Page 58 of Drawn Together
Fletcher’s mouth ticks. “You’re twenty-five.”
“Yeah, but you make me feel like it.”
“I think the wine has gotten to you.”
“I think you’re right, but I stand by my statement.”
That boyish smile grows, and there’s the dimple. Hello, old friend. Fletcher’s glasses are drooping low enough to where his eyes meet mine, just above the frames, and I like how they rest. I want to keep them right there.
I am so caught up in said eyes I don’t feel Fletcher fingers wrapping around the sleeve of my sweater. He tugs at the end, and I glance down.
“What is this?” He lifts the fabric up to both of our eyes. “This texture?”
“Wool.”
“Like a sheep?”
“I think so?”
“So cool,” he whispers.
Tonight is full of confessions, apparently, because with Fletcher’s fingers pulling at my sweater, I mumble out, “Austin hated wool.”
“Who’s Austin?”
“My ex.”
Fletcher’s shoulders slump, my sweater dropping with his hands. “Huh. Weird to think about you having a boyfriend.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“No, sorry.” He slaps his forehead a little too loud and we scoot closer, like if someone were to open the door right now, we would be too tiny for them to find us. He whispers harshly, which isn’t much of a whisper. “That came out weird.”
It did. But oddly enough, I get it. I don’t think I can picture him with a girlfriend. A woman on his arm, telling him goodnight, or watching him read. Drinking his gross drinks and eating his gross pizza. They probably would send each other emails about their undying love and make out in libraries. The thought is…icky.
“I get it.”
“You do?”
I nod. “Totally.”
“When did you break up?”
“October 31st two years ago.”
“Oddly specific,” Fletcher notes.
“He left me at a Halloween party; we were both a little drunk.”
His nose scrunches, glasses settling back where they belong. I like this look on him. I think it’s the closest I’ve seen him to angry.
“Sounds like an asshole,” Fletcher mumbles.
“I think that’s what’s so hard. He was never like that with me before. I had twelve years of friendship with this sweet boy who used to worship me like…an Egyptian would a cat.” I have a distinct memory of him literally begging me just to kiss him once.
“Nice.”
“I mean…” I sigh, and suddenly words seem so hard.
