“Why’d you decide to buy a house?” I ask.
“It was time,” he says over his shoulder. “I wanted an investment, and I liked the bones of this one.”
“The bones? Listen to you.”
“I’ve grown.” He laughs and pushes the door open. “Come on in.”
“Is it okay if I put her down?”
“Sure.”
She struts in and surveys the new surroundings. The floors are rustic hardwood, the walls a pale beige, and the furniture a soft tan leather. The comfy kind that sinks with your body. On the wall are several framed music-inspired pictures and a massive TV. Across from the couch sits two high-end turntables, a set of headphones, and multiple milk crates filled with vinyl. It’s still him but steps up from his old bachelor pad.
“Nice.”
“Thanks. Want anything to drink?”
“No, I’m okay. Can I use your bathroom?”
“Door to your left.”
It’s a powder room, so there’s nothing personal to snoop through. The small space isn’t spotless, but it’s clean enough. I wash my hands, and looking in the mirror at my dumb, starry eyes, I psych myself up to get through this without backsliding.
“Can you believe her?” he says when I rejoin him, nodding toward the cat perched on his sofa. “Won’t let me pet her but has no problem claiming my shit.”
“A queen owns it.”
“You would know. Queen recognizes queen.”
Another nickname he used to call me. Another memory I should’ve burned to ash by now.
“We should go,” I say, moving past him to get the cat. But he catches my wrist and pulls me back.
For a breathless moment, I don’t know what he’s going to do or say. Worse—I don’t know what Iwanthim to do or say.
At six-one to my five-five, he leans in, bringing his nose to my neck, close enough that his breath warms my skin. I hesitate, indulging myself before reality smacks me in the face.
“What are you doing?”
“I’ve been trying to figure out the scent. What is it?”
Desire clings to me like static. I break from his hold and take a second to regulate my breathing. “It’s brown sugar body butter.”
“Yum.” He licks his lips.
Only teasing. I know that. But it’s throwing me off-balance. I twist the ring on my middle finger, rotating it like a dial that could rewind the years before it all got so complicated. Before I started to catch feelings that would stay one-sided.
“Don’t grab me again if you want to keep your fingers,” I warn and scoop up the cat, heading for the door.
“Hey,” he says, his voice low and apologetic. “You’re right. I came on strong last night. I was angry, but that’s no excuse. And just now—I shouldn’t have grabbed your wrist. I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry, Lot.”
A cocky Dice is hard enough to resist. A gentle one? Nearly impossible. “It’s fine,” I say. But it isn’t. Nothing about the way he makes me feel is fine. And he still doesn’t see it. Or doesn’t want to.
I follow him out to his car. He’s always had a passion for classics. This one is an older white Mustang with two black stripes on the hood.
“Plug your phone in,” he says, handing me the charger, remembering when I hadn’t. “Do you have a litter box and whatever else for the queen?”
“The shelter provided some essentials, but I was going to pick up a few more items when the car conked out. I’ll grab them after.”
