Page 93 of The Singles Club
We didn’t say much as we got onto the elevator. Her fingers twisted around the handle in a tight grip. When we got inside, I helped pull the bags into the master bedroom. “I made some space for you in the closet and the dresser.”
“Thank you.”
“Oh, and the sink on the left is for you too, the cabinets and drawers are empty.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll let you unpack.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “Is there anything you want for dinner?”
She slipped her backpack from her shoulder and placed it by the other bags. She looked more than overwhelmed. “Whatever you decide is fine.”
I brushed her cheek, tucking a curl behind her ear. “I know this is only temporary and a lot to absorb, but please, try to see this place as yours as much as it is mine. You’re not a guest. This will be your home until you move to Paris, okay?”
She nodded, her hands slipping into mine. “Do you like pizza and Greek salad?”
“I love pizza. What kind would you like?”
“I probably shouldn’t order this, but barbeque chicken with onions would be awesome…. I mean, if you like that too. We could have something different if you want.”
“Or I can order two pizzas… or we can do half and half?”
“Half and half sounds good.”
“Alright, I’ll order it and pick it up while you unpack.” I kissed her, being sure not to linger before I’d get myself into trouble. That mouth was dangerously sexy, and I had to hold back the desire to gently bite her bottom lip and taste her again.
This was going to be a long ten days of good behavior.
* * *
Vivian
Dinner was…awkward. Which was weird, because we’d had dinners together before. We’d spent countless hours in dance lessons, and it had never felt like this with him. Maybe this moving in together thing was rushed. It felt forced, and I couldn’t help but feel like I was invading his personal space.
“Would you like to watch a movie?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said too quickly. It was something we enjoyed together… plus, we wouldn’t have to sit here trying to come up with meaningless conversations to break the tense silence hovering around us.
“Anything in particular?”
“I pickedSabrinalast time, how about you pick?”
“Okay.”
If he picks a Katharine Hepburn or Jimmy Stewart movie, then that means this move-in was a good idea and I should just relax. If he chooses a Hitchcock or Billy Wilder movie, then it was a mistake.
“I haven’t seenCasablancain a while.”
Oh. Not one I’d expected. What did that mean?
Neutral. Not bad and not good.
“Sounds great.”
He sat down next to me, closer than he normally would, but still leaving enough space that our bodies didn’t touch. He pressed play, and as he set the remote between us, he reached for my hand.
Now I felt even more awkward, like I was thirteen all over again in a movie theater with my date.
During the opening scene, as the plane flew above Rick's Café Américain, my tummy rumbled. My eyes widened as I looked down at my bloated belly. Gas.
