Page 12 of Running Into You
“Aww, muffin!” I love seeing him playful like this.
“For God’s sake Betty, didn’t you hear me? I’m hungry! Please don’t talk about muffins. Can we get takeout?”
“Yes. Yes, we can.” Knowing I have leftover maple curry chicken penne in my fridge, I decide I will freeze it and take it for lunch one day next week. “Pizza or Thai?”
“Thai! Thai! Thai!” he chants from the floor, his arms raised over his head. I go straight to where I keep a large manilla envelope filled with takeout menus on the top of the fridge with my cookbooks. I stretch up on my tiptoes to retrieve it and when I turn around, Josh is standing in the kitchen. From the bashful look on his face, I’m pretty sure he was just checking out my ass.
“Need any help?” he asks. I shake the envelope at him.
“Nope. I’ve got the secrets of the universe right here.” I rifle through dozens of menus before finding Thai Basil’s and thrust it at him triumphantly. “Go nuts. I’m going to go get changed.”
I swear I hear him mutter, “Need any help?” again from down the hall, but I convince myself I’m imagining things.
I close the door to my bedroom and rest my forehead on the back of my door. The wood is cold, and I want to flush my entire body against it in an attempt to cool myself off. I pull a pair of joggers and a faded blue T-shirt out of my dresser. I peel off my blouse, slacks, and underwear. Frankly, the joggers make my ass look nice and I don’t want panty lines. I’m about to start getting dressed when I hear Josh directly outside my door.
“What do you want?” His low voice comes through loud enough that he could be standing in the room with me. I gasp and attempt to cover myself with my hands while simultaneously crossing the room to the door in case he was to open it.
“What?” I ask, startled. Try not to sound so naked, Betty.
“What do you want me to order for you?”
“Right. Pad Thai is great.” I press my ear to the door and wait for the sounds of his retreat. They don’t come.
“How hot do you want it?”
Even though I am painfully aware he is speaking about food, my nipples peak, and my thighs clench. I am covered in goosebumps. Standing here in nothing but my bra with Josh speaking to me through the door is one of the most erotic things to ever happen to me.
“Medium heat is good!” I told you to stop sounding so naked!
“Spring rolls?”
“YES!” I practically shout at him, and there is a long pause. For a moment, I think he’s left.
“Cool. I’ll make the call.”
I hear him walking back toward the kitchen. I breathe deeply, trying to regulate my rapidly beating heart. I throw my clothes on lightning fast, almost crashing into my bedside table while trying to hop into the joggers. I gather my hair up into a high pony and give myself a once over in the mirror, silently willing myself to get my shit together. When I re-enter the kitchen, Josh is staring into the fridge.
“You don’t have any beer,” he says, turning around. His eyes run over me slowly, and I feel like I’m naked in my bedroom all over again.
“I only drink it in summer,” I reply, determined to not look away first.
“It’s still summer for another three weeks,” he counters.
“That’s fine if you acknowledge the Autumn Equinox, but I live my life according to the testament of Starbucks, and their pumpkin spice cold brew tells me that fall begins on August 30th.” We continue to stare at each other.
“I really missed you,” he says softly, not breaking eye contact.
“I missed you too.” How my voice doesn’t crack from the strain, I’ll never know. Josh looks away first.
“I’ll grab a couple of beers from my apartment.”
“Capital idea,” I say as he heads for the door.
When he’s gone, I collapse into a kitchen chair and put my head between my knees. Just yesterday, I was congratulating myself for my personal growth, thinking I could just enjoy a normal friendship with Josh. Now I’m certain if he looks at me like that again, I will self-combust. I stand up slowly, giving my blood time to travel to all the places it needs to go. I straighten my shoulders and take another deep breath. Man, I am getting so good at this breathing thing.
I go to the cupboard and gather plates, glasses, and chopsticks. I briefly consider using cloth napkins, but I don’t want to seem like I’m trying too hard. Instead, I rip off a few pieces of paper towel and go about setting the small kitchen table.
I’m placing the cutlery on the paper towels when Josh returns and ceremoniously places a six-pack of Sam Adam’s Summer Ale in front of me. He’s grinning wolfishly.
