Page 70 of Not Catching Love

“Exactly.” And even though I shouldn’t, I add, “It’s no competition.”

He tries to hold down his smile. “Can I see your ants?”

Well, I guess we’re not putting that off any longer. I probably shouldn’t have mentioned them to him in the first place, but imagine if he’d come over and randomly walked into my bug room. It’s a fast way to scare the hell out of someone.

“Might as well see what you really think of me. Who knows? Maybe it’ll scare you off, and we won’t have to worry about, well, anything.”

I turn for the hall, and Xander catches up, wrapping himself around my arm. “You’re severely overestimating my standards.”

“And you’re undervaluing yourself again.”

“Hey, if I say it’s what I’m good at, does that mean I’m complimenting myself and therefore saying something positive?”

I struggle to follow his twisted logic. “No. Because at the heart of it, you’re still being mean about yourself.”

“I’ll stop recognizing my strengths, then.”

“Or maybe you could start.”

It’s a common conversation for us since I first went over to his place. I don’t look into it too deeply or try to force him or anything, but I’m hoping the constant reminders might sink in one day. Xander’s used to putting himself down, and I think it’s a way of protecting himself, but I hate that he doesn’t know any other way to be.

With any luck, his psychologist will help him through it. I’m not bluffing when I say that I won’t play doctor to him anymore.

“In here,” I say and push the door open ahead of us, and then I follow Xander into the room.

It’s a standard-sized bedroom with lots of natural light, the formicarium taking up one wall and cages of bugs stacked on shelves on the other. Most of the cages are empty, but I’ve been slowly adding interesting species to my collection since I got back.

“Fuck, me, the thing is taller than I am,” he says, approaching the formicarium. If I had to guess, I’d say he’s about five eight or five nine, which I happen to think is the perfect height for someone who’s six one. Like me.

I need to stop thinking that way, but I can’t convince my common sense of that. The smart thing would be for us to end this stupid pretend friendship and go our separate ways. To move on. Forget the other person exists.

But when I’m with Xander, I don’t want to be smart. He feels like mine. He acts like mine. In another universe, we met at random and are already dating. In that universe, I can touch him whenever I want.

Which is always. The mixture of sweet, snarky, and sexy is too much for my small brain. The defensive set to his shoulders, the curve of his back, the pop of that mouthwatering ass …

“There’s so many in there,” he says.

I shake off my building lust and go join him. “Yep. The queen took well.”

“What if she didn’t?”

“The colony would have died out like my others … or she would have eaten her workers.”

“Cannibalism. Cool.”

“If you think so.”

He wrinkles his cute nose, and it’s something I’ve noticed him do a lot. I’m not sure if it’s linked to any kind of emotion, but it really draws attention to his freckles, and it makes me wonder. Is the nose wrinkling a habit or specifically calculated to be cute?

It brings something back to mind.

“You said that it makes you uncomfortable when people check you out?”

“Yep.”

“I’m curious why you always dress like you want people to notice you, then?” Xander’s clothes are a mixture of cute and sexy, and I don’t think I’ve seen him in anything casual. Even during winter, all covered up, there’s something about him that drags your attention in. “I don’t mean that in a slut-shaming way, more, like, your hair color, for example. Or those thigh-high socks you like to wear. Those things get attention.”

“It’s … complicated. I want the attention. I want people to look at me and think I’m pretty but not get the chance to look too closely.”

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