It cut, but it was true. “Yeah. I felt ... safe. Which, I should be suspicious about, right? Technically we just met and apparently now I have a track record—”
“Honey, honey.” Strangely, she didn’t sound patronizing or pitying. She sounded ... pleased? Proud? “I’m not going to say not to be careful with your heart, I’d be a bad mom, but ... at the same time, there’s strength in putting yourself back out there, trusting people again. You’ve been hurt, and I’m sure one day you’ll be hurt again, but for now your only job is to be happy. And if your cute awkward roommate who I amsorelieved is not a serial killer makes you happy, then I’m over the moon.”
I felt light enough to float away. Too jittery to stay in bed, I took the phone with me out to the living room, which had more space available for nervous pacing. “Yeah, I’m like, a little terrified, not gonna lie.”
“That’s how you know something’s important.” Mom let out an evil snicker. “I can’t wait to meet him.”
“Okay, well, we’ve hadone date,so I’m gonna go ahead and say that’s not super high on the priorities list right now because I’d very much like to not scare him away yet. Besides, he’s flying out tomorrow, so I don’t know—” I moved to open the living room drapes, when a flash of color caught my eye.
A bright pink Post-it note was stuck to the side of my fish tank.
My pulse jumped.
There, swimming in the tank I had definitely left empty, were two female betta fish, happily chasing each other around the rock castle.
The Post-it note read, in Armand’s messy but beautiful handwriting:Hi, we’re Timon and Pumbaa!
A warm and fluttery feeling settled in my chest. “Hey, Mom, let me call you back,” I said a bit shakily as my face stretched into a grin that hurt my cheeks. “Something just came up.”
“Fine, but don’t leave me hanging, okay? I love you, and the horses love you, and that boy is gonna love you—”
“Okay, goodbye, Mother.”
She was still laughing as I ended the call. I glanced back at Timon and Pumbaa, teetering dangerously between twirling around the living room and bursting into tears. I plucked the Post-it from the tank, walked to the kitchen, and grabbed a pen.
Then I paused.
I don’t need to write him a note.
I set the pen on the counter and instead walked down the hall, coming to a rest outside Armand’s door. I took a breath that felt too big for my chest, and knocked.
“Grmmff?” Another rumble and a shuffling noise later, and the door pulled open and Armand blinked blearily at me. “Lucas?”
I lost my breath. I’d almost thought that last night had been a beautiful dream and that my body was only imagining the lingering heat of his touch, the softness of his mouth—that Armand had already gone or had never been here in the first place. But here he was, as achingly handsome as I remembered, wide brown shoulders slumped with sleepiness. His chest was bare, he only wore a pair of tight black boxer briefs, and I thought for sure I would pass out.
In a blink, in an instant, something snapped, and I surged forward, cupped his scruffy face in my hands, and kissed him.
My mouth swallowed his yelp of surprise and the broken moan that followed, my legs threatening to liquefy even as his warm hands found the small of my back and clutched at me.
I pulled back gently, as I had last night, but it was only to catch my breath and stare into Armand’s infinite dark gaze, which had lingered closed for an extra second, his lips chasing after mine.
“Thanks for the fish,” I managed.
Armand stared down at me with hooded eyes that shone with heat and confusion. “The wha?” he croaked.
“Timon and Pumbaa.” I managed to focus on what I wanted to say, even with Armand’s fingers ghosting respectfully at the waistband of my sleep pants. “That was really sweet, you didn’t need to do that.”
“Erm,” he responded eloquently, his already flushed face going redder. “I ...”
My answering grin was instinctual. “You always know just what to say.” I let my fingers trail across the smooth skin of his collarbone. “And yes,” I teased, biting my lip and shivering as Armand’s eyes dropped back down to my mouth, “nowI’m taking the piss.”
Maybe this was fast. Maybe we only had one day left and I might never see him again. And maybe this was new and frightening and so far outside my experience, but something bold and unfamiliar had bloomed beneath my rib cage, and I didn’t realize I’d guided Armand backward into his bedroom until the light had dimmed and my head had filled with his intoxicating scent.
Somehow I managed to detach my gaze from Armand’s in order to process the extent of the mess that was his room. The suitcase that he’d likely never seen fit to unpack. The piles of shirts and pants spilling out of it onto the ground. No wonder he’d injured himself on an inkwell—I could barely see the floor.
But the bit I could see ...
“You cleaned?” I gaped at the mound of baking soda on the still slightly bloody and inky carpet near the foot of the bed.
