“I’m just kiiidding.” He stretches the word out as he draws his head back and stumbles back a step into me.
“Careful now.”
“What if I fall?” he pouts, whispering over his shoulder to me.
“You’ll be fine.”
“Alriiight…” Stretching his words again, he lets his shoulders fall then whispers, “I’ll take one…all alone.” The swell of his bottom lip juts out with force as he stares at me. I instinctively push it back in with my finger, which I realize is a mistake when he nips at it.
I yank my hand away, guarding the bitten appendage. “You are a crazy man!”
“Crazy about you.Boop.”
He actually boops my nose before scurrying away and shutting the bathroom door. This six-foot-two, surly man, who thinks any physical touch outside of a handshake is asinine, just booped me on the nose.
Crazy about you.
His words cling to my brain like syrup, thick and sticky. A sweet satisfaction trickles through my senses and leaves a freaking mess of everything. We were supposed to talk tonight. I was supposed to set boundaries and tell him all this flirting—or whatever the Florida heat has done to our brain cells—needs to simmer down so we can go back to normal before we go home. I had it all worked out in my head. An easy, simple conversation about the importance of our friendship, and my goal to find someone, and how it’s become clear that the two very separate aspects of my life are now bubbling over into each other. I have always considered myself a flexible person, going with the flow of things like it’s my job. And being a high school teacher, sometimes that’s all I can do. But something about this situation with Malcolm has me all over the place emotionally, and going with the flow is just not going to cut it. I can’t let myself getworked up over his face or his lips anymore. I can’t be having emotional breakdowns when he gets plowed over by a group of teenagers. Putting myself back out there requires a level head and a well-oiled wheel of emotions.
But my cogs are all out of sorts because of this man, and I clearly can’t have a conversation with him when he’sboopingme on the nose.
I hear a small thud followed by a slew of curse words, and I jump to the bathroom. Swinging the door open, I find Malcolm wrapped in a towel on the floor, his long legs stretched out in front of him as he holds the tub stopper over his head like a trophy.
“Are you alright?” I ask behind a stifling laugh.
“I need help.” His pout seems to be permanent at this point.
I let out a sigh and reach around him to turn on the water. Filling the tub is a test of self-discipline as I try to focus on the temperature of the water and not the bare chest and arms sitting at my feet. I sidle past him once it’s ready. “All set. Be careful, please.” He salutes me then giggles again as he pulls himself up.
Time passes in slow motion as I listen to the splashing of water, hums, and snickers that happen on the other side of the bathroom door. The last few days’ events replay in my head, adding to the pressure forming behind my eyes. I press my palms into my forehead, resisting the urge to ask myself,What are you doing?The entire Eric situation, the Malcolm situation, not to mention the dating app notifications that have been silenced since we landed in Florida. My brain hurts from all of this confusion, and I’ve done it to myself. The chaos is my own doing.
A loud slosh of water happens, and I can hear Malcolm getting out of the tub. Clearly, tonight won’t be productive in solving one of my issues. But I can rest confidently knowing that one of them is put to bed—Eric. It doesn’t always take the universeto tell me when a door is meant to close, and that one closed a long time ago. Sitting up against the headboard and letting the tension in my limbs release, I feel something in my chest release as well. A tight knot unravels—one that’s needed to for years, but I was pulling in the wrong direction, tightening it. The weight of holding a grudge against my ex, and refusing to date because of him, starts to dissipate.
The bathroom door creaks open, and Malcolm emerges, fully clothed, with a towel draped around his neck. Steam rolls off him in waves.
“How was your bath?” I ask.
“Good.” He nods, and I half-expect him to be back to his normal self until he says, “But very lonely.” He gives me a pitiful pout and a wink, solidifying that Malcolm is still completely out of it.
“Well, you’re going to have to deal with it.” My tone is an eye roll enough, which causes him to pout even harder. “You are Mr. Lone Wolf tonight, sir.”
“Aww,” he whimpers, “Kitty Kat…”
“Ew, absolutely not.” I rejected that horrendous nickname long ago, banning it from every name scenario that I might ever find myself in.
“What? You don’t like it?” He puts his hands on his hips, one eyebrow raised. I should blame his injured brain cells for his lack of common sense right now, but the way he stands there, confident thatheis the one who should be offended whenhewas the first person to boycott the nickname, just about pushes me past the edge of sanity.
“We should get some sleep.” I fear we are both headed for hysterics if this continues.
His eyes widen and eyebrows twitch, itching to wiggle suggestively. “Together?”
“Yes, Geer. We’ve shared this bed already. Slow your roll.”
“Oooh, goodie.” Clasping his hands together, he bounces once on the balls of his feet, delight swimming in his eyes. He dives onto the bed, Superman style, with a wide grin plastered on his face, landing so hard he has to reach out to grab my arm so I don’t fly off the bed. He winces in pain and rubs his forehead, settling on top of the comforter.
Brushing a strand of gold hair away from his face, I ask, “How bad does it hurt?”
“Meh.” He presses deeper in the center of his forehead with his thumb. “I’m fine.”
