Page 31 of Yours, Unexpectedly

Gabe

Anders is spending Christmas with us.

Ben

Good. Maybe Mom and Dad won’t notice the dent in my car if they are focused on the Golden Child.

Jules

Doubtful.

Gabe

Bex? You good?

Your silence means yes.

I’m not going to lie, the whole Cassie thing really freaked me out last night. I keep having flashbacks to the times I would pick Gabe and Anders up from various parties while they were in undergrad. Anders never had trouble with the ladies.

Also, I realize saying “with the ladies” makes me sound eighty years old but I am, self-admittedly, very quirky. An old soul, if you will.

And very different from gorgeous blondes named Cassie, who are also probably extremely talented or else they wouldn’t be in an MFA program.

It’s not even that I'm putting myself down right now. I have worked really hard on liking, and loving, myself, just the way I am. I guess I still just have a hard time wrapping my head around Anders wanting to date me. Something that has been a literal dream of mine for years.

And since I’m having such a hard time with this, I panic-arrived at Anders’ apartment fifteen minutes early and have been awkwardly standing in the hallway ever since.

Every time I raise my fist to knock, my bones all lock up—my fight, flight, or freeze response activating. I feel like I’m an interloper in my own life and I don’t like that. I’m about to turn around and just go home when I hear Anders’ voice through the door.

“Are you ever going to come in or are you just going to stand there all morning? I have black coffee for you, but you have to open the door.”

And just like that, he sets me at ease. The way he knows me sometimes knocks me off my feet. Feelings I never felt with Jack come so easily with Anders.

“I also have chocolate chip pancakes!” he sing-songs, still keeping the door between us, knowing I might need processing time.

Oh, I’m fucked alright.

“This is ridiculous, Bex. I’m opening the door.” When he does just that, he’s standing there in gray fucking sweatpants, a plain white T-shirt, a backwards baseball hat, and a cocky grin on his face.

“I was wrong, I can’t do this.”

Before I can turn around, head back home, and wake up from what is obviously a fever dream, Anders grabs me by the shoulders and gently guides me into the apartment.

“Yes you can. I believe in you,” he says, not even knowing why he should believe in me.

Strong hands lead me over to the kitchen table and gently push me down into a chair. A mug of black coffee and a heaping plate of the chocolatiest chocolate chip pancakes are laid in front of me. I absentmindedly swipe my finger through the whipped cream and suck it off. A groan comes from across the table, and that’s when I realize that Anders has taken the place across from me, where he seems to always be.

“Don’t do that,” he growls and holy hell, I didn’t know that happened in real life.

His obvious arousal—well, that and the backwards baseball cap—gives me the confidence I need. I swipe a finger through the whipped cream again, exaggerating each movement as I place it on my tongue. Lips pursed around my finger, I suck gently, hollowing out my cheeks as I slowly pull it from my mouth.

His eyes widen, not expecting my boldness. “Damn,” he whispers, almost reverently. He clears his throat, slightly shaking his head.

“So… why, uh—shit,” he mumbles. “Why did you come over last night?”

Why did I… Oh! Yes. That's why we’re here this morning. Not so I can suck whipped cream off my perfectly manicured finger.

Maybe we can come back to that later, though.

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