Page 93 of Like You Want It
Me: Look, being home doesn’t automatically mean I want to have visitors. I just got done teaching yoga and I’m gross.
Me: So
Me: What can I help you with?
There’s a pause where I watch him typing and then deleting and then typing again. Finally, my phone vibrates with his words.
Fin: I need your help
Me: With?
Fin: Oh come on. It’s hard enough to admit I need help. Can you please answer your door?
This time, I finally give in, heading over to the door and pulling it open with a mischievous smile on my face.
His eyes peruse my neon green yoga pants and black tank top. “If you ever tell me again that you’re gross, when in actuality, you look like that? I’ll never speak to you again.”
I laugh. “As opposed to every other day when you can’t help but talk my ear off?”
He smiles, something so rare from him, then clears his throat and stands straighter, his eyes looking around my apartment from the doorway. “Can I come in?”
I step back and wave my hand to indicate he should step in. “Please, make yourself at home.”
The words feel strange on my lips. Who says that?Make yourself at home.It’s like something you’d hear on those Saturday morning family sitcoms that Caleb used to watch when he was a kid.
Fin steps in, dominating my small kitchen and living room. Funny, I don’t remember him filling the space this much when he was here last time.
My stomach flips as my mind goes to the night after The Rodeo, when I was sprawled out on the tile, his mouth taking me to higher places.
But no, that wasn’t the last time he was here. He was here two weeks ago, pushing into my apartment and kissing me like he didn’t even know why.
I turn away and open my fridge. “Want some water?”
“No that’s okay.”
“So, Finmore, how can I help you?”
He smiles again. “What’s the deal with the nicknames? I’ve been trying to figure it out, and I don’t get it.”
“I don’t know,” I reply, twisting open the top of my water bottle and taking a swig. “It just comes out when you’re around. I guess I just think it’s fun to tease you a little bit.” Another pause. “You seem like someone who isn’t comfortable with being teased, and I have a bad habit of poking people where they’re uncomfortable.”
His head bobs forward twice, assessment in his eyes.
“If it really bothers you, I’ll stop,” I add.
“I like it.” The small smile on his face keeps throwing me for a loop. “It doesn’t bother me.”
“Okay then.”
I take another sip of my water, watching him look at my apartment again. “Did you really think I was a drug dealer?”
He gives me a devilish grin. “Nah. But I did think you were going to be absolutely nuts.”
“Well. That’s a fact I’ve never tried to debate.”
Fin takes a seat at my small kitchen table that doubles as a desk if I need to do anything important, like pay bills or mess around on my computer.
Right now, it’s covered with crafting supplies.
