I perk up. “Do something?”
“We could get out of this apartment,” she says. “Take your mind off things.”
“And what exactly would we do?”
“There’s a cool bar down the street,” she tells me. “We could go there.”
I sit up straight, placing a hand over my heart as I give her a faux gasp. “Abigail Thompson. Are you asking me out?”
“No.” She scowls. “I’m asking my friend and bed buddy if he wants to go grab a drink and take his mind off his shitty day.”
“I don’t know…” I cluck my tongue. “Sounds like a date to me.”
“You wish it was,” she laughs.
I don’t tell her that I do, actually—thinking that there’s a good chance that would put her off. For as much as she’s let me touch her in the last week, she’s given me no indications that she might want something more than that. There hasn’t been any talk abouttellinganyone what we’re doing, and yes, I know that was initially something I agreed to, but the last few days…I’ve almost felt like a dirty secret. So her asking me to go out and do something—dateor no date—feels huge to me. It’s not something I want to scare her off from.
“We could hang out,” I say, going for casual. “What are friends and lovers for?”
“Say ‘lovers’ again,” she says with a huff, “and you’ll be going alone.”
I smack a kiss against her cheek, grinning. “Okay, bed buddy.”
She pushes me away so she can rise from the couch, saying something about changing clothes, and I feel lighter already just from the idea of leaving this apartment with her. Of doinganythingwith her, really. It’s becoming a small problem, the way I seem to get a little more obsessed with her every time she lets me touch her. I eye the round curve of her ass as she walks away, biting my lip as I imagine sitting too close to her in a tiny booth and feeling her warmth pressed against me.
Yeah. A real problem indeed.
The bar is crowded, evenfor a Thursday night, and I have to kind of cut a path for the pair of us when we finally get out of the line and make our way inside. I’ve only been here once with Ian a few months back, but it’s a cool enough place. The music is good, and there are pool tables in the back—which has me thinking about Abby bent over a table with a cue in her hand, which makes for a dangerous situation in my jeans, so I quickly turn away from that line of thought.
We find a booth in the back, and I let her slide in, not giving her the option of sitting across from me as I scoot in right after to sit beside her. She gives me a look when I do, but I just grin back at her.
“It’s so loud in here,” I tell her with a raised voice. “Just want to make sure I can hear you.”
She looks like she doesn’t quite believe me, but she doesn’t make me sit on the other side, so I take it as a win.
“I’ve never actually been here,” she says into my ear, making goose bumps erupt there. “I just saw a reel about it on Instagram.”
“It’s a nice place,” I answer. “Want to get some food?”
Her nose wrinkles. “Food is very date-ish.”
“Oh, come on.” I roll my eyes. “People get food with their great-aunts that they don’t even like.”
“Are you saying that you’re something like a great-aunt that I don’t even like for me?”
Her teasing tone has me smiling, and I lean in closer. “I think we’ve already established what I am,lov—”
She presses a finger to my lips, narrowing her eyes. “Don’t even.”
“Fine, fine,” I say with a laugh.
I flag down a waitress and get us both our drink orders, asking for a couple of appetizers too. Surelyappetizersaren’t considered date-ish. Not that I would mind if they were, really. I’ve just got to get Abby on board with the idea.
Hm. Do I want to take Abby out on a date?
I mull it over in my head, leaning toward yes. I think I mightactuallywant that. For real. I don’t know what that means for us as friends and bed buddies, but now that the thought is lodged in my brain, I have a bad feeling I won’t be able to get it out until I act on it.
Stupid ADHD brain.
