Page 78 of Script Swap
“How is this supposed to be helping?”
“He fell in love withyou.Because he connected withyou.Because you understand him, and because you bring out the best in him, parts of him he’s never been able to share with anyone else before, and because you make him feel alive and happy and wonderful.”Fox’s voice softened.“Full of wonder.Literally.Have you ever seen how he watches you?”Some of the softness went away when Fox added, “Particularly when you’re presented with a birthday cake.”
“That’s because birthday cake is the most delicious of all cakes.”I gave up on the flannel.I looked around the (admittedly blurry) van, staring at everything, trying to find something to latch on to.“Fox, I appreciate you saying all of that.”
“But?”
“But things have been so weird.Everything’s different.I’m a different person.I mean, I don’t even knowwhoI am.And Bobby keeps being the absolute weirdest.He talks about moving.And he talks about changing jobs.And it’s clear that whatever part I have in that future, it’s hypothetical at best.”
With what might have been called a long-suffering sigh, Fox tilted their carbide lamp, adjusting it as though to see me better.“At the risk of suggesting something obvious,” they said, “have you tried talking to him?”
Chapter 18
Bobby was in his bedroom when Fox dropped me off at Hemlock House.
Notourbedroom, the one that had started off as mine but that we now shared.Where we slept together, unless Bobby was working a weird shift, or I was pulling an all-nighter (not the working version, but the gaming-with-Keme-until-Indira-yells-at-you version), or I was having night terrors aboutFive Nights at Freddy’s.(Bobby never should have let me read those books.)
He was inhisbedroom, the one he’d taken when he’d moved into Hemlock House.The one we had all thought was only going to be temporary.And then it had been less temporary.And then everything had changed between Bobby and me, and the room became a place for Bobby to keep his clothes and display his expensive sneakers and occasionally get a solid night’s sleep without me thinking that Chuck-E-Cheese’s evil cousins were going to get me.
When I opened the door, he looked up, expression caught somewhere between wariness and—God, it hurt me to call it hope.He sat crisscross on the floor, a large storage tote next to him, papers spread out around him.His hair was wet, but he was wearing the same clothes I’d seen him in earlier, so he hadn’t showered; damp spots on his shoulders suggested he’d gone out in the rain.After me, most likely.Because I was—officially—an idiot.
“Hey,” I said.
Bobby hopped up; papers slid from his lap.“Hey.You’re okay.”
“Uh, yes.Extremely melodramatic, but okay.”
His hesitation was worse than anything I’d expected, like he wasn’t sure if he could come closer or touch me or—or I didn’t know.But he was still Bobby Mai, so he said, “You’re wet,” and he disappeared into the bathroom.
Doors opened and closed.Drawers slid on runners.When he came back, he was carrying a towel and a dry change of clothes.He laid the clothes on the bed, slung the towel across my shoulders, and began to dry my hair with extreme prejudice.Then he froze.
“Is this okay?”he said.“I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s—Bobby,I’msorry.”
Neither of us said anything for a moment.Then he went back to working the towel over my hair, but more slowly this time.The movement was pleasant, and the pressure, and that wonderful feeling of slowly getting dry.The faint hint of fresh laundry faded into the clean, sporty scent of his deodorant.When he finished with my hair, he grabbed the towel by each end and gave it a little shimmy.
For some reason, I laughed.And then tears welled in my eyes.
“Babe,” Bobby said, “what’s going on?”
And there were a million things I wanted to say—apologies, mostly—but because I am perpetually, inescapably, ineluctably Dashiell Dawson Dane, what came out was “I fell and hurt my knee.”And then, more a moan than actual words: “Oh my God, what is wrong with me?”
But instead of legitimate outrage, that big grin flashed across Bobby’s face, and then a slightlytooserious look swallowed it up.
“Come on,” he said.
He turned me out of my tee.He knelt and took off my shoes—I think there might have been a clucking sound of disapproval at the state of the laces.Socks, joggers, and underwear next.(They were gray, and they’d been expensive, and they were mature and appropriate and not cute at all.) He inspected my knee, which had a red mark but no broken skin.That earned me a kiss on my war wound, and then I got more of that vigorous rub-down.In spite of alotof nakedness right then, it wasn’t sexy at all.It was—well, the wordbracingcomes to mind, like if an extremely handsome polar explorer had plucked me out of a crevasse and was trying to make sure I didn’t have hypothermia, and there was only one sleeping bag, and we’d have to share body heat to make it through the night.
Okay, let’s be real: being naked with Bobby under any circumstances was bound to produce, uh, a reaction.
“Really?”Bobby said.“Now?”
“I can’t help it,” I said.“Did you know you have muscles in your neck?”
Bobby’s expression suggested this was not as flattering as I considered it, but he was a perfect gentleman as he helped me step into a clean, dry pair of joggers and pulled them up.Next was a heavy sweatshirt—one of his, which was immediately obvious because instead of something awesome like video games or a comic book character on it, it said OREGON STATE.It was unbelievably soft, and it smelled a little like Bobby in the best possible way, and I was starting to realize I had a gold mine of Boyfriend Wear waiting for me in Bobby’s winter collection.
He sat me on the bed and rolled socks onto my feet.And then he did the Bobby-est thing ever: he gave me this little waggle with his eyebrows, and then he adjusted the socks until I nodded, because he knew I hated when they didn’t fit right.(Everyone who isn’t a serial killer hates socks that don’t fit right.)
