I hesitate, caught off guard. “You did?”
“I did.” He steps closer. “Do you remember how we used to get up early so we could hit the diner for breakfast before we went to the library?”
“Yeah,” I laugh. “I forgot about that.”
Davis holds my eye. “Pretty romantic. It’s hard to find a guy who likes the library as much as I do.”
My thoughts flutter. The library is romantic, as a matter of fact. I can’t argue with him on that. But the conversation just took a turn, and the way Davis leans in, my cheeks are suddenly warm.
I bite my lip. “Nothing like those strawberry waffles either, right?” I say, then force an awkward chuckle that I immediately regret.
Flirting is far outside of my comfort zone, and the more Davis eyes me, the more I squirm. Instead of turning away from my awkwardness, though, he just smiles wider.
Oh no. I think he likes it?
He drops his voice a little lower. “I’m still single. Are you, Alexander?”
My heart jumps into my throat, and it’s only when I swallow it back down that I manage a weak “yes.”
“Maybe I could take you out sometime? We only broke up because I moved.” He casually tilts his eyes down, dragging his gaze across my body. “I think we could still have some fun together, if you’re interested.”
I try to swallow my jackrabbiting heart again, but my mouth is too dry.
Sex. When we were dating, we never hooked up, and now Davis wants to have sex with me. And since I’m not the kind of person who really has much sex, let alone exes subtly propositioning me out of nowhere, I’m flustered into another squirming puddle.
“Yeah, maybe,” I somehow manage, because ayesand anoboth seem impossible right now.
Davis nods and seems to accept this. “You still have my number?” he asks.
“Yeah. I do.”
“Hit me up,” he says. “I’m going to check out this art.”
He disappears into the crowd, leaving me holding the plastic cup I’ve crushed in my hand over the course of our brief conversation, which I toss into the trash.
Do I want to go out with Davis again? It’s a confusing proposition. After a few failed experiments over the years, I decided that it’s generally a bad idea to date someone else while so deeply attached to Rafael. It’s unfair to all parties involved.
Except I’ve been starting to doubt some of my old ideas. There’s been a whisper in the back of my head, growing louder lately. Maybe my hyper-attached friendship with Rafael isn’t healthy. Maybe I owe it to myself to try to have a romance with someone else, open my heart to someone who isn’t my best friend.
Maybe it’s possible to love someone who isn’t Rafael, although every fiber of my soul resists that. There’s no one else like him.
Which is another part of the problem. Not being interested in other people has resulted in me gaining almost no experience with dating or sex. Even if I did want to take Davis up on his implied offer and jump in bed, I’d have no idea what to do once I got there. Hell, I’d probably just embarrass myself.
“Bubbly water,” Rafael says, appearing beside me and yanking me from my thoughts.
“Oh, thanks.” I take the can with a smile. Seeing him there, practically glowing in the middle of his work, everything else drifts into the background again. It’s his big night, and I’m here to celebrate him.
“I’m glad you went ahead and made the T-shirt,” I say. I reach out and gently tug the shirt, which has on the front an illustration of a futuristic tower with countless round windows, abstract splashes of color behind it. “You look like you’re part of the show.”
“I know it’s not normal for the artist to wear a T-shirt with their work to the opening, but I don’t care,” he says with a chuckle, then rocks back on his heels.
This is one of the things that makes me love him so much. Rafael is honestly a free spirit in a way that not many people are. He makes up his own mind about things, and he refuses to apologize for his quirks and strange habits. He’s just Rafael, simple as that.
And he helps me accept myself, too. Not everyone loves the guy who hums to himself while he walks through the grocery store, but I’ve learned to ignore the occasional stares and hum along. He just keeps being Rafael, a lovable weirdo who loves other weirdos.
It’s pretty remarkable, actually, that people like him exist.
“You have to let me borrow the shirt.”
