“I’m allowed to make my own schedule,” he returns. Cryptically. Evasively. Like he knows a secret that only he’s privy to.
“Hmm,” I hum. “And what does your schedule look like for the foreseeable future?”
“I dunno. What does your schedule look like for the foreseeable future?” he challenges.
“Well, I did offer to let you come stay with me. Unless that seems too forward,” I rush out, my cheeks heating.
He leans closer, kissing my collar bone. “I’d love to stay.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.”