Cody: No, he left on his own.
Joyce: What happened?
Cody: I offered him my couch because of the rain; he said no. He told me he needed to go home, so I offered him a ride instead, but he said he’d walk. He wanted to prove he can take care of himself.
Joyce: Look at that. Pretty Boy actually sounds sensible. Who would have thought?
I pause, staring at her text. She called Luc sensible. Is that because he really is or because I’m making him sound that way? I’m not sure I trust my judgment anymore.
Cody: Don’t tell me. I don’t stand a chance. I’m actually sad that he left.
Joyce: Just don’t do anything crazy like showing up at his house in the middle of the night. I feel like you might.
Cody: I can’t do that because I don’t even know where he lives.
Joyce: Good. Keep it that way for now. You need to be sensible too, alright? It’s only been a day. He still needs to prove himself.
Cody: Yeah . . .
Joyce: But I’ll say this; I’m positively surprised. Maybe he’s not as bad as I thought.
My eyes widen when I read the message. Wow, it sounds like even Joyce is starting to come around. Who saw that coming? Coming from her, those words mean a lot.
Cody: Seriously? I thought you hated him?
Joyce: Hate’s a strong word. I just didn’t trust him, and I still don’t, not fully. But if he apologized and actually walked away when he could’ve stayed, that says something.
Cody: So you think I should give him a chance?
Joyce: I think you should be careful. Let him prove himself. If he’s worth it, he’ll make the effort. And if not, well, then you’ve saved yourself a mess.
Cody: That’s easily said when you’re not the one falling in love.
Joyce: Seriously? Already? And they say women are the emotional ones...
I chuckle at her comment. Deep down, I believe Joyce is just as emotional as I am. She just knows how to hide it better, keeps herself more on guard than I do because of her past experiences.
Joyce: Just don’t do anything stupid.
Cody: I’ll try. Thanks for being a good friend.
I put my phone down and take some time to reflect on the conversation. It didn’t go the way I thought it would—not exactly. I expected Joyce would tell me I was stupid for letting Luc into my house. But if even Joyce thinks Luc is acting decently, then maybe it’s actually true.
After several minutes of thinking, I get up and start walking around the house, mostly because I’m too anxious to sit still. There’s another thought that keeps pressing at the back of my mind.
It’s been twenty minutes since Luc left, and he hasn’t texted me yet. It’s stressing me out a little, given the low sound of thunder rumbling in the distance. I hope that wherever that thunderstorm is, it’s far away from Luc. I need him to arrive home safely more than anything else, because if something happens to him, I’ll never forgive myself. It’ll be my fault for letting him turn down my offer to sleep on my couch and for allowing him to insist on walking home. If he doesn’t makeit home safely, it won’t matter if Joyce or anyone thinks his decisions were sensible.
Why didn’t I check the weather forecast before he left, instead of just going on the rain having stopped? That was dumb. I wouldn’t have gone outside myself without checking it, so why did I let him leave before taking a look?Why did I go along with him so easily?
It’s probably because I was confused and flustered. I’m a grown man, riled up by the sight of a half-naked guy in my house. In my defense, I hadn’t expected to see him like that. How was I to know he’d immediately take his clothes off the second I turned my back on him? I wasn’t gone that long, less than a minute to find him something dry to wear, and when I returned, he’d already removed his shirt and jeans. How did he do that so fast?
The look of mild surprise he carried when I re-entered the bathroom was one of the most attractive things I have ever seen. It showed that he didn’t expect me to return when I did, so he didn’t plan for it to happen, but he also didn’t look shy or embarrassed. He made it seem like it was the most normal thing in the world, like I was his boyfriend entering a room where he just happened to be almost naked. And that, aside from looking the way he does, is the worst thing he could have done to me.
I want to be that boyfriend so badly. What will he do next to make it more difficult? Will he bring me cake again tomorrow morning, saying, “Hello, sweetheart?” The thought has me almost melting, but well, perhaps it doesn’t matter what he does or doesn’t do, because I’m already doomed.
The image of him standing in my bathroom, half naked, is printed on my brain. I can’t ignore or forget it; my reaction to it is too strong. Mostly physical, but also emotional. I want him here so I can claim his body in a way nobody has ever done before. And I want to do it in a way that ensures he’ll fall inlove with me. It may seem challenging, but with our chemistry, maybe I can pull it off. Especially if he’s already in the process of falling for me. But who’s to say that’s true? The fact that I want to believe it doesn’t make it so.
What I do know is that, vice versa, I’m definitely falling for him. I’m worried about his well-being, wishing he were here safely with me. I like taking care of him— not to control him, but to keep him safe. It doesn’t help with my nerves that there seem to be little reminders of him everywhere; an empty cake box in the kitchen, and two dirty plates and forks on the coffee table where Luc and I ate. On the couch, there’s the shirt Luc left. It’s dry, dark blue, and has the logo of a French band I don’t know.
