The bend and snap is the exception, not the rule.
Wait, did he just get out of the shower?
Oh god, I do not want to think about him right out of the shower ... again.
My tongue darts out over my bottom lip the moment he turns around, so I cough.
Not on purpose, but that’s what happens when the person who’s getting sexualized without their knowledge locks their moldy eyes on you. My body literally rebuked the thought.
“Honey, you’re home,” he says, surprised to see me.
I scowl.
He chuckles and adds, “Too soon? My bad. I thought we were gonna be friends.”
My sister... She’s quickly becoming insufferable, kind of like my PTS over his D. I’d like to say something snarky, but the lingering sound of sizzling reminds me to be nice so I stay out of hell.
“Mmm” is all I can manage, making him grin as he scratches the scruff on his face.
Facial hair is for men who live off the grid. I’ve never loved it ... always hated it ... so much. And I will live in that truth until it actuallybecomesthe truth.
I let out an empty laugh, trying again. “I guess it’s good to see we’ve both been in contact with the parentals and know the rules.”
That was still meaner than I meant it.Shit.
I don’t know how to play this. I promised to try and be friends but gave zero thought as to what that looked like when I got home. Iam way too unprepared for this. I need to, like, meditate (I’ve never done that), do a shot (I’ve absolutely done that), and maybe even pay someone on Cameo for a motivational video.
There’s nothing like D-list celebrities telling you to hang in there for fifty bucks.
Alas, there is no time, so I just dive into deep waters with Chase and hope I don’t drown in annoyance from this decision.
But what else am I supposed to do?
I made a promise.
He gives me a smirk like he can hear my internal battle before sliding an empty wineglass toward the edge of the counter, all the way until it can’t go any further.
“This might make me more tolerable,” he offers teasingly.
Something tells me I may need the bottle. On second thought ...
I’m waiting for him to interject a comment about the wedding because that’s where my head just went, but much to my surprise, he doesn’t say anything.
Instead, he picks up a bottle of red and pours me a glass, never looking at me once before he turns back to stir what’s in the pan.
I hesitate, staring at the wineglass, chewing my bottom lip.
This is a peace offering.
But then why does it feel like I’m losing the battle? Like he has the upper hand? It’s because he clearly prepared for his ethics and morality test, and I just showed up with my heart as black as those truffles.
Ooo, truffles.
Jesus, focus.
I squeeze my eyes closed the way I would if I were jumping out of an airplane, before I open them and step forward, taking the glass and immediately sipping.
I can do hard things.
