I stop just outside, and the knots in my stomach twist as I lift my hand and knock gently. “Alex?”
There are some muffled noises—a drawer closing, maybe, and his bed squeaks. Then he calls out, “Uh, yeah, hang on, just—just one sec...”
A moment later, he’sunlockingthe door, which makes even less sense, until I see him. Then... fuck.
Heat rushes straight to my groin as he peeks his head outaround the edge of the door. He’s flushed, his cheeks red and his hair messy and ruffled. And his eyes are some weird combination of deep but unfocused. He runs a hand through his hair, which doesn’t really straighten it, and he continues hiding partly behind his door as he forces a smile.
“H-hey, Nico. Shoot, sorry, I, um . . . I lost track of time. I was just . . .”
Iknowwhat the fuck he was doing. And I’m in trouble if he glances down. My fucking slacks won’t hide a thing. Stupid work clothes. Dammit.
I tilt my head in the general direction of the kitchen and mumble, “Your mom says dinner’s ready in five minutes.”
“Uh, yeah. Cool. Okay.” He runs his hand through his hair again as he blows out a breath. “’Kay, and uh, then we’ll get ice cream?”
“Sure, yeah.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
Fuck, this is awkward.
I shove my hands into my pockets and turn away, heading back toward the stairs so I can go get changed out of my work clothes, but I can’t get the image of his flushed cheeks out of my head. As I reach the stairs, I glance back over my shoulder, and my stomach swoops. He’s watching me, his eyes intense and his hand gripping the doorframe as he bites at his lower lip.
What... the fuck? Is he staring at my ass? No way.
I clear my throat, and his eyes dart up to meet mine. He forces another smile and then a laugh, but it’s so obviously fake, I can’t even figure out how to react.
“Uh, five minutes, you said?” he asks, shifting uncomfortably.
I nod. “Yeah.”
He gives me another of those tight, forced smiles and holdsmy gaze for several much-too-long seconds. Then he mumbles something I can’t hear and quickly disappears back into his room, shutting the door behind him.
I’m even more confused than before.
Dinnerisanotherhalfhour of awkward.
Thankfully, his mom carries the conversation most of the time, chatting with both of us about who’s arriving tomorrow and when. She’s made up some loose schedule for the weekend as well, and she shares several lists with us—one of all the things she’s going to be cooking, then also a grocery list and another list detailing all the furniture that needs to be rearranged and how she wants the tables set up outside.
Alex barely looks at me the whole time.
I manage to eat a little, and my opinion that the soup is perfect still stands. But I find myself feeling nauseous the first time my eyes meet Alex’s because his cheeks immediately turn pink, and he tears his gaze away.
When dinner is over, he offers to do the dishes, and his mom, who seems to be just distracted enough that she doesn’t notice the weirdness between the two of us, thanks him and disappears upstairs.
And me... I just sit there for a few minutes, staring at my hands, wondering how the hell I should be acting right now.
I’m suddenly exhausted, and though we’d agreed to get ice cream, I can’t see this awkwardness going away enough for us to do something that “normal.” Maybe I’m wrong, but even now, he’s not talking to me. He’s just doing the dishes. Quickly and quietly and without looking over at me.
I glance up, letting myself watch him. His shoulders are tense, and he’s scrubbing the soup pot with a bit of extra muscle that it really shouldn’t need.
Guilt hits me then, because for whatever reason—maybe what I said and how I said it earlier on the phone, maybe something else, I don’t really know—my presence here is making him uncomfortable. He shouldn’t be uncomfortable in his own house, evenifI interrupted what I think I interrupted upstairs. I shrink lower in my seat and look away, down the hall toward the bedroom I’ve been staying in.
“I’m s-sorry,” I say, my voice breaking on the second word.
“What?” The clinking of dishes stops, but I can’t get myself to look at him.
