Charlie:Tonight or tomorrow? I’m willing to respect your busy weekend and give you a day, but we work together on Tuesday. So you know, you decide.
Me:How magnanimous of you.
Charlie:I don’t remember you complaining last night.
Me:What is this? Flirting?
Charlie:Don’t get prickly, Ade. I want dinner. With you. And in return, I promise not to stop you next time you get handsy.
Oh my God, I was going to kill him. If I was sweating before this text conversation, I was full-on drenched at this point. I’d sat up on my bed and pulled my knees to my chest, trying to figure out if throwing my phone out the window would make this seduction-humiliation-adorable-stupid thing stop.
It wouldn’t, though. He’d probably show up at my door next, demanding a decision. When had Charlie gotten so domineering?
We’d never even been out on dates before. We’d mostly just worked together and then went home together. There had been no pursuing. Or wooing. Or... dinner. There had only been desperation to get each other naked.
So why, when that was all I wanted right now, was his demand for dinner so fucking sexy?
Me:I’m cleaning my old apartment with my sister today, so can you do a late dinner tonight? 8?
Charlie:No, sorry. This isn’t something you get to squeeze in. I’ll pick you up at 6 tomorrow.
What? This wasn’t something I get to squeeze in?
Me:I’m busy tomorrow night.
Charlie:You’re a dirty liar. Can’t wait till tomorrow. Bye, Ada.
Me:Charlie, I’m serious. I have plans.
I waited for a minute, but he hadn’t replied.
Me:Charlie, for real. I won’t be home.
Still no reply.
Me:Well, go ahead and come by, but I won’t be here.
Charlie English put his phone on Do Not Disturb.
The fucking audacity of this man.
Good thing I didn’t find it sexy in any way, shape, or form. Good thing I was totally immune to his charm. Good thing I was so good at lying to myself.
I decided to push Charlie out of my mind, which was incredibly easy because I never hyper-focused on anything. And I definitely wasn’t replayingI promise not to stop you next time you get handsyover and over in my head.
So instead of doing any of that, I jumped in the shower and rinsed off, changed into my workout clothes, and hit Jen’s for an hour. My muscles were sore and my body was tired, but kicking a bag, shadowboxing until my arms felt like Jell-O, and working on agility with a jump rope, boxes, and sprints until I thought my legs would fall off helped. I ended with ten minutes of stretching. Then I attempted ten minutes of meditation, but I gave up when all I could focus on was hitting Charlie in the head with my car keys.
Lies.It was when he’d tipped me back and ravaged my mouth in a way I would never forget.
Okay, onto the next thing.
Home. Rinse off again. Change into different workout clothes. Grab all my cleaning supplies. Meet Adleigh at the apartment. Check. Check. Check. Check. Check.
I arrived first, which was what I expected. She would show up eventually, but she’d already texted me for an apology-fueled coffee order. Here was the secret to always being a punctual person: Late people always brought guilt gifts.
Sure enough, Adleigh showed up twenty minutes later bearing a shaken oat milk espresso—my favorite—in each hand. And a grocery bag full of snacks and other various cold beverages.
“Sorry,” she said as she breezed through the door in a flurry of her chaotic but endearing energy, “I figured we needed sustenance.”
