I’ve rearranged my pillows three times. I’ve scrolled through Instagram without actually seeing anything. I’ve gotten up to check my reflection twice, which is absurd because he’s already seen me covered in sweat and stage makeup and post-crying puffiness. A little frizzy hair isn’t going to be the dealbreaker.
A smell starts to drift under my door. Something warm and savory, with an undertone of spice that makes my empty stomach clench with desperate interest. I sit up straighter, inhaling deeply. Cheese, definitely. Something meaty. Peppers?
A knock at my door makes me catapult off the bed.
“Charlie? You decent?”
“Define decent,” I call back to Taio, scrambling to arrange myself into something resembling casual nonchalance. I settle for cross-legged back on the bed, phone in hand like I’ve been casually scrolling instead of counting the seconds since he left.
“Clothed. Conscious. Willing to leave your room.”
I’m at the door before he finishes the sentence, yanking it open to find him standing in the hallway with a barely suppressed grin. He’s still in the same dark sweats and blue shirt, but now there’s a small splatter of something light orangeon his collar—evidence of whatever’s creating that incredible smell.
“Follow me.”
“Where are we going?”
“Living room. I made something.”
The aroma intensifies as we walk down the hallway, and my stomach responds with a growl so loud it echoes off the marble floors. Taio glances back at me with an amused quirk of his eyebrow but doesn’t comment.
When I round the corner into the living room, I stop dead in my tracks.
Taio has transformed the space.
The massive sectional has been completely dismantled. Cushions form walls. Throw pillows create a plush floor. Sheets drape from the ceiling, anchored to a complicated system involving floor lamps, dining chairs dragged in from the adjacent room, and what appears to be a telescoping curtain rod wedged between two bookcases.
It’s a blanket fort. A massive, elaborate, clearly-took-forty-seven-years-to-construct blanket fort.
LED candles flicker throughout the structure, casting warm amber light that makes the white sheets glow like something from a dream. The whole thing is maybe eight feet wide and six feet tall at its peak—big enough to actually move around in, not just crawl through like the forts Claire and I built as kids.
Inside, visible through the entrance flap that Taio has pinned back with what looks like a binder clip, is a spread that would make my nutritionist burst into a slew of curse words: bags of chips in multiple flavors, bowls of candy sorted by type, a towering stack of Double-Stuffed Oreos, a family-sized container of Goldfish crackers, gummy worms spilling out of their bag, and in the center of it all, a cast-iron skillet filled with somethingbubbling and golden that’s clearly the source of the incredible smell.
“Is that…Rotel dip?”
“With chorizo.” Taio looks almost shy, which is absurd given that he’s approximately the size of a professional linebacker and could probably bench-press the sectional he just disassembled. “A throwback delicacy from dorm room days.”
“I’ve never lived in dorms.”
“Too fancy to slum it?” Taio asks teasingly.
“Are you kidding? I think I would’ve loved college. I never got a chance to go. Did you?”
He nods slowly, like the admission is very heavy. “Stanford. I lived in the dorms my first year. Sophomore through graduation I shared a two-bedroom apartment with my girlfriend at the time.”
“Aw,” I say, reaching out to rub his arm. “Another ex who broke your heart?”
“Same one. I’ve only ever had one girlfriend. I didn’t even experience other women until I…”
“Became an escort?”
“Yeah,” he breathes out.
I place my hands on my hips. “Can I ask an obnoxious question?”
Taio puts his hand on his hips, sweetly mocking me. “I prefer your questions when they’re obnoxious.”
“How’d you know you were qualified to be an escort if you’d only been with your girlfriend? Like what if you were really bad in bed and she didn’t tell you?”
