his car and closes the front door once he's out of sight.

"Are you staying hydrated?" he asks me.

"Yes, doctor," I sass, holding up the sixty-four-ounce insulated cup he's been making me carry around.

"Good. Now, get your sexy ass upstairs."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. It's time for your sports massage."

"Ugh. No. I hate those."

"I promise you'll like this one," he says, winking.

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