Page 18 of I Love You, So What?

“I’m counting on it.” He stares back like he’s daring me.

Okay, I’m not an idiot. Flirting is all but an official job description as a bartender, but I’d be willing to bet at least the $20 I’m going to tip him that he’s picturing fucking me on his motorcycle too. “As much as I’d like to ride your bike, I have to be up early for class with a real bike tomorrow.”

“Huh?”

“Soul Cycle.”

“Ahhh, that’s why your legs look so good in those shorts,” he says, as if it’s more of a realization to himself than a response to me. He slides me the check he’s already printed with only one of my three beers on it. He runs my card as soon as I hand it to him and walks away begrudgingly when a man sits down a couple chairs from me. I sign the slip, pulling a $20 out of my red wristlet and sliding my card back in its place. It could very well be the same bill Troy gave me a couple days ago. Even if I had charged him for both of his drinks, it still would have been an excessive tip. God, good tippers are sexy as hell. It’s probably because he’s in the service industry, but still.

I didn’t understand the note he left on his receipt the other night even though it should have been obvious.Wondering “what if” is the worst thing there is.It wasn’t until I was pulling into my complex that night when my favorite Straylight Runsong came on–this bridge in the opening verse–that it made sense. It’s the song that was playing when Troy dropped me off too.

I wouldn’t read into it, but how else am I supposed to take that? I can’t do anything with feelings attached though, so unless that’s crystal clear, I won’t be making any moves. I glance up to see Troy pouring a beer out of the tap and pick up the pen again to write the changed lyrics from the second bridge.

“Giving in” is the worst thing there is.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

TROY

ReadingthenoteLexyleft on her receipt was a gut punch. On first instinct, it was a total rejection. But then I did that thing girls do, where they read way too much into everything, and decided maybe it wasn’t atotaldismissal. She took the time to not only write a note but knew what mine meant and played my game back. That and leaving her sunglasses when she came to my work was enough to convince me I still have a shot with her. Since I don’t have her phone number, I only have one option.

So, I find myself standing in front of her apartment door–at least the one I’m pretty confident is hers. It was dark when I dropped her off last week. It’s almost 10 a.m., and I spotted Maci’s car in the parking lot, so I’m guessing she’s back from cycle class. I’m praying she lets me in before she’s changed out of her leggings–and that she opens the door for me in the first place.

I knock.

A few seconds go by, and I hear the chain lock being unlatched from the inside. There’s a pause before she slowly opens the door, like she’s debating.

“Troy, hi,” she says when the door stops half way open. I scan the length of her, unable to help myself.

Fuck me.

Figuratively and literally.

She is still wearing her leggings–tight, black and cut low enough to show off her toned stomach–with a red sports bra that does some criss-cross thing over her chest. God damn, this girl is hot. “What are you doing here?” Her voice pulls me out of the fantasy that was forming in my mind.

“I came to make a deal with you.” I smile and step forward, leaning against her door frame, my ankles crossed and my hand in my pocket.

She fights a smile and opens the door a little wider. “Oh yeah? What kind of deal?”

“I’ll give you these…” I pull her sunglasses from my pocket. “If you get ice cream with me. Right now.”

“It’s breakfast time.”

“Are you a rule follower?” I ask daringly, highly doubting she is.

She pauses in thought for a moment. “I just got back from the gym. Can I shower first? Twenty minutes?”

“Take as long as you want.” Cooper’s mom, who I claim as my own, taught me young that the most intelligent thing you can do is give a girl as long as she needs to get ready. I trust her advice and don’t argue.

Lexy opens her door, stepping back to allow me to enter. Her apartment is nice. There’s a closet door right in the entryway which continues on to a small kitchen on the right and a living room on the left. She nods toward the coffee table, completely clear besides a remote. Her whole place is surprisingly uncluttered. There’s nothing on the walls, not a single shred of anything remotely sentimental. I can already tell she is unlike any girl I’ve met.

“You can put something on the TV if you want. I’ll be out soon.” With that, she disappears through a door on the other side of the living room, and I take a seat on her couch. A few moments later I hear the shower turn on. I pull my phone out of my pocket to keep my mind from wandering into the steaming water with her.

Me:Have you rented out my room yet?

Cooper:Not yet. You had to be a dick and leave right before the quarter started when everyone had housing already.

Me:Must be hard having the whole place to yourself while half the mortgage is still being paid.

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