Page 119 of Pick-Up
“No. Which is why asking you to identify yourself is null. You’d be like, ‘Amazon delivery.’ And I’d be like, ‘Cool! Come in!’ And the rest is a crime scene.”
He brings a hand to his head like he might literally pull his hairout in tufts. Only he won’t. Because he and I both know his hair is too good to waste.
“What about your neighbors? What about protecting them?”
“From you?”
“Apparently from yourself!”
I want to know what he’s doing here, but I also want to drop kick him. I can’t decide which impulse is stronger. I decide just to stare him down. He bites his lip under my gaze, rethinking his entrance. And damn if my eyes don’t linger on his mouth.
Only then do I think to wonder if myBack to the Futureshirt is see-through—or ratherhowsee-through. It’s a super-thin oldie that I don’t generally wear in public.
Oh well. Too late.
“So, um, to recap, yeah, it’s me,” he says finally. He’s a bit nervous. I can tell because his eyes keep flitting to the floor.
“You know where I live?”
“Oh, is this your house?”
I tilt my head, impatient. At least, I think I’m impatient. I have so many feelings about him being here that I can’t unscramble them. That’s it! I am scrambled.
“Yes,” he says. “By some miracle, I found a class list.”
“Go figure.”
“Go figure.”
“Found it in an old email?” I ask, calling his bluff.
“Um. Found it at the school office where they took pity on me?” He shrugs, sheepish. “Kaitlin was always in there helping with PTA mailers and stuff. I got to know the ladies.”
If I’m honest, I’m impressed. Not by the school office staff, who should not be handing out private information willy-nilly, but, by this man, who has gone out of his way to sleuth me out.
But why didn’t he just check my HR file atEscapade? Then I realize.
“Derek said no?”
“Derek said no.”
I lean against the doorframe, thickened with countless coats of paint, the ghosts of tenants past. “And yet you’re here, against his better judgment. Stalking me.”
“Mm.” He cracks a smile, his one-sided dimple making an appearance. “This is light stalking at most. A person can only loiter in the Crispix aisle hoping to run into you for so long.”
“If you say so.”
A silence hangs between us as I wait for him to speak.
“I know I could have called,” he says finally, running a hand over his five-o’clock shadow. “But I just got back, and I wanted to find you.”
I am not sure how I feel about this. On one hand, even when I’m angry, I crush hard on this man. Just the sight of him sends something untoward rocketing through me. Am I even angry anymore? Or more ambivalent? Unsure?Afraid?
Ethan looks as good as always, his contrite expression a welcome accessory. The wall-mounted mirror behind him reflects his angles from all angles. And, I realize, he is carrying a white canvas bag from Citrine’s resort gift shop.
I take it back. Some men can wear totes.
On the other hand, this man disappeared on me. We had a disagreement, and he ghosted. He didn’t even emerge from his room to say goodbye.
