Page 32 of The Romantic Agenda
“What?” Joy asks. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” Summer says quickly. Malcolm doesn’t answer.
Joy shrugs, turning back around. She grabs the soap, squeezing it onto the sponge. “Why be cool when you can dazzle?” she says to Fox. “Good luck figuring that one out.”
“Oh, I will,” he says and thenwinksback at her.
Nine
The food delivery arrives right on time. Malcolm wastes no time shooing Joy and Fox out of the kitchen, but Summer stays behind. He’s going to teach her how to make... something. The dinner menu isn’t listed on the agenda.
Fox says, “Joke’s on him. Summer can’t cook. At all.”
“Malcolm’s a good teacher. There’s also recipe cards.”
“At. All.”
Joy laughs as they sit on the couch together. “What should we do, then? Sitting here is nice. It’s an extremely comfortable couch.”
“It is. But sitting might be too passive.”
Joy glances toward the kitchen. Malcolm and Summer aren’t worried about them in the slightest. All their focus is devoted to each other and the food.
Fox continues, “We need to come up with something they can see us doing while they’re cooking.” His arms are loose at his sides, but he taps his right thumb against his knee as he thinks. He’swearing a gold band—there’s an engraving on it but the words are hard to make out.
“Like what? I don’t really know what couples are supposed todo.”
“The most important thing is we spend time together.” Fox scratches the side of his face. “I have an idea, but I’ll have to touch you.”
Joy eyes him, trying to keep her suspicions at a non-antagonistic level. “Touch me where?”
“Wherever you want. I’ll be right back.”
Fox rises from the couch and heads for the kitchen. He asks Summer something, she nods with a grin, and then he leaves, taking the stairs two at a time.
As much as Joy doesn’t want to admit it, the fish out of water vibes are thriving at the moment. Relying on him when his idea starts withI’ll have to touch youis mildly terrifying because it’s way too open-ended. She’s never dated, but she isn’tinexperienced.
Dating suggested eventual permanence. An agreement to join forces and be something together to see where it leads. She’s never done anything of the sort. The furthest she’s gone is connecting—that’s what she likes to call it. Malcolm has always been the only one for Joy, but she’s kissed people before.
Joy actually likes kissing. Quite a bit. At parties with friends of friends of friends, after spending time together, talking all night, and maybe drinking a little too much. She doesn’t suddenly get filled with a raging passionate fire and the only thing that can put it out is sex. Kissing someone, being close enough to share body heat, to caress their skin and revel in the texture, to touch and memorize their face and feel their breath, the rise and fall of their chest—that’s an experience all its own. A connection.
But it always stops there. No calls. No messages. Noexchanging contact info. One night, a couple of hours, and a handful of kisses doesn’t mean she isn’t thinking about Malcolm or that she doesn’t want to be with him anymore. It’s a nice distraction from the pain, until her heart pipes up:No one will ever accept you the way Malcolm has. No one will ever understand you the way Malcolm does. No one will ever love you the way Malcolm could.
No matter how hard she tries, she can’t think her way out of that logic because deep down she believes it.
When Fox returns, he hands her a package. She reads the label. “Temporary body markers. Why do you have these?”
“They’re not mine.” He sits beside her again. “Summer loves tattoos but is too scared to get one, so she uses these all the time instead.”
“Your plan is to give me a temporary tattoo? Well, okay. Rome and all that. Can you draw?”
“I’m decent. Where do you want it?”
“Right here, please.” Joy places her arm on the back of the couch, palm up. “Just under the crease.”
“I’m going to touch you now.” It’s a statement but the question is in his eyes. Not quite worried. Not confident either.
Joy nods to give her consent. Fox takes his time, moving at a measured, even pace. His rough hands glide gently along her skin, repositioning her arm to give him clear access. She gets the distinct feeling he’s treating her with kid gloves, like she’s a scared cat who’ll lash out at him if he moves too fast. Slowly, because she doesn’t want to startle him either, she slides toward him to make it easier for him to work. There’s a clear swath of space between their torsos, but their heads are bent together, their knees touching.
