Page 14 of Nerdy Dirty Valentine

Keeping our gazes locked, I moved. James moved. He mirrored me the best he could. I added a step, which he faltered on but kept going to the next.

“That’s it, you got this,” I murmured.

James finished the song badly but with a giant smile.

James was arriving soon, and I was trying to hide any mess. Walking around my apartment, I saw little piles of clutter in the corners that needed to be taken care of. Not that I was horriblydirty or anything, but I wasn’t super neat. I glanced at the clock to see how long I had before James got here.

For the second time this week, we were getting together. James would arrive, sometimes with Ginsberg in tow, and we’d talk decorating and dancing. He always brought me a coffee, no matter the time, and he began to bring little bags of knickknacks. Ceramic items for the bathroom, plants that I’d promised to not kill, and a colorful photo of the red rocks of Sedona for above my dining room table.

I should have put flowers on my table. James would like that touch. And shit, I wanted nothing more than for James to walk in here and give me his approval. To see how badly I wanted that.

I took out the Lysol and wiped the table down, wondering if he was done in this room. I went into the kitchen to check my snacks. That was another part of our routine that I liked: the snack break. I began to keep extra snacks for when James visited. Nothing fancy. Some chips, honey-mustard pretzels or spicy Doritos. Then I thought James might prefer protein and not only junk food. We did need energy for dancing, so I added some cheese and crackers.

“You don’t have to always feed me,” he said.

“It’s a trade for all the coffee you bring.”

Besides, I liked feeding him, even if it was all premade. James ate every time. His energy, when he wasn’t thinking too hard about the dancing part, was all bright and energetic. Whenever he was in my place, the air seemed fresher. It felt stale before.

I sliced some hard salami and crackers, arranged a small fruit platter. Maybe I should have checked with James on these? I was still discovering what foods he preferred. Would he even want all this food in the middle of the afternoon? I fussed a little, movingthe berries around to look nicer, before going into my living room.

I examined my speakers, wanting to have good sound for the playlist I’d created. It was easier to focus on the food or the music than all of these new feelings bubbling inside of me.

For the second half of our “lessons,” we’d dance. God, I liked dancing with him, even if touching him to correct his posture could be agony at times. I liked singing and laughing. Spending time with him after work was easy. I kind of hated being alone. Maybe it was an only child thing. But too much of my life was lived solo. When James was with me, I wasn’t thinking about that. He made me smile with his furrowed brows as he tried to perfect our steps or the way he thanked me too earnestly for “being patient” with him.

As if he were difficult to be with? I’d always liked people, and I easily assumed they liked me. James, he assumed the opposite. Which was so fucking sad it made me want to hug him more and more. ’Cause James was one hundred percent easy to be with. I told him that in all the ways I could. Encouraging his footwork. Nudging him to try more. But I also didn’t want to fuck it up. What that all meant, I pushed away. All I knew was that as soon as I saw James’ face, I wanted to pull him in tight.

When my doorbell rang, I raced to answer.

“You’re looking good,” I greeted him at my door. “I like the professor fit.”

“It’s not a ‘professor fit.’ Iama professor.” He tugged at the collared shirt.

“Still, I like it on you. The jacket flatters your shoulders.”

He shook his head. “You don’t have to compliment me.” James dipped his head down, yet there was a tiny smile tugging at his lips, and I could tell he was pleased.

I made a note to compliment James more.

I bent down. “And hello, Ginsberg. You also are looking snazzy in that sweater vest. I’ll have to crochet you another one someday.”

“You crochet.” James sounded dumbfounded by the idea.

“Nerd alert?” I suggested, looking up at James.

He stared intently, tugging at his beard as if solving some math equation.

“Sorry, no.”

“Why not?” I was slightly offended.

“You can’t pull off a true nerd alert and have those Rambo-sized muscles.”

I straightened. “I might be nerdier than you think. And I do crochet. Ginsberg will love my work.” I didn’t add that I needed to keep my hands busy in rehab, so I’d learned crochet. “Shall we dance?” I gave a mock bow.

James took off his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt at the top, his creamy skin and long neck exposed.

Turning, I busied myself with the stereo and put on “Despacito.”

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