“Oh. Alright,” he says, turning back to the pan on the stove. “Do you want some eggs? I made you some. But maybe that was presumptuous.”
“Eggs?” I stare at his back. “I mean, I guess. But did you hear me?”
“Yeah, I heard you, darlin’,” he says, shrugging his shoulders. Pausing.
It’s not like I expected resistance or even an exit interview, but this is a little rude, right?
“Look, we never said how or when this would end, but I’m thinking the moment one of us wants it to end, then that’s it, right?” he says. “It’s not like I’m going to try to talk you out of it.”
He grabs two plates from the cabinet and flips some eggs onto one of them, then the other. He slides the plate with the slightly smaller portion toward me. One might think that’s rude, but Waylon eats so much more than I do. For a guy who eats so much and never really goes to the gym, he’s in awfully good shape. Too good, really.
“Right, yes.” He makes a good point. What’s he supposed to do, beg me to change my mind? “I just don’t want things to get too complicated. And we had some fun, but I think the longer these things go on, the more risk there is for something to go wrong.”
“Yeah, I hear you. You’re totally right,” he says. “So, no more hooking up. Just roommates from now on. And… friends?”
“Of course friends,” I say, nodding enthusiastically. I’m honestly glad he added that at the end because I definitely didn’t want to lose most of the dynamic we’ve built since I moved in. I just want to cut out the sex part. I mean, I don’t want to, but I need to for the sake of my sanity. “I’m glad you understand.”
He nods but says nothing. Perhaps that’s for the best. Then he just begins eating his eggs like nothing at all is the matter. I guess he wouldn’t act like something is wrong. I remind myself that him not arguing is actually a sign of respect versus thinking it means he doesn’t care. I mean, maybe he doesn’t care all that much, but they’re not the same thing.
I learned a long time ago that pressing on your boundaries and hoping you’ll cave on your decision is actually abusive behavior. It’s not flattering, not a matter of them wanting you so much they can’t help themselves. That line of thinking is juvenile and dangerous. So in a real way, I’m relieved at the lack of resistance.
“So, I’m not sure if you’ve seen the group chat this morning, but everyone is pushing for us all to go out and swashbuckle tomorrow night,” he says.
“Swashbuckle?”
“Their word, not mine,” he says, holding up his hands in innocence. “More specifically, Banks used it and no one wanted to argue.”
I laugh, thinking how much sense that makes. Banks is an interesting character. The guys give him a hard time and call him Pretty Boy, but I think there’s more underneath the surface that he never really shows anyone. Of course, I hardly know him, so I could be wrong. Though, it feels like I’ve known them all for a lot longer.
Darcy was right. These guys just suck you right in and make you feel at home. Man, I hate it when she’s right. It’s been a long time since I’ve had any kind of solid reliable group. It’s been just Darcy for a while. And Darcy was in the same boat, too, for that matter. And I’m not saying she doesn’t love Ridge, because she definitely does. But if she confessed to me that this close-knit dynamic they have was fifty percent of the reason, I wouldn’t even judge her.
“Yeah, that sounds good.” The funny thing is, I actually mean that. Which is weird for me.
“Great, I’ll tell them we’re in. Do you want to ride together or…?”
“Yeah, of course. Be silly not to. Which of us will be DD?”
“Me. Definitely me. I tied one off a little too hard last night. That will hold me over until the holidays for sure,” he says with a laugh.
“Fair enough.” I laugh too.
“We’ll leave here about eight thirty, if that works? I’ll take the top off the Jeep.”
“Works for me.” Gah, him and that Jeep. He looks so good driving it. I haven’t actually been in it yet. But now I’m thinking about how he’ll be gripping the wheel and flexing hisforearm in my face. No, it’s fine. It’ll be fine. I’m strong enough.
“I got this new hat just before you moved in and haven’t worn it yet. I’ve been lookin’ for a reason,” he says, scratching his chin hairs with his fingertips.
“Stop scratching your face like that.”
“What?” he asks, furrowing his eyebrow.
“You’re already wearing those slutty glasses of yours. You can’t start touching your face, okay?” I huff, rubbing my temple.
“What the hell are you talking about?” A chuckle gurgles up from his stupid mouth.
“You know what I mean! Your face and stuff. Stop touching it.” I look all around the kitchen and not directly at him.
“My chin itches,” He shrugs his shoulders at me like what he’s really saying is “What the hell is wrong with you, woman?”
