Page 48 of New York Love Stories: Vol. 2

“I was going to say have a nightcap, but you’re probably right since we both work tomorrow.”

He holds the door open for me. Mentally kicking myself for the wrong assumption, I don’t stop or look back because then I’ll look and sound desperate, making it awkward. “Probably for the best,” I say, though I don’t believe a word of it.

The conversation on the way back is kept in safer territory, like the weather and the neighborhood.

I find myself walking a little slower when I step off the elevator into the apartment, not ready for the night to end. It’s late. We work. I know all the reasons it makes sense to go to bed, including how much longer it will take me to get to work tomorrow, but that doesn’t loosen the knot in my stomach.

I’m being silly. It’s midnight.Go to bed, Tealey.Stopping at the edge of the living room, he looks back at me. Thumbing over my shoulder, I say, “Guess I’m heading to bed.”

Rocking back, he nods. “I’m going to work for a bit. Let me know if you need anything.”

“I will.”

Like a dead man’s walk, I move into the bedroom and close the door, leaning against the back of it. Closing my eyes, I try to tame the thoughts running rampant through my mind. Everything from what it will be like to see him first thing in the morning to throwing him on the couch right now crosses my brain.

Even with those thoughts competing with my rational side, I still have no regrets about moving in with him. Things will calm.Although we’ve known each other forever, this is new to us. Things will settle as we get used to being around each other.

A rap on the door has me jumping halfway across the room. Straightening my hair before I remember it’s in a knot on top of my head, I call, “Yes?” and swing open the door.

Rad’s holding a mug;One of my mugs, to be specific.“Do you know where this came from?” He walks away and stands where the kitchen meets the hall. When I follow him, he shifts to the side to reveal the open cabinet in the kitchen full of my other mugs. “Or those?”

“I . . .”Is he mad? Curious if the mug fairy visited while we were away? Or fine?His temperament is too even to read into. “I do know where those came from.” I reply, whispering, “They’re mine.”

Twisting the mug in his hand, he furrows his brow. “Kiss my . . .”

“Ass. Kiss my ass. Get it?” I point at the donkey on the mug.

“I get it.”Nothing.I don’t even receive a sly grin like he usually gives to lowbrow humor. Glancing at me, he asks, “But why do you have it?” No cute smile or chuckle follows.

That mug is one of my favorites, too. I sigh, feeling like I might be in trouble. Did I make myselftooat hometoo soon? I simply claimed an empty cabinet. And since I had him carry my preciouses over here and told him to handle them with care, I thought he understood the gravity of my love for mugs.I assumed wrong.“Sometimes, I let my cups speak for me. Speaking of squash?—”

“We weren’t speaking of squash.”

Snapping my fingers, I say, “Keep up, Welly. I’m continuing our conversation.Quidditch.Squash. Remember the text?”

I can see when the memory returns by the small smile I receive. “Right.” He sets the mug back in the cabinet and peruses the selection before glancing at me. “Squash.”

“Huh?”

“You said, speaking of squash. The floor is yours.”

I hop onto the counter, and ask, “What do you get when you drop a pumpkin?”

I’m finally rewarded when he can’t hide his smile. “Squash.”

“I’ve riddled it around my head for days, trying to come up with something about squash.”

Giving in to the grin, he chuckles. “You did gourd. Bah dun dun.”

Rad rubs the back of his neck, a tic of his, while looking back at the cabinet. “Back to the mugs . . .”

“Cammie didn’t think you’d mind since you only had four mugs in that large, lonely cabinet, but if you don’t like them?—”

“You can leave them. I don’t mind. I just wasn’t expecting to find them . . .or so many.”

My pride shines as I admire the colorful cups. “It’s quite the collection, a thing of beauty.”

“It sure is.” His voice is quiet, so I look at him. He looks away, grabbing a bottle of water on his way out of the kitchen. “Well, good night,” he says, walking into his room. The door closes behind him, leaving me in the kitchen alone.

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