“Do we really have to talk about her?” Evan complains.
“We have three hours left according to the GPS.”
While Evan gives Isaac all the details about our quirky neighbor and her dog, I get fixated on this idea of whether I would have danced with him or not, and what kind of song it would have been, and if he would have given me any indication he wanted more. Forty minutes or so later when Isaac is all caught up on the right girl, wrong apartment story, I ask the question that’s been knocking around my head.
“Would I have known by dancing with you that you were interested?”
Evan blushes. “If you didn’t, it wouldn’t have been for my lack of trying.”
“Would you have kissed me?”
A sharp laugh bursts from him. It comes off as more surprised than a rebuke. “No.”
“He would have been trying to get you to kiss him,” Isaac supplies.
“Oh, how would you know?” Evan asks him.
“Because I wouldn’t have tried to kiss him, either.”
“Hey,” I say, not sure what to think about that. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means it’s impossible to tell what you’re thinking until you start talking—or kissing,” Isaac says.
“Great poker face,” Evan attempts to translate, but I already got the gist.
“Well,” I say, “I wouldn’t have kissed you on the dance floor. But I probably would have wanted to. Dancing is like...” I trail off, looking out the window at a field of wind turbines.
“Like what?” Isaac asks.
“Like sex,” I say.
“See?” Evan says, to Isaac. “I had no chance with him.”
“I’m still thinking about it,” I say. “In terms of the whole hypothetical. Not really sure why it matters, though. Worked out pretty well for me.”
Isaac laughs.
The truth is, I was horny as fuck the night I met Isaac. The fact that he was my CEO barely factored in to my reasoning for kissing him. I was there to get laid, and I was damn determined.
However—ifthat hadn’t worked out the way it did, and I went another week without getting laid or any prospects for the following weekend, and I was home with Evan, and he’d asked me again if I wanted to go out to dinner with him to try a new restaurant, I guess I can visualize a scenario where I would have been all—fuck the food. My impulse control isn’t the best, and without systems of guarantees in place, there’s no telling what stupid roommate rules I would have compromised to get off.
I turn back to Evan. “It would have happened.”
His head jerks, and his eyes widen. “You think?”
“One week of striking out, and I would have snapped.”
“You think it would have worked out?” he asks.
I think about the first time we had sex, and the unabashed way he wanted me—the way he fucked me. And everything I know now. “I can’t see how it wouldn’t have.”
We’ve thoroughly wreckedEvan’s bed, and he still hasn’t picked up his dog. I guess I might have had something to prove when we got to his apartment, and unlike the patience I’ve been preaching with Isaac, I showed none whatsoever.
While Evan claims his hole is off limits “until next time,” he had no problem sitting back on Isaac’s face while I fucked my CEO and kissed Evan until we were all coming.
Isaac is busy convincing Evan to have Hunter drop the dog off without any of us having to leave the apartment while I’m flipping through my Spotify, trying to remember all the songs that played at Bailey’s birthday party when I could have danced with Evan.
I get a text, and I hear the familiar chime of Evan’s phone, too. It’s a photo from Millie.
