Pushing my phone back into my hand, he pulls his own from his pocket and swipes at the screen, rapidly tapping at his screen with his thumbs. I wait patiently as he presumably types out a message to ‘Sylvia’ (I’m good with context clues), then looks back up at me after pressing send. “I meant to text Sylvia.”
“Forgive me for stating the obvious,” I can’t help but reply, “but…K is nowhere near S in the alphabet. They don’t even look alike. Not even when you’re drunk.”
With his rounded cheeks turning bright pink again, he mumbles something incomprehensible at his feet.
“Now, pretend I’m twice your age and losing my hearing,” I joke, “and repeat that in my good ear.”
He sighs, but still won’t look at me. “You’re not saved in my phone as Kenneth Tyler.”
“Then what—”
“Silver Fox. You’re—you’re in my phone as Silver Fox Ken, okay?” The blush on his pale skin has moved beyond his cheeks now, telling me just how mortified he must feel. “And my stupidly drunk ass pressed Silver instead of Sylvia and” —he makes a wide, sweeping gesture with his arms— “ta-da!” Shoulders slumping, he pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’msucha moron.”
“Cody…” Empathy is thankfully repressing the amusement I feel at my nickname in his phone. “Look at me.”
“Nope. Just bury me here, thanks.”
“We’re thirty-nine stories high. I can’t bury you in the Cheng family’s ceiling.”
He groans. “Don’t remind me of the height.”
“Cody, seriously. Look at me.”
He slowly drags his gaze from the floor to my face, but he can’t quite bring himself to meet my eyes. I reach for him and squeeze his bicep reassuringly. “Ilikethat nickname, sweetheart.” And, damn it, I realize how much of a come-on that sounds like after the words have left my mouth. Removing my hand from his firm, warm arm, I clear my throat. “I’m flattered, actually.”
Cody screws his nose up. “Please,pleasedon’t give me the ‘you’re a cute kid’ spiel. IknowI’m just a kid in your eyes. But I’m twenty-fucking-six and beyond legal.”
“Cody…”
“Not that—not that I’m coming on to you.”
I flounder, at a loss for words. I’mneverat a loss for words. Mistaking my stunned silence for a negative reaction, Cody covers his face with his hands and groans.
“Seriously,” he mumbles, barely audible through his palms, “just kill me now.”
I laugh and reach for him again, prying his hands from his face. “Stop. I know you’re an adult. But between being my best friend’s son, and being too good for an aging manwhore like me…well, I think it’s safest to leave it at mutual attraction, don’t you?”
“Mutual…?” Cody frowns and cocks his head, then his eyes widen comically. “Wait. You—you think I’m” —he waves his hand over his torso, still wearing the damn-near obscene mesh shirt from last night— “hot?”
From his soft, russet-colored hair, to his greenish-blue eyes and the smattering of freckles over his cheeks and nose —not to mention his petite build— he is physically very much my type. But it’s the cute, quirky personality I’ve seen peeks of this morning which really ticks my boxes.
However, he is Mike’s son and for that reason alone he is off-limits.
“Cody, you know you’re hot,” I answer simply. “Every man in The Fruitbowl last night would have given their left testicle to have half a chance with you.” Anger bubbles up inside me at the reminder that one of those men is the entire reason Cody’s in my apartment at all. “Including the asshat who had you cowering in a bathroom stall.”
Cody cringes. “That wasnotmy finest moment.”
“None of that is on you.” I’m quick to defend him, but my anger at the other guy comes through in my tone.
Cody takes a step back. “No, I mean allowing myself to get so drunk that I let things get that far. I’m fine,” he rushes to add, probably because the expression on my face has turned thunderous. “Nothing happened. Just…if I’d been more sober, I probably wouldn’t have been as, um, touchy-feely on the dance floor.”
“You did not lead him on by grinding on him while dancing. You were at the fucking Fruitbowl. It’s not exactly a monastery.” I cross my arms, watching as his gaze shifts fleetingly to my biceps. “Besides, you had it right last night: you had every right to withdraw consent at any point and he should have respected that.”
I still have half a mind to get Cody to file a report with the police, because his date’s behavior is more than problematic.
“Mistakes were made last night,” he sighs, “on his part and mine.” Once again, his youthful face scrunches into a grimace. “And if I’d been more sober, I wouldn’t have texted you instead of Syl.”
“Well, I’m glad you did text me.” My lips curl a little at the edges. “How’d you have my number anyway?”
