Page 75 of Homewrecker

"I know a cool local place that has live music. Eli's band is playing there tomorrow night. I'd like to take you there."

"So you're planning this date?"

I can't remember the last time someone asked me out on a real date. I've been propositioned many times at the bar where I play pool, and a guy I met at the laundromat a few months ago invited me out for coffee. He took me to a cafe where he gets free drinks because his ex-girlfriend is a barista there, but I had to pay for my own scone.

"Yeah, if it's okay with you, I'll make the plans. I can come get you at the house around six-thirty."

"You're coming to get me at six-thirty." I sound bewildered, like I was raised in the forest by wolves.

"Isn't this how dates usually work? And I just want to say in advance that I'm paying for everything because this is our first date, and I'm the one inviting you. I'm not trying to be a sexist asshole or anything. I just want to take you out."

"Okay," I whisper. "Is this an episode ofBlack Mirror? Are you going to turn into an alien now?"

"You're just not used to dating nice guys," he says, bringing my hand to his mouth and kissing my knuckles.

I give an unladylike snort. "When I first met you, the last word I would have described you with was 'nice.' "

"But you did say my ass is—what was it—so firm you could bounce a quarter off of it?"

I pull my hand from his in horror, then grab a pillow to hide my face. I garble something from underneath it about him being an eavesdropper before he pulls the pillow off my face and tosses it to the side of the bed.

"You should learn to whisper if you're going to objectify people like that," he says, pretending to be hurt.

"Ass aside, I kind of hated you."

"The feeling was mutual," he says. "You have a beautiful ass."

"When did you start liking me?" I sound like I'm digging for a compliment, which is probably true.

He pretends to think deeply. "I'd have to say things turned around about the time of the chicken dance. That sealed it for me."

I find another pillow and whack him with it.

"Is this the pillow fight portion of the sleep over?" he asks, protecting himself. "Because I have a hurt hand."

I put down the pillow and roll my eyes at him. "Pulling the hurt hand card, okay. This is actually the part where we get in our pajamas, turn out the lights and tell ghost stories. I'll do your hair in those braids you love."

Seth stretches out on the bed and carefully puts his hands behind his head.

"Great. That sounds so much better than sex. Do you want to borrow a t-shirt?"

"Yes, please.” I pull back the quilt and climb under the sheets.

His bed is insanely cozy. The mattress is not too firm and not too soft. Goldilocks says it's just right.

"Wait," he says, standing up in a hurry. " I should change the sheets, since you're staying the night."

I wave my hand like he's being silly and burrow under the covers.

"Not necessary," I say. "I know you're worried you've got your man juices on these sheets, but it's no worse than those hotel duvet covers. God knows what's on those things."

Seth continues to look worried and hover over the bed.

"It's just that I usually change the sheets on Wednesday, which is tomorrow. I don't mind changing them for you."

"You change your sheets on the same day every week?" I ask incredulously.

He crosses his arms over his chest. "Of course, doesn't everyone?"

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