Page 38 of The Boyfriend List
At this angle, I’d die if I did anythingbutkiss her.
Her brown eyes are wide and soft, her lips full and parted in an ‘o’ of surprise as she wraps her arms around my neck. All I want is to hold her against me and never let go. To breathe in her perfume for the rest of my life. To feel her softness and warmth flush against my body, like she was made for me. To cleave to her and never be separated.
The song comes to an abrupt end, and a Spotify ad starts playing, effectively killing the moment.
I blink. She untangles herself from me and brushes invisible lint from her jean shorts. “We neverfinished our bubble tea.”
“Right.” My hands feel cold and empty now that they’re no longer touching her. Having felt the texture of her hair, the heat of her skin, the weight of her in my arms—it was addicting. The urge to hold her is no longer a casual whim, but a craving too strong to control. “Bubble tea. And the egg waffles.”
But neither of us moves from the living room. We stay there, only a few feet apart, staring at one another as the Spotify ad plays.
“Thanks for teaching me how to dance,” I say. It doesn’t feel like enough. I want to thank her for everything. I want to tell her thatshe’severything to me.
A ringtone chirps on her phone just as I’m about to give in to the urge. She grabs it and shuns my eye contact like a pilgrim would the scarlet letter.
“Hey, what’s up?” she says. “Oh, right! I totally forgot that was today… Thanks for confirming… I can be ready in forty-five minutes… See you there. Sorry!”
“Who was that?” I ask her, even though the sinking feeling in my stomach tells me I already know the answer.
“My date tonight. I totally forgot I was seeing him.” She puts her phone down and grabs a hairbrush from the island. “How do I look?”
Perfect.
Beautiful.
Like you belong in my arms and no one else’s.
“Great,” I say, hoping my voice doesn’t sound as strangled as my heart feels. “Good luck with your date. I’ll get out of your hair.”
“This was fun,” she says, but it’s with the halfhearted pity of someone trying to make an awkward encounter less strained. “I’ll, um, see you at work.”
“Of course.” I grab my drink and egg waffle. “See you.”
Chapter Thirteen: Gloria
Ilied to London.
I didn’t ‘forget’ that I had a date tonight.
I just hoped that my date would conveniently ghost me like so many other guys have.
Dancing with London was so fun that I never wanted it to end.
And if that stupid Spotify ad hadn’t come on, it would’ve been the perfect moment for him to kiss me.
And the worst part is that I desperately wanted him to.
From the ice cream to the horseback riding to the dancing, I feel like I’ve been on more dates with London than I have with the random guys I’ve been meeting online.
Which is so,sowrong.
Friends don’t date, or kiss, or obsess about how the other looks shirtless. And he’s a friend, not a boyfriend. So why does my brain keep running through my boyfriend list criteria when I’m around him?
Knows how to dance.
Can ride a horse.
Doesn’t order boring ice cream flavours.
