“You, relax. I’ll let you know when dinner is ready.”
Without another word, he leaves the room and closes the door behind him.
What.
The.
Fuck.
My friends-with-benefits-fake-boyfriend-slash-roommate just set up a bubble bath for me? Is that something a friends-with-benefits-fake-boyfriend-slash-roommate would do? Stripping down, I decide to ponder the question under the warm bubbly water.
This definitely isn’t hook up behavior. No, this is boyfriend behavior. But Arden made it clear that he doesn’t want to date me.Or I made it clear that I don’t want to date him?Either way, we have rules. Real relationships don’t have rules. So, why is he acting this way?
I suppose drawing me a bubble bath doesn’t necessarily break any rules but it certainly muddies the waters, so to speak. Resting my head against the wall, I close my eyes and think about Arden.
The first thing I see is his piercing green eyes. The way he looks at me sometimes is so disarming. Like I’m a puzzle he’s decided to decode. But I don’t mean to be anything for him to figure out. I can barely figure myself out.
Sipping the wine from the bottle, since he didn’t grab a glass in his haste to set up this bath, I let myself relax, just like he suggested. I truly haven’t been this calm since last year when I lived with Margot and Sydney. It feels nice to have someone take care of me this way. Nico certainly never did anything like this for me. My parents? Forget it. The closest thing I ever had to someone caring about me unconditionally was with Margot growing up and then Sydney when we got to college. I know those two would do anything for me, like I would do for them.
But still, it feels nice to have Arden, in whatever capacity I have him in.
Two knocks on the door break me from my peaceful reverie. “Ten minutes to dinner,” he announces, and I shout my gratitude at the countdown. I should get out anyway, my fingers are starting to look like my Grandma Nell’s. Grabbing the towel on the back of the door, I quickly dry off and throw my robe on before leaving the bathroom.
“No peeking,” Arden says immediately.
“I’m not,” I laugh, putting my right arm up to block the view of the kitchen as I walk to my room. I do, however, open my fingers slightly to get a peek, because of course I do.
“I saw that,” he says, and I run into my room before he scolds me.
Quickly changing into lounging clothes, I leave my room only to see the table set for two with a bowl of some kind of pasta sitting right in the middle. Arden is pouring the wine into a glass this time as I walk toward the chair.
“Smells amazing, what is it?”
“Pasta primavera. Healthy but also delicious."
I nod my approval and fill my bowl, and Arden does the same before sitting across from me, his own wine glass just as full as mine.
“So, how was your day, darling?”
Arden stops his fork midway to his mouth and looks at me, startled.
“Sorry,” I chuckle, grabbing my own bite of the pasta. I gesture toward the table. “This is just so domestic.”
He shakes his head as he takes the bite. We eat in silence for a few minutes, no doubt because I made the mood so weird with that comment, but I don’t care. Maybe we should talk about how weird this is. One minute we decide to hook up on the regular and the next, he’s drawing me baths and cooking me dinner? I just don’t understand.
We haven’t even had sex yet!
“Any fake dating I gotta do this week?” Arden asks after taking a bite of a particularly crunchy asparagus stalk. He’s been asking me this question at the start of every week but for some reason, it feels different this time.
“I’m actually really busy this week. Midterms are coming up so I’ve got a lot of studying to do with the group. I think there’s a party on Friday but I doubt I’ll be up to going.”
“Danimal doesn’t want to go to a party?” Arden asks, picking at the last of the vegetables in his bowl. He gives me a teasing grin and I roll my eyes.
“Har har, listen, as it turns out, I actually need to put in some real effort to pass med school. Who knew?” I finish my last piece of pasta and then reach over to grab Arden’s empty bowl to stack on mine. He tries to protest my cleaning but I hit him with a withering stare that has him backing off pretty quickly. I allow him to help me by bringing in the bowl of pasta and covering it with tin foil to put in the fridge.
“Well, if you need me, I’m here.”
“What shifts do you have this week?” Now that he’s not embarrassed to tell me he works at the coffee shop–not sure why he ever was, to be honest–he’s been much more open with his schedule, too. It helps to know where he is and where I am, you know, for carpooling and stuff.Saving the environment one drive with a hottie at a time.