Page 41 of Book Boyfriend
She would be right. I unlock my door and walk inside. Placing my phone on the table, I lean my back on the door and try not to overthink everything.
A knock startles me out of my thoughts.
I open the door to Fisher, leaning one hand on the frame while the other hand holds his suit coat, draped over his shoulder. Did he pose this way or is this natural? He has to know how gorgeous he looks. Jesus Jones. “Right Here, Right Now” just took on a whole new meaning. And now I’m singing the song in my head.
“Come in, right now,” I say on accident, briefly closing my eyes as I internally berate myself.
He quickly steps through the door. “I really like your place. It’s a great neighborhood.”
“Yeah, I used to have a house, but Oliver got that in the divorce.” Ugh. Why did I say that?
“That really sucks. I’m sorry.”
“I’msorry. I don’t know why I brought that up. Sometimes I rattle when I get nervous.”
“Hey,” he says, tossing his coat on my chair and taking my hand. “There’s absolutely nothing to be nervous about. I’m only here to see your TV.”
I point to the screen and he walks over to the couch. He’s here to see my TV. My Tanned Vagina? Toned Viagrasaurus? Tubed Vaseline?
“It’s a big one,” he says, motioning to the television set.
“That’s what she said.” Oh my God. I didn’t.
“Ha. I think that should have been my line.”
“I’m sorry. Ugh. I have sex on my brain.” I hit myself in the head.
He clears his throat and stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Should we turn it on? The TV I mean.”
“Yes, please. See if you can find a church channel.”
He laughs as he kicks off his shoes and flops down on the sofa.
“Do you want something to drink?” I ask.
“Sure, what do you have?”
I open the fridge. “I have water, a half-gallon of milk, Dr. Pepper, and oh, wine!”
“Dr. Pepper sounds great.”
I close the fridge and imagine myself slamming my head in the door repeatedly. Of course he doesn’t want wine, you twat. You just told him there’d be no re-enactments tonight. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.”
“What did you say?”
Oh shit. I said that out loud. “Nothing. Just a second.”
“I couldn’t find mass for us to watch, but I did find CNN. That should be boring enough.”
Handing him the glass and the can, he places them on a coaster on my table. I sit down on the opposite side of the couch and he smiles at me. He crosses his ankles as he places them on the table and extends his arm along the back of the couch. His sleeves are still rolled to his elbow, and that, along with his arm being outstretched, makes his shirt even tighter in all the right places.
I scratch my head and blankly stare at the screen. After a minute, I pick a piece of lint off my shirt. This show is not doing a great job of distracting me. I notice the remote next to his foot. “Let’s see what else we can watch.”
The next few seconds seem to happen in slow motion in my mind. I reach out to grab the remote as he leans forward to grab his drink. My hand hits his hand, just as he picks up the glass. The glass wobbles in his grip before it slips, the brown liquid jumping out of the glass in response. The evil syrup stops mid-air to laugh at me and let me know it will make sure I’m mortified tonight one way or another. It purposefully wins Olympic records for farthest splash as it leaps onto the crotch of his jeans. He gasps as the cold liquid invades his private sanctuary. I see my aunt Rose’s face telling me to join the convent. I decide she was right.
And then time resumes its normal pace once again.
“Oh shit! I’m so sorry!” I run for the kitchen and quickly grab a dish towel.
