Page 31 of Between Love and War
Jeez.
I’ve never seen a male body before. Okay, that’s an exaggeration. Titos around here walk around half-naked all the time. Buying barbecue in the afternoons, visiting neighbors. Torsos are exposed everywhere. But none of them ever looked like Michael.
Michael does not have that energy. Michael looks like he was sculpted by bored angels on a long weekend. Like he was commissioned for a Greek museum but shipped to Magnolia Heights by mistake. On his right chest is a tattoo of something in Korean. When he turns around to get his shirt hanging from the chair, I can see another tattoo. A big phoenix.
Now, he’s just standing there, casual, holding a bottle of Gatorade like he’s about to film a fitness ad. Frankly, he probably has.
Now,thisis national athlete material. Forget what I said about him seeming normal. He isnot.He is a walking protein shake ad. His abs have abs. And those abs are staring at me…
Without hesitation, I whirl around. “Could you please put a shirt on?”
“That’s what you get for not passing through the front door like a sane person,” he exclaims. But I hear him shuffling, and I hear the sound of fabric twisting and turning.
“The coast is clear.” He chuckles. He’s used to this. I’m sure he is. He probably has a long line of actresses and celebrities who've seen him like this. And more.
I wonder whatmorelooks like.
I shake my head.Katherine! Stop!
I slowly turn around, eyes still squinted to make sure he’s really covered up. Once I confirm, I open my eyes. He’s still smirking.
“How can I help you?” he asks.
“Have you been on your phone at all?” I retort.
“Yep. You saw it too?” he asks calmly. He wipes his forehead with a towel, and sits on the patio furniture.
“Uh… yeah?!” I exclaim. “Why are you calm?”
“Katie, take a seat and take a breath.” He gestures to the seat beside him, and I follow. “No one can see your face,” he says as soon as I plop down beside him.
“Sure,” I say, suddenly aware of how close his arm is, so I scoot a bit further. “But still! Everyone who lives here knows that’s me. I’m the only person in town with this hair! A child at Lily’s once called me Miss Noodles!”
“Well, Miss Noodles, everyone who lives here also knows we work together,” he says it like it’s a simple thing. “And it’s no big deal. Everyone already thinks you’re too good for me, anyway.”
I glare at him. “This isn’t funny. They're calling me your mystery girl. Someone made a slideshow of my possible identities, Michael. A slideshow.”
He whistles, impressed. “Wow. You’re a fan theory now.”
“This isn’t cool!” I exclaim, standing up only to pace in a tiny, frantic circle. “Do you have any idea how fast rumors spread around here?” I say, and before he responds, I continue,“I know, I know. They know we work together. But youposted!And that’s enough for the senior citizen club to plan our wedding.” I shut my mouth. What the hell am I saying?
“To be fair,” Michael says, completely oblivious to my spiraling brain, “maybe they already are.”
I whip my head to look at him dramatically.
“This morning, while I was jogging, I made the very rookie mistake of stopping in front of Manang Linda’s house.”
“Uh-oh,” I say. He nods aggressively.
“Yep. And there were women with her. One woman, Elena, I think–” he starts.
“That’s my friend Emily’s mom,” I cut him off.
“Yeah, she said you were ‘wife material.’ And that I made the right choice,” he says with air quotes. “Then Manang Linda agreed. Freida, however, did not agree. Said we don’t match.”
I bury my face in my hands. “Oh God, it’s already happening.” I peek through my fingers, and ask, “What did you tell them? Did you at least deny it?”
“I…” he stutters. “I just smiled.”
