Page 12 of Pitcher Us
“I don’t mind walking.”
“I mind,” he says, and I can’t tell if it’s out of care or to get me out of his hair.
Slightly bummed that this night seems to be ending on a weird note, I take his hand and let him help me off. I’m not entirely sure my pride would recover from busting it on the concrete. Once I’m sturdy he reaches for the helmet, and I let him do it.
“Did you bring your lobby key?” he asks.
Is he implying something here? Yeah, my door might not have been locked again when Adam came to pick me up. I might be forgetful, but I’m not helpless. “Yes, of course I did.”
“Good. I just wanted to make sure Adam didn’t tell you to leave yours since you were supposed to be with him.”
“Oh, right.” I’m not going to willingly admit that Adam had one hundred percent suggested that before we walked out of my place.
“Um, well, thanks for bringing me home.”
“Yeah, no problem,” he says dryly before sliding back on his bike and pulling his helmet over his head.
I hold my eye roll until I’ve turned to walk toward the entrance when a cold breeze whips by. Then it dawns on me. “Oh, I almost forgot.” I turn back to him to find him watching me as I start to take his sweatshirt off.
“You can give it back to me later.” He doesn’t give me any time to argue as he slides his visor down and drives off, leaving me confused as hell on the sidewalk.
I overanalyze the last half hour of events in my head until I’m back in my apartment. How can it feel like something happened between us, but nothing changed at the same time?
I’m overthinking this, I'm sure of it. I hyper fixate on everything, and it’s so draining. Everything about tonight was just a simple favor. A guy taking his friend's little sister home. Him being neighborly, eco-friendly really. So tell me why I’vereplayed our conversations in my head a million times? Thought of ten different things I should have said and twenty different ways to start the conversation with him next time we run into each other?
My brain is exhausting.
Walking into my bathroom I rip Will’s sweatshirt over my head and throw it on the floor of my bedroom. I take off my makeup and comb the knots out of my hair before putting on some pajama shorts and a cami.
In my mind I walk to my couch and plop my butt down to watch some bad reality TV until I pass out.
In reality, I stare at Will’s sweatshirt on the floor for a second too long and now it’s the only thing that sounds remotely comfortable right now. Damn it, why did it have to be so soft and warm? I swear, when he pulled it over my head in the parking lot it smelled so freaking good.
What was that smell? It was a softer scent, definitely wasn’t any of those typical guy smells. Maybe I need to smell it just one more time, to get the scent right.
Picking it back up I impulsively put it back on, convinced it’s the best way to decide what the smell actually is.
Vanilla? It’s almost beachy…cedarwood? No, it’s sweeter. Bringing the collar up again, I take a deep breath in. Coconut! Oh hell, I might love him for this.
Satisfied with myself in figuring it out, I don’t think twice about leaving it on. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s warm and smells like one of my favorite scents. It’s only weird if I think too hard about it and I’m in my own apartment. Who’s going to know?
As I walk into my living room there’s a loud knock at my door and suddenly it dawns on me—Adam. I ditched him without saying a word and totally forgot to tell him that I made it back here safe. He’s going to chew my butt out.
A loud knock comes again, and I swing the door open with my apology ready. “Adam, I’m so sor—Will?”
Why is he here? Why is he staring?
Jolting like he’s coming out of a glitch, he stammers, “I…uh, I wanted to make sure you made it inside okay?”
“You brought me here. Did you hit your head on the arm bar in the parking garage or something?”
A surprising chuckle rattles out of him. “No, I just realized that I drove off before I saw that you made it into the building okay.”
“Oh.” I don’t know what to say. I’m rarely rendered speechless, but this was not at all what I was expecting.
“Clearly you managed fine.” There’s a sly smile forming on his face as he looks down my body. “Sweatshirt looks good on you, Callie.”
I look down, hiding my blush at the fact that he's aware I put it back on because I’m clearly not in my jeans anymore. By the time I look up, ready to spit out the first excuse that comes to my mind, he’s already walking in his door.
