Page 29 of Riptide

“Okay, cool,” he says, scratching the back of his neck, trying and failing to play it cool. “That’s...cool.”

I tuck my lips between my teeth, holding in a chuckle.

Then his grin breaks through again, all teeth and mischief. “For the record, that was easily in my top three ever hookups. In fact,” he adds, winking as he backs toward the door, “I’d boldly put you at number one.”

And then he leaves, and I don’t even realize I’m still grinning until my cheeks start to ache.

***

Saturday morning arrives with the faint hum of my phone vibrating on the nightstand. I blink awake, squinting at the screen. It’s a notification from the app where I met Finn, and my heart catapults behind my ribs.

But that hope quickly dies when I see it’s not him. It’s a stranger with a generic greeting. I swipe it away, uninterested, and I can’t help the disappointment that plagues me as I get out of bed and head for the shower. I need to start my day with a fresh slate, clear mind. Not stuck on some of the best sex I’ve ever had. And it wasn’t even full sex; it was messing around. I try so hard not to focus on the fact we said we’d do it again, and the fact I’m itching to message him asking when. I’m not going to be that needy guy. I need to give him at least a little space, right? Fuck, I’m so out of the loop with casual dating.

Thirty minutes later, I’m dressed and about to find my shopping bags, when there’s a knock at my door. I open it tofind Eugene standing there, hands tucked into the pockets of his windbreaker.

“You ready, neighbor?” he asks, tapping his tote bag over his shoulder.

“Let’s go,” I reply as I grab my keys and bags and step out to join him.

The walk to the farmers’ market is familiar, the roads winding behind our apartment building. Eugene chats about the best tomatoes and the cutthroat politics of the local beekeeping community he’s a part of. I nod along, but my mind drifts back to the app notification, to the way I’d hoped it was Finn. I hardly notice the root vegetables I’d planned on buying as I walk by them, or the fresh herbs and spices that I wanted to get. I’m too distracted.

Eugene nudges my shoulder. “Are you listening?” he asks, squinting at me while juggling a carton of eggs.

“I always listen to you, Eugene.” Except for right now.

He quirks an eyebrow. “No, you’re distracted today. You’ve got that look.”

I scoff. “What look?”

“The ‘I had sex’ look,” he says bluntly.

I splutter a cough and duck my head, but I can’t fight the smile that tugs at my lips. And as we wander toward the stand with the apple cider donuts, with me still keeping my mouth shut, Eugene nudges me again. “So…” he says. “Was it worth it?”

“Can we not do this here?” I feign innocence, perusing the deliciously glazed treats.

“There’s a guy you’re clearly hoping will message you back,” he says, eyes twinkling. “You’ve checked your phone three times, and you never do that.”

I laugh softly, more to myself, because I didn’t even realize I’ve been checking it. “Yeah,” I admit. “It was worth it.”

Eugene chuckles. “Well, then,” he says, eyeing the tray of donuts, “grab one each of those, and let’s walk a little slower.”

“Eugene, I’m not about to talk about my sex life with you. It was a great night with a great guy. That’s all you need to know.”

“That’s unfair.” He pouts, bushy grey eyebrows drawn. “I have to live vicariously through you.”

I snort at that. “Says the guy who has Margerie from upstairs over for dinner once a week. You do enough living, old man.”

Eugene pays for the donuts and throws me a look. “Margerie and I play cribbage, Foxx.Cribbage. There’s no scandal there, despite what your overactive imagination might think.”

“Cribbage is that what they’re calling it these days?” I say dryly. “And I suppose the candlelit dinners and homemade pies are just part of the game strategy?”

Eugene grins, unrepentant. “A gentleman never tells. Just tell me this, are you going to see him again?”

“Are you saying I’m not a gentleman, Eugene?”

He gives me a don’t-give-me-that look, and I hesitate. It was a hookup, we both knew that. But I have no idea what this is now. Friends with benefits? Were we even friends beforehand? It’s not lost on me that it’s probably not my wisest idea to get involved with someone a lot younger than me, but I know one thing is true; I don’t want to call it off. “Yeah, maybe. I don’t know right now.” My reply is weak, and somehow hopeful.

Eugene hums. “A maybe is just a yes waiting for confidence.”

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