Page 54 of Lessons in Love
Excitedly, she points, and announces, “There.”
“A hotdog stand?” I’m not disappointed but I am surprised. “I wasn’t filling enough?”
I’m elbowed. “You were too filling. As for food, let’s eat.”
Five minutes later, I’m standing on the corner of a Manhattan street holding the cart owner’s last two dogs while she carefully pulls the gloves off her hands and tucks them in her pockets.
Two minutes after that, she’s tossed the napkins and devoured the hot dog and she’s putting the gloves on like they are gold rings. I almost expect her to call them her precious. Freaky bastard.
We walk faster this time, both of us cold. Before we reach the building, she asks, “Will you stay?”
No build up or word foreplay. She just throws it out there like the opening pitch at the start of baseball season, and I catch it.Yes. Yes. Yes.“Sure,” I reply casually with a shrug, pretending I could take the offer or leave it.
What? Did you expect me to say no because of earlier?I’m a guy. We get over shit quick. Feelings are handled by hiding or ignoring them completely. If an emotion decides to hang around too long it basically becomes a round of hide the sausage. You know, tuck it here. Tuck it there. Tuck it anywhere you can shove it. Preferably into a warm, wet—the door to her building is opened.
The doorman is onto us. I’m sure he has a second sense for couples getting it on. He’s looking me over like an overprotective older brother, which thank God, she doesn’t have. Brothers can be real dicks to deal with when it comes to dating their sisters. Especially if said sister, after she begs you to hide said earlier sausage inside her, has an overly steroided brother bust into herroom and start a fight while yelling, “Mine” and “Hands off my girl.” And the classic, “I will kill you.”
Then, as you’re running out the door with your frank n’ beans covered, you see them making up with a kiss. Yeah, now that’s a horrifying sight that stays with you long after you find out they’re stepsiblings, and they just met two years earlier. They’re still fucking. Christmas at their house must be very entertaining.
I’ve just heard of this kind of thing happening. It’s never happened to me. Nope . . . Not to me. But I digress . . .
I nod as we pass by and go back upstairs. In the elevator, we’re quiet. It’s late. We’re tired, and probably have too much on our minds. Things have really changed the last couple of weeks, and I never saw it coming. Even my initial blindside has been blindsided. I sneak a glimpse of her just as she’s sneaking one of me. What must she think of me? What goes on inside that pretty head of hers? I sometimes wonder if she feels the same about me as I do her. Communicating those feelings could probably set things straight, but what’s the fun in that? Aren’t our twenties about fumbling around trying to find ourselves, and hoping love finds us along the way? Fuck, who knows? I sure don’t. Anyway, she’s made her choice more than clear.
Lowry on New Year’s Eve. The plan is already in motion in her head. The asshole wins. He gets the girl, her midnight kiss, and being seduced at the Waldorf-Astoria.
Check. Check. And double check. Game. Set. Match.
Fuck my love life.
I was doing just fine before that four-letter word wasn’t around cock-blocking me to the pretties at the bar, and overcomplicating my life in general. If she wants him, she can have him. As for me, it’s all systems go and moving forward with the plan in place. Its not like I have any right to gripe about her sleeping with someone else. She’s single, and we’re not a couple.
Fuck. I can’t even believe I let the C-word slip from my mouth. Like the hipster warned, I need to watch my language.
When we enter the apartment, I help her with her coat and hang it on the hook. She takes her gloves off, and says, “Thank you again for these.”
“You’re welcome.” Silence starts to extend the distance that stands between us as I take my coat off and hang it up.
“Glass of water?” she asks from the kitchen.
“Sure.”
She comes back into the living room and hands me a tall glass. “Thank you for staying. I know . . . well, just know I want you here, Hardy.”
For some reason, my damn heart refuses to leave my sleeve. “I want to be here with you.”
Taking my hand, we walk into the bedroom together. She goes to the left side of the bed and sets her water on the nightstand, so I walk to the right side, setting mine down. “Guess you sleep on the left. Good thing because I sleep on the right.”
“It’s like we’re made for each other.” With that left behind lingering in the air around me, she goes into the bathroom and shuts the door.
I think I stare at that door for a good three minutes, maybe longer, her words replaying through my head. By the time I settle on the fact that she might have just admitted that she’s actually attracted to me I’ve already hashtagged that sucker and pocketed it for later in my notes app. Seems maybe my feelings aren’t as unwarranted as I once thought. Maybe. Just maybewe are made for each other.
#MFEO
Chapter Eighteen
Istand there like a goof, not sure what I’m supposed to be doing, so I undress like I was earlier, down to my boxer briefs and socks because my feet are cold. We change places—she crawls under the covers in her sweatpants and Resistance T-shirt and I go to the bathroom. Before the door closes, she says, “I set out a toothbrush for you.”
“Thanks.”
