Page 26 of The Seven Year Slip

I let go of him and stepped back, wiping my hands on my jeans. I felt my stomach twisting itself into knots. The warm feeling in my middle turned icy. “I”—I swallowed the lump in my throat—“I think you got the wrong idea.”

9

First Impressions

He gave me aconfused look. “About what?”

Was it hot in here, or was it just me? “I don’t think—we—this...” I just had to go out and say it. Draw the line, because it very much needed to be drawn. “I’m not going to sleep with you,” I blurted.

His eyebrows jerked up in surprise. A blush quickly rose across his cheeks, and he choked on his own breath. “I—I wasn’t—no, no, that’s fine. I wasn’t thinking you would, Lemon.”

“Oh. Well.” I averted my gaze. I felt embarrassed. A fool. I looked anywhere—everywhere—but at him. “Just so we’re clear, then.”

“Of course,” he replied, quickly recovering. “I’m sorry if I gave you that impression.”

“You didn’t! I just—I don’t think it’d be a good idea. You’re staying at my aunt’s place, I’m staying here, too...”Seven years in the future, I added in my head. “I just really don’t want to complicate things. Sorry,” I added, because I just didn’tdothis. For a variety ofreasons, but mostly because he wasveryhandsome, and I was very much attracted to him, and that was the kind of surprise that I did not see coming. Oh,andwe were separated by seven years.

Nothing good could come out of this.

Rule number two, I reminded myself.

I grabbed our plates and deposited them in the sink—like I should’ve done instead of dance with him. It was a mistake. Above us, Miss Norris worked her way through a Sondheim. I grabbed a sponge.

Iwan gave a start, rising from his chair. “You don’t have to—”

“You cooked,” I said, waving him to sit back down. “I clean. That’s the rule.”

“And what if I want to get some practice in for my future dishwashing gig?”

“If you’re that bad,” I said, letting the water run for a bit until it got hot, “then I hate to say it, but you might need to start looking for a new profession.”

He mocked a gasp. “Rude!”

“Truthful.” I put the plates in the sink, and turned back to him fully. “The dinner was lovely, Iwan. Thank you. I almost don’t regret not kicking you out of the apartment.” His mouth fell open in a question as I went to pull some blankets out of the linen closet. He was still giving me that perplexed look when I returned, two pillows and an afghan under my arms.

“Almost?” he asked.

“Someone has to take the couch,” I replied, and decided that it would be me.

He jumped to his feet. “Absolutelynot.”

“Don’t pull the ‘You’re a girl so you deserve the bed’ bullshit, please. Gender roles and stereotypes are not my cup of tea.”

“I’m not, I’m pulling the ‘There’s a perfectly good bed in thereand we are both adults’ card.” He put his hands on his hips, as if posing like a dad could get me to comply.

I opened my mouth, but then he gave me a look—the kind that told me to test him if I dared.

I mumbled, “You look like a parent about to go into a parent-teacher conference.”

“We can even put a pillow between us,” he went on, ignoring me. “You don’t really want to sleep on the couch, do you? And you certainly won’t letme...”

No, I wouldn’t.

“Just—I’ll think about it as I do the dishes,” I added when he went to argue again, but then he raised his hands in defeat and bowed out to take the bathroom first.

The thing was, he wasn’t wrong. We were both adults and there was a perfectly good queen-sized bed in my aunt’s bedroom that we could both sleep in. The couch wasn’t doing anyone any favors—it had always been more for looks than actually fainting on, anyway. But that didn’t mean I had to like it.

I grabbed my chocolate from the table, finally, unwrapped it, and popped it into my mouth. I smoothed out the tinfoil wrapper.Your future is here, it read.

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