“We could just eat here,” I say. “I don’t have to get dressed to eat here. I definitely want to brush my teeth, though.”
For some reason, even though he just went down on me for the last thirty minutes, made me feel better than I felt in actual years — actual years, human years, not dog years, even — the thought of him feeling like he has to make me food makes me feel uncomfortable, which is silly. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I do need therapy.
“What’s going through that beautiful head of yours, Ivy Romantic?” he says. “You don’t regret that, do you?”
“Hell no,” I tell him honestly. “I don’t think I’ll ever regret that.”
“Well, did I pass your test?” he asks.
I force my lips into a thin line and look up at him.
“Seriously, I don’t know,” I say. “I mean, it was — it was good, but what if it was just a one-off?”
“Excuse me, a one-off?”
“Exactly,” I say. “A one-off. We don’t know if that’s replicable. The only way to really test if this is still good chemistry”— I motion between us and pretend like I don’t see the glimmering of my own release on his lips— “is to do it again. Don’t you think?”
“Absolutely,” he says with a sigh, “I fear in the name of science the only way to guarantee a positive outcome is to test again.”
I reach up to him, wanting to pull him back down on top of me, wanting to see if maybe we could go for three or four, or heck, maybe all the way to home base. I’m a grown woman. Why shouldn’t I? There’s nothing to stop me.
My stomach growls.
“We need to get some food in you, Lead Research Assistant. We don’t want your stomach making you turn into the Wicked Witch of the West or something.”
“Wicked Witch of the West isn’t real.”
“Good. She better not be,” he says. “Come on, get up. Let’s brush your teeth so you don’t manage to make anyone throw up when I take you down to Saltline for brunch.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I tell him.
“We’re dating now. Why shouldn’t I do that?”
“Oh, are we dating? Is that what this is?” I say, laughing.
“Well.” He scratches his beard, looking confused, feigning it though, I can tell from the slight way that his lips curve up. I always could tell when he was joking around versus being serious. It’s nice to see that some things don’t change, even if the package that they’re in has changed completely — and for the better.
“I don’t know. I guess if it’s a weird way to ask someone to be their boyfriend. But yeah, I mean, I guess. I guess I’ll be your boyfriend, Ivy Romantic.”
“That is not what I was doing at all,” I say, scandalized. I sit up and throw one of the couch cushions at him. He catches it and laughs.
“Straight from your boyfriend to throwing things at me. It’s a hard job, Ivy Romantic, but I guess I’m the one for it.”
I sigh, completely exasperated and amused. Exasperated, amused, and yet utterly, completely delighted.
“We said last night we were going to move slow,” I remind him.
He offers up a hand and I let him pull me to my feet. His grin is contagious, just like it always has been. “Well, if this morning was taking it slow, then I’m a huge fan of it. But if you want to get any further with me, you need to respect the fact that we have to be boyfriend and girlfriend at the very least. You can’t keep taking advantage of me.”
“What do you mean, at the very least?” I say, laughing, shoving him playfully.
He tugs me up the stairs and I hold on to the rail with one hand and clutch his, because I like the feel of it, with the other.
“Yeah, I’m old fashioned like that, Ivy Romantic. You can’t take advantage of me. Nope. If you want anything else from me physically, you’re going to have to be my girlfriend. And since you’ve already asked me, there’s no backing out of it now.”
“Caleb,” I say, swallowing a laugh and trying to be serious, “we’re just barely back in each other’s lives. Don’t you think we should take it slow?”
“We’ve been taking it slow since we were fifteen, Ivy. That’s taking it slow. I know what I want, and what I want is holding my hand and walking into my bedroom right now.”
