“Yup.”
“Okay.” He maneuvers around and awkwardly stands next to me, but can’t quite get the right angle until he finally mutters, “Fuck it,” and stands behind me. He reaches around my arms and puts his hand in the bowl, his head right next to mine. “Is this okay?”
His chest is plastered against my back and the rough scruff of his cheek is rubbing against mine, driving my internal temperature up another ten degrees. But I’m not going to make a big deal about it so I nod.
“That’s fine. As long as you’re comfortable.”
“I’m good, babe. What perfume do you wear, by the way? Fucking kills me.”
“Dolce and Gabbana, Light Blue.”
“Hell, it smells good. Not that I should be saying that while standing next to you like this, but it smells really fucking good.”
“Thank you,” I say as the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention.
The last few days have been... comforting. Spending all this time with JP makes me realize that he truly is a good guy. When his mind is clear, when he’s happy, he’s so open and honest and a good time. He jokes around—like he used to—and I hate to say this, but he sort of makes me feel alive. Like a part of me has been missing and he’s woken it up.
I feel excited to see him, thrilled to get a text from him, and count down the minutes until our next planned non-date. Within a very short amount of time, he’s become one of my best friends. Never would’ve expected that.
“This is kind of fun. I feel like a cat, massaging a gut.”
My hands pause as I turn just slightly to look at him. “What kind of analogy is that?”
“You know... how cats paw at things.” He replicates a massaging motion. “That’s what this feels like. Did you not have a cat growing up?”
“I didn’t.”
“Ah, you missed out,” he says, leaning in against me even more. “Shame. You never experienced a sandpaper tongue on the back of your hand. Or the feel of a cat’s claw seeping through the threads of your clothing, straight into your flesh. Or the absolute pleasure of sifting shit out of a litter box.”
“Yes, an absolute shame,” I say sarcastically. “What was your cat’s name?”
“Huxley and I called her Cat, because we didn’t have any feelings toward her. She was more of an annoying asshole than anything. Always clawed the shit out of us. But Breaker was best friends with the cat. Her name was technically Jiggles. Have you ever watchedNew Girl?”
“Yes, love that show.”
“Well, think of Winston and his cat. That was Breaker and Jiggles.”
Our hands collide in the bowl, and instead of pulling away or moving, I just let our fingers tangle through the masa mixture. I like it. I shouldn’t, but I do.
“I can’t see it. Breaker seems so cool and calm. I can’t see him fussing over a cat.”
JP chuckles. “Man, does he have you fooled. Sure, he’s cool and calm, but he’s the biggest nerd. Loves data, has autographs from every cast member ofThe Lord of the Rings, and he has been known to dress up a time or two as a calculator for Halloween.”
“What? No way.” I shake my head. “That can’t be true.”
“Trust me, babe, he’s a nerd. He has a computer at his place that he built on his own.”
“Gah, like Henry Cavill?”
“What?” he asks, confused.
“Henry Cavill, he built his own computer and recorded the whole thing. It was hot.”
“Wow... man, am I missing the mark on what women find attractive these days.”
“Then again, Henry is such a dreamboat. The chin dimple, the seductive eyes, the unbelievable muscles.”
“You know, some people have said that I look like a tattooed Henry Cavill.”
