Page 19 of Win You Over
And God, that display I walked in on? That hasn’t stopped replaying in my mind, completely unbidden. Remington’s head thrown back in ecstasy, his chest flushed with streaks of pearly cum settling on his defined abs as he saysmyname.….. At the time I had no idea how to feel. Embarrassed perhaps, for walking in on him and not being able to look away. Now I circle from confused, to aroused, to adamant the arousal means nothing, andthenback to confused. I’ve seen Theo naked. Granted, he wasn’t hard or touching his cock but still, his naked body didnothingfor me.
To add to my growing confusion about the guy, the other reason I’m putting off going back to his place is because Idon’thate being in his company. I don’t hate sitting close to him, or the way his house always smells like warmth and comfort and home-cooked meals or the way I feel at ease in his presence.I don’t dislike how he jabbers on about his car or his Agatha Christie collection or the way he never pushes me to answer him. Truth is, I don’t dislike the person Remington is when it’s just the two of us.
It all makes me want to reinforce the walls I keep up with solid steel. Remington and I cannot be friends, not really. We’re too different. Our lives are polar opposites. He’s popular, wealthy and fearless. I’m a struggling loner who fears that Remington’s persistence at driving this friendship thing forward could be a trap. I fell for it once before, and I won’t do it again.
So for today at least, I’m going to keep my distance. Maybe finish what needs to be done on our project alone, and email him a copy. There’s barely anything left to do, anyway. Ignoring his messages about working together, I read the next, which is him asking me if I want to hang out, followed by a photo of his pool table. It’s the last few that have me biting my lip to hold back a smile.
Cat memes. In response to my silence, he’s sent me cat memes. All black cats. All grumpy looking and with one final message:
Remington: Even angry cats need a pet once in a while.
I have no fucking clue what he means and my fingers fly over my phone’s keyboard before I have a chance to talk myself out of it.
Me: That makes no sense.
The message shows as delivered almost instantly. Remington’s reply comes through seconds later.
Remington:Maybe not, but it got you to reply so my plan worked! I’m a genius, but you already knew that, didn’t you,leeutjie?
Little lion. That’s what the internet tells me that word means. The idea of Remington Langford giving me a nickname does something to my stomach akin to butterflies flapping in the wind. It’s strange and unnerving and does nothing to help keep those walls up.
Remington:See you this afternoon? I have a beer with your name on it. It’s artisanal.
Me:No.
Remington:Whisky? Vodka? Nice glass of ice water?
Me:No. I’m not coming to drink with you in your man cave.
Remington:The den is most certainly not a man cave. Just ask my mom. It’s far classier. You would know if you took me up on my many invitations.
Me:Go away. I need to sleep.
Remington:Why are you sleeping in the middle of the day?
Remington:Wait, are you a vampire?
I roll my eyes and ignore the ache in my cheeks from smiling through our entire exchange. I’m meant to hate this guy, but fuck, this version of Remington Langford is…..nice. Way too fucking nice.
Me:Not a vampire. I work night shifts a few days a week.
Remington: Pity. I was hoping you’d bite me and we could live for eternity. How cool would that be?
Me:Goodbye, Remington.
Remington:See you at 5.
It’s not a question and I don’t reply, but my resolve has slipped and Remington Langford has won, yet again.
I lock my phone and chuck it on the floor, then pull my blanket higher and close my eyes, letting my body and mind relax into the nothingness of sleep.
Remington opens the door to me shortly after five.
“Hi,” he greets me, his voice a whisper. His usual warm smile has been replaced by a sheepish biting of his bottom lip. He turns his head to look over his shoulder before taking my arm and dragging me towards the bottom of the stairs.
“Rem? Who was at the door?” His mother’s voice carries from the other room, followed by the sound of her feet on the tiled floor. Remington groans, running a hand over his face.
“Fuck,” he says under his breath before he adds, “play along, please?” His eyes plead with me, but for what, I have no idea.
