Page 21 of Chasing Sunsets

Me: Pillow fights and chick flicks?

Anson: I’m a master pillow fighter. I’ll even braid your hair.

Me: Wow, handsome and multitalented.

Anson: You think I’m handsome?

Shit.

Me: Eh, if you’re into the tall, tanned beach-bum type. Which I’m not.

Anson: Right. You’re just looking for a pal. I remember.

Me: And you think you’re up for the job?

Anson: Absolutely. I take my jobs very seriously too.

Me: So, what does the job of being my pal entail?

Anson: Well, let’s see. Checking in on you at night. Keeping those pesky, mean seagulls in line. Making sure no one else tries to climb into your bed.

My breath catches. The air in the RV suddenly feels warmer.

Me: Anson.

Anson: What? I’m just saying, it’s a very important role. Requires a certain level of dedication.

Me: Sounds like a tough job.

Anson: I can handle it.

I squeeze the phone a little tighter, staring at the screen. We’re toeing a line we said we wouldn’t cross.

But neither of us is stepping back.

Me: I thought we were just friends.

Anson: We are.

A pause. Then …

Anson: Friends can flirt.

I swallow hard.

Me: Is that what we’re doing?

Anson: I don’t know. You tell me.

I close my eyes, exhaling slowly. This was supposed to be simple. Just friends. That’s what I asked for.

But here I am, curled up in my bed, heart racing because of him.

Me: Maybe just a little.

Anson: That’s what I thought.

Another pause.

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