Page 33 of Exes and O's

“How?”

“When it’s a bad day, you stomp around a little and raid my snack stash before showering. When it’s a good day, you still raid my snacks, but when you shower, you hum a tune that sounds suspiciously like ‘I Knew You Were Trouble’ by Taylor Swift.”

He appears semi-amused (and doesn’t deny his shower song), so I push a little further. “Now that I’ve proven myself, I reserve the right to ask you something important.”

He swallows nervously, bracing for it.

“Who was your first celebrity crush?” I ask, lifting my top half out of the water to get some relief from the heat.

I can’t confirm, but I think Trevor’s eyes drifted to my chest for a fraction of a second.

“He looks like a Pamela Anderson type to me,” Gerald chimes in, jabbing a thumb in Trevor’s direction.

Trevor gives him a look of solidarity. “I liked Pam. Britney Spears too.”

I smirk. “That’s very... typical.”

Trevor angles toward Gerald. “Gerald, who was your first celebrity crush?”

“Miss Dolly Parton,” he responds proudly. He waves a hand toward me, signaling it’s my turn.

“I have many. The kid fromCasperwas probably my very first. But I’d say my first sexual awakening was Zac Efron in hisHigh School Musicaldays.”

“What got you? The sweeping bangs? The piercing blue eyes?” Trevor asks.

“Definitely his angry dance inHigh School Musical 2.”

“I won’t even pretend to know what you’re talking about,” he says with a headshake.

“Nowadays, I’m pretty into Dwight Schrute,” I inform.

Trevor chokes. “FromThe Office?”

“Yup.”

“Do you mean Jim?”

“Nope. Dwight.”

He shoots me a disturbed look. “Are we thinking of the same Dwight? Glasses? Owns a beet farm?”

“The only Dwight on the show,” I confirm. “Okay, hear me out—”

He lobs his head back with his deep laugh. “Are you really going to try to convince me Dwight Schrute gets your motor running?”

“He does. You wouldn’t understand,” I shoot back, drawing my shoulders up in defense.

“What gets you hot? The puke-mustard short-sleeved dress shirts? His affinity forBattlestar Galactica?”

“His pure dedication to Angela, of course. Anyway, you’re distracting me.” I clear my throat, eager to keep this going. “Next question. Why did you become a firefighter?”

Trevor’s face hardens to stone. “It’s not an interesting story.”

“You’re the worst.” When I reach to retighten my bun, I note my fingers are prunes and my hair is starting to frost. It’s time to get out of here. I stand to exit the tub. The moment the frigid air hits my skin, gooseflesh erupts. I make a mad dash for my towel on the lounge chair.

Trevor nods his chin toward Gerald as he steps out of the gurgling water, swim trunks dripping. “Have a good night.”

Fifteen minutes later, I’m warm and dry, star-fishing with a book in my usual spot on the living room floor. I’m bundled in my flannel pajamas, partway through my chapter, when Trevor emerges in respectable sweatpants and a T-shirt. I expect him to walk over me and head for the television, or simply judge me from above, but surprisingly, he stretches out on the floor next to me.

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