Holy shit.
Bring a toothbrush?
Did that mean—?
Theo: Debbie has a sleepover down the street for another girl’s birthday party. I’ll be all alone in this big house with my big, empty bed. It’s a king size, by the way. Lots of room. Very comfy for, you know, sleeping . . . if you’re into that sort of thing.
I slapped my palm against the steering wheel.
“Shit! Ow. Fuck,” I shouted, not really caring about the sting in my palm because the tent in my pants was growing again.
Me: Are you seriously asking me to spend the night? I just need clarification, because I can be a little thick sometimes.
Theo: I’m counting on you being thick Friday night.
My mouth fell open. Theo, my sweet, innocent librarian, was coming on like a sexual freight train. Then I realized he was probably still at his desk, in his library, and my pulse began racing even faster. I wanted to type something witty, something that would make him laugh and think about me all day long, but all I could think of was:
Me: Hope your toothpaste is minty.
Chapter 25
Theo
The kitchen was my stage, and Kelly Clarkson was my backing vocals as I shimmied around the island, wooden spoon in hand like a microphone. The apricot glaze bubbled merrily on the stove while I attempted what could generously be called choreography to “Since U Been Gone.”
I did a little spin that nearly sent me crashing into the refrigerator as I belted out the lyrics.
They were a complete lie, of course.
Since Jeremiahenteredmy life, I’d been doing the opposite of breathing normally. It was more like hyperventilating at regular intervals while my brain short-circuited whenever he smiled at me.
Tonight would be different, though.
Tonight, Debbie would be at Chloe’s birthday party until tomorrow. Julia even volunteered to help corral the little monsters, ensuring nothing could possibly shatter my plans for an entire evening alone with Jeremiah, an entire nightand morning, actually, if things went the way I hoped they would.
And the way I was terrified they would.
The way I desperately wanted them to.
As I checked the Brussels sprouts one more time, my mind wandered to territory I’d been carefully avoiding all week. When was the last time I’d actually been with someone? Reallybeenwith someone?
It was before Debbie—maybe six months before, maybe longer.
I’d never been particularly active in the dating scene, and even less so sexually. Atlanta boys would probably try to revoke my gay card if they knew how badly I needed more than just physical attraction; I needed to feel a genuine connection, something that hinted at deeper affection, maybe even love, before I could truly let myself go with another person.
So few men stirred that kind of feeling in me, and most only wanted something quick and uncomplicated. Frankly, the effort of pretending to be interested when I wasn’t, followed by awkward morning-after conversations, had rarely felt worth it.
Once Debbie became my world, my priorities had shifted so radically and so quickly that I’d barely noticed the absence of romantic entanglements. There were too many bedtime stories to read, too many scraped knees to bandage, too many moments of pure joy watching her discover the world to miss what I’d never really had.
But now, with Jeremiah coming over in less than an hour, the possibility of intimacy was both thrilling and terrifying in equal measure.
I checked the pork in the oven. It was perfectly golden and probably another ten minutes from done. The magazine I found while standing in the checkout line at the grocery store had promised this recipe would “impress any dinner guest,” and since I was already in full-scale panic mode about whether I wasready for whatever our night might bring, I figured I might as well panic about the food, too.
Britney Spears took the stage next, and I found myself doing what could only be described as highly aggressive vegetable prep to “Toxic.” Each Brussels sprout got halved with perhaps more violence than was strictly necessary outside of Viking ritual circles. But hey, I had to work out my excess energy somehow.
What if I’m terrible?I thought, wielding my knife like a tiny sword.What if I’ve forgotten how to be with someone? What if I’m awkward and weird and he realizes I’m just a nervous librarian who talks to books more than people?
Chop. Chop.Whack!
