I shake my head quickly. “No. Not at all. I think it’s sexy.”
Truthfully, I’d like to run my fingers over his hair, getting a feel for the lightning bolt carving myself.
For research purposes.
I make a mental note to have my MMC, Theo, have some sort of playoff tradition like this with his teammates. Maybe he’ll buzz his head altogether. It could be an intimate moment between him and the FMC, Monica. She could tentatively ask if she could run her hands through his hair, or lack thereof, and then she could feel self-conscious about it and turn to walk away, but he’d grab her wrist and slowly bring it up to the top of his head, bendingslightly so she could have better access to run her hand over his buzzcut.
I swallow, coming back to myself, even as my fingers itch to touch TJ’s hair … I mean, to go write the scene.
“Sexy, huh? Good to know.” He’s smiling broadly.
Dismay and pleasure slosh around in my gut as I replay what I admitted to him. What is wrong with me? Sure,sexywas the first word that came to my mind, but why couldn’t I find my filter when the moment called for it? Have I learned nothing after the People’s Picks?
“Objectively sexy. I mean, friend to friend, I thought it was good for you to know it looks good. Objectively speaking.”
I’m making this worse.
“Are we friends?” TJ asks, and he’s back with the uncertainty in his gaze.
“Oh.” I tug in a breath. “Uh, I thought so. I don’t want to assume, but didn’t we decide that at your house?”
He nods. “You said we were friends, but I didn’t know if you meant it. You thumbs-upped me.”
I furrow my brow. “Pardon?”
He fishes his phone out of the pocket of his sweatshirt.
Note to self: Write Theo wearing a sweatshirt in a future scene. Have him loan it to Monica. I’d love to get a feel for the fleece lining of TJ’s sweatshirt right about now.
“See?” TJ holds up the phone, screen facing me. “You thumbs-upped, and that was it.”
“I’m sorry? Was I not supposed to?”
“I thought you didn’t want anything to do with me.”
“That’s what a thumbs-up means?” I pitch my brows. “I was letting you know I got your message. When you didn’t respond, I figuredyoudidn’t want anything else to do withme.”
“I’d like everything to do with you.” My pulse spikes. He clears his throat. “As afriend,” he amends.
I refrain from fanning my face, but barely. The man standing in front of me is a known flirt. He doesn’t really mean anything by those words. But itisnice to know he wants to be my friend.
“I didn’t want to press if I was making you uncomfortable,” TJ goes on. “I’d already forced you to come to dinner at my place. Then my gram all but forced you here. We were being flirty and fun together. Or at least, I thought we were.” He waves his hands around like he doesn’t know what to do with them, and it’s oddly endearing to see him off his game. “When you gave me a thumbs-up, I figured that was your polite way of ending the conversation.”
“That wasn’t my intention. Leave it to me to give standoffish vibes via text,” I huff out a self-deprecating laugh. “I guess I’ve been hiding myself away for so long, I don’t know how to interact with people in a normal way.”
“It’s not your fault. I could have responded differently instead of leaving you hanging. Honestly, the thumbs-up thing is probably more of a me issue. I let my own insecurities get in the way.”
Huh. My writer instinct twitches.Self-aware and self-reflective.Check and check. I need to give Theo a scene that exemplifies both. It’ll endear readers to him, and it’ll make Monica see him for who he is—a genuinely good guy.
“Sorry if you were expecting me to respond and I left you hanging,” TJ concludes.
I wave him off, even though, judging from the relief coursing throughout my entire body, I needed to hear those words. It’s really nice having someone tell me I’m not the problem. It’s felt like I’m the problem a lot lately.
“You’re fine,” I say aloud. “Can we start over?” I hold out my hand. “Hi, I’m Lucy Dupree, and I’d very much like to be your friend. I have to admit, I’m not usually fun or flirty. What you saw of me at the gala wasn’t really who I am.”
TJ engulfs my hand in his. His skin is calloused and warm, and the squeeze he gives my fingers sends lightning shooting up the length of my arm. “I guess we’ll see about that.”
The words feel like a challenge and a promise entwined in a double helix formation. My heart feels like it has grown legs and is scampering about like an excited octopus. My writer brain knows that’s a terrible analogy because octopuses swim in water, but I’m going with it anyway.
