“Your father doesn’t believe you’ll make it, but I do.” He smirked. “Only if you stick to it long enough.”
I folded my arms across my chest. “Is this about the move? You think I changed my mind?”
He let out a heavy sigh. “I know you did.”
“Then what the fuck am I doing here?”
“I’m not sure.”
I snapped the laptop shut and rose to my feet. He grabbed my wrist before I stormed out. “I’m sorry. I know I’m being an ass right now.” His hand pulled me back to the couch. I yielded. “But I was super excited about this, and you kind of ruined it for me,” he added.
“I didn’t change my mind. I really want this to work, but me sucking at making decisions doesn’t mean you get to decide for me. Or us.” I held his hands and squeezed them. “I need to try things before deciding whether they’ll work or not. So trust me, I’m doing the best that I can. Do you know what I’m saying?”
His nod was hesitant. “I guess I need to understand that this is more change for you than it is for me.”
“Exactly.”
He filled his lungs with air. Then he pressed his lips to my knuckles and rose. “Okay. I’ll leave you to your stalking and go make us some dinner then.”
“Thanks, but I’m not hungry.” I reopened the laptop.
“You’ve got to eat something. You haven’t been able to keep anything down for days. I’m starting to worry.”
“It’s no big deal. Stress does this to me.”
“Since when?”
Tugging at my T-shirt, I snorted. “Since I can remember. Don’t you know I have IBS? It’s nothing.”
“It doesn’t sound like nothing to me, so it’s either dinner or we’re seeing a doctor.”
“Oh, God. Okay, babe. Dinner it is.”
“How about some Chicken Alfredo?” he suggested, already in the kitchen.
My lashes fluttered. “Do you have amnesia, babe? You know I don’t eat chicken, right? We’ve been together for almost a year. You gotta know these things by now.”
“Shit. I keep forgetting that.”
“Why?” I asked, water running and metal banging in the background.
“Because everybody likes chicken,” he answered as if stating the obvious.
“Well, I don’t.”
“Maybe you should give it another shot.”
What the fuck? I threw my hands in the air in exasperation, glaring at the emptiness. “No, thanks.”
“Your loss. Tuna pasta okay?”
“Yes.” I let go of the laptop and grabbed my phone from the oversized coffee table before me. A text message popped up. I smiled as I took in the words.If you’ve nothing better to do, turn on channel 62. Going live in 15.
I rolled on my side and stretched my legs on the couch, then switched the TV on and flipped channels until I found the right one.
Commercials and kitchenware noise streamed as I waited for Mike’s appearance. The evening talk-show host finally announced Mike’s name. He waved to the squealing audience as he made his way to the open chair on the stage. His hair was tied back in a messy, man bun. The beige tweed jacket over the untucked, dark brown, button-down shirt and his pants brought out his eyes. They were the color of melting chocolate and made him look even more delectable than he already was.
Women yelled “I love you” as he took his seat, and he faked a shy smile in response.
