I walk out of my bedroom on legs that don’t feel like mine and rejoin the party as if I wasn’t just pinned against a wall, being kissed senseless by a man whose lips I can still feel on mine.
19
FISH
My phone buzzes early in the morning. I’m still in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the kiss for the hundredth time since it happened. Her back against the wall. My hand on her throat. The sound she made when my mouth hit hers. The way she grabbed my shirt like she needed me to stay upright.“This is what I have wanted to do to you since.”
When I look down at my phone, I see a text.
Collette: We need to talk. Urgently.
My stomach drops.Urgently.That word doesn’t come with good news. She’s going to tell me I crossed a line. She’s going to say we can’t be friends anymore. She’s going to say the kiss was a mistake, and we need to pretend it didn’t happen and keep our distance and …
Fish: Okay. When?
Collette: Now. Where are you?
Fish: Home.
Collette: Are you alone?
Does she think I picked up someone in between her place and mine?
Fish: Of course.
Collette: Just wanted to check. Can I come over?
She’s never been to my place. Not once. The fact that she’s asking tells me this is serious.
Fish: Yeah. I’ll send you the address.
I launch out of bed and look around my apartment. It’s not terrible, but it’s not guest-ready either. There’s a hoodie on the floor, two empty water bottles on the coffee table, and my PlayStation controller is sitting on the kitchen counter for reasons I can’t explain. I do a speed clean that would make my mother proud and put on a shirt that isn’t the one I slept in. I brush my teeth twice because I’m paranoid. I make coffee because I don’t know what else to do with my hands.
The buzzer goes, and I let her up. When I open the door, she’s standing there in sweats, hair in a messy bun, no makeup, looking like she rolled out of bed and came straight here. She also looks nervous, which makes two of us.
“Hey,” I say, feeling rather awkward.
“Hey,” she says as she walks past me into the apartment and stops in the middle of the living room, looking around. “This is your place?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s cleaner than I expected.”
“I cleaned it five minutes ago,” I confess.
“That tracks.” She almost smiles but catches it. She turns and faces me, and I can see it, the seriousness sitting behind her eyes. Whatever she came here to say, she’s been rehearsing it.
“Sit down,” I tell her, gesturing at the sofa.
“I’ll stand.”
“Okay.” I lean against the kitchen counter and give her space.
She takes a breath. “Last night.”
“Last night,” I repeat.
“The kiss.”