My, my. Someone’s daily crisis started early.
Children should not get up before sunrise. I think there’s something wrong with my family’s genetics.
And no, it’s not too early to commiserate with me. I know you’re awake.
Snorting, I step inside and lock the patio door behind me before heading to my room to get dressed. Yes, I’m awake, but for all he knows, I’m just finishing up a jog. I may not have told him about my new morning workout routine.
Through my bedroom window, I catch sight of Chris hoisting himself into his truck at the curb. An ache blooms in my chest as I linger. Thank goodness he can’t see my face. I’ve somehow avoided receiving any more accusations of giving him pity for the last two weeks. I don’t want to break my record, so I move to my closet, but glance back to watch him pull away. The ache spreads, settling into my bones. It worsens the further away he gets.
It’s not pity, my internal voice says calmly, the way you break something obvious to someone. A silent laugh gusts past my lips. The voice is right.
It’s not pity at all. I think it’s… longing.
Longing to go with him. To see how he spends the rest of his day, each minute he’s not with me. Longing to hear his voice and those laughs of his that he gives up like a stiff coin wheel on an old gumball machine that requires a special touch.
It’s a liberating realization, one not consumed by thoughts of passion. We haven’t touched each other in the last two weeks, aside from my helping him stretch. And now that I think about it, I haven’t had a single impure thought about him. My evenings have been spent reflecting on our conversations, quietly laughing to myself, and smiling.
“I have a crush,” I laugh softly, oddly proud of myself.
My first real adult crush. It’s calm and settles over me, wrapping around me like a warm hug. It’s so unlike the overwhelming delirium I experienced back in college. Softer and far stronger than whatever I considered a crush after that.
I think…I’m falling for Chris Mightener. Again. Unlike then, however, I think there may be some place to land this time.
Dressing quickly, I know I don’t need to rush since I’ve cut jogging out of my day lately. Switching to showering at night has given me more wiggle room in the morning, in case a certain man withbig feelingsdecides to show up early or eke past my normal cut-off time. While I’m feeling inspired, I should use the extra few minutes to spread the good word…or at least part of it.
Jamie’s phone rings once. A fumbling noise and a few curses follow, but then I’m treated to his breathy, whispered voice.
“I didn’t mean you had to call. What’s up?”
“Excuse me. I thought commiserating was best done vocally. Why? Did you go back to sleep or something?” There’s an audible panting of labored breath while I talk. “Why do you sound like you’re winded?”
“Nothing. You just scared me.”
“You’re…whispering. Why are you whispering?”
“Because I’m in the closet where little people can’t invade my room at 5 a.m. asking for a bowl of Froot Loops.”
Oh, boy. I don’t know whether to laugh or to send a therapist over to help him. “You’re sleeping in a closet?”
“No. Who the fuck can sleep in a closet? And there is no sleeping in this house. It’s like one of those horror films with the creepy little insomniac children. No matter where you go or what you do, whenever you turn around, one is staring at you, asking for things—your soul, your wallet, oat milk for an alley cat, the answer to fourteen to the third power. It never ends.”
“Uh…and the closet is a safe zone from pesky zombie children who need regular, natural nurturing?”
“It isnotnatural, Jeremy! Don’t give me that until you’ve waded through the hellscape that is currently a day in my life. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve gotten laid? I can’t even jerk off in my own house. My hand thinks I don’t love it anymore, and this closet smells like mothballs. Gran must have had a fear of moths, because the stench is so potent it’s sure to kill any of them well beyondmydying years. You try having some happy time while inhaling pesticides with limited elbow room, and then tell me how much patience you have.”
“Wait…are you…jerking off in the closet?”
“Well, not anymore!Youcalled.”
Rubbing my eyes, I wish I could go back and rethink the use of my free time. I shove my shoes on and grab my keys off the hook on the hall tree.
“I’msorry. You sounded like you needed to talk, but I think I have a pretty good picture now as to why.”
Locking my door behind me, I hear a sigh over the line. “I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”
Snickering, I tuck my keys into my pocket and bound down my steps, happy he’s come back to the land of sanity. “You sure about that?”
“Ha. Ha.I’mthe snarky, dramatic friend. Not you. At least let me keep that. It’s all I have left.”
