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His mouth is curled upward in amusement, which is shocking, because I was unaware those channeling the spirit of Darth Vader were capable of joy. I wonder how much of our penis conversation he’s
“Well, believe it. I don’t have it.” He opens his palms to proclaim his fake innocence. “Although I kind of wish I did. Imagine all the Tindering I could do on your behalf.” He’s overcome with glee at the very thought.
He stops me as I lunge toward him, placing his hands square on my shoulders. He turns me swiftly yet gently against the lockers. “Keep trying all you want. I can do this all day.”
“Does Scott have a girlfriend?” The corners of her lips curl upward, amused. “Why? Do you fancy him?”
“What is it about needles you don’t like?” I ask. He contorts his face, as if I’ve just asked an outrageous question, like why would one dislike diarrhea, or STDs? “They hurt.”
His eyes are wide, like those of an antisocial loner living off-grid in a one-bedroom cabin with no electricity.
I add, knowing damn well tennis and axe throwing are not remotely similar.
I have to admit, being manhandled is kind of hot. “What hand do you use?” he demands. His tone is glacial, contrasting the warmth of his chest as it grazes the width of my back. Jesus.
“Wasn’t this just the loveliest time?” Grandma Flo’s gaze jumps back and forth between Scott and me hopefully.
His face flickers with momentary satisfaction
When I complete my burpees before he does, he looks certifiably devastated.
rack. “I don’t think I’ll be able to walk tomorrow.” “Things guys like to hear after a date.” He gives me a mischievous grin and quickly backtracks when he sees my jaw drop. He holds his hands in front of him. “I’m just kidding. Please don’t kill me.”
“What? Do you hold a mean grudge?” “No.” He eyes me leerily. “I have a feeling you hold on to things.”
“It’s part of the moviegoing experience, Scotty. Otherwise, she might as well have gone to the movies alone and not had to share her snacks with you.” “Maybe you’ll just have to force me to watch one,” he says with a sparkling grin. I squint at him. “Do acquaintances watch movies together?” “I don’t see why not.”
“Hey, I’d make a damn fine husband. I’m very low maintenance,” Scott declares with confidence. “I don’t get that impression. You’re quite needy . . . passing out in clinics, constantly needing your ego stroked and such.” “Minor details. I really only require two things. Regular sex and food.” “That’s a tall order,” I tease. My skin prickles at the sight of his dimples. “Wanna get married if we’re both forty and still single?” he asks.
“I didn’t know you were still interested.” He lets out a soft laugh as he drags his hand through his hair, an act that never fails to disarm me. “Seriously? I only text you a million times a day.” He pauses. “I’m interested, Crys. But you made it clear you just wanted to be friends, so I haven’t brought it up.” “Aside from trying to lure me into a marriage pact,” I remind him. “Believe me, I’d rather date you long before I’m forty. But I’ll take what I can get.”
“Okay. I get it. But can I just ask, how long ’til it’s no longer a rebound?” I glance at the midnight sky for answers, but end up toppling to the side, straight into Scott’s chest. His grip tightens. “I don’t know? At least three months.” I haven’t the faintest clue where three months came from. It has no historic relevance in the deep recesses of my mind. It’s completely arbitrary. He nods in consideration. “Three months from the date I broke up with Diana, huh? That takes us to exactly August sixth. The day of our grandparents’ wedding. Will you at least consider a date then? We could take
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*GIF of Michael Scott’s unimpressed face*
he proactively changed my fire alarm, which had been malfunctioning since I moved in (which he was quite disturbed to hear).
while Scott whistles cheerfully beside me, as if we’re taking a leisurely stroll through a lush, tranquil meadow on a breezy, sunny day. His stride is confident, unhurried, and so entirely sexy, I could watch hours of CCTV footage of him doing nothing but walking.
When I turn toward him, the mattress dips more than expected, causing me to inadvertently roll into his shoulder. My stomach flutters at the mere warmth of his body. Hello, bliss. He gives me a flirty side-eye. “Trying to cuddle with me?”
unable to stop concentrating on the pad of his finger circling around the soft part of my hand below my thumb.
Scott smiles, settling his hands on either side of my waist, as if they belong there. “You’re telling me you used to peep into people’s houses at night? And your dad aided and abetted?”
he proceeded to make friends with Hillary. I’d warned him she’d probably pee all over him, but he scooped her into his big arms and let her lick his entire face with her repellent, lizard-like tongue. This act solidified him as “the perfect man,” according to Mom,
“Like, take the guy from Twilight, for example.” “Robert Pattinson?”
After our spin session yesterday, a delivery showed up at my door. It was a bouquet of lush pink, white, and purple tulips. The card read: Crystal, You’re beautiful. —Scott
You Scotty’s girlfriend or something?” He glances at the Tupperware in my arms. I snort again. “No. I’m a girl who happens to be his friend. My name’s Crystal.” Kevin gives me a sly smile, obviously unconvinced.
Scott is lying on the couch, arms crossed, ball cap over his eyes. By the slow way his chest rises and falls, he appears to be sleeping. Trevor gives me a funny look, as if to say, Wait for it. He grabs a random tennis ball from the table and launches it straight into Scott’s hard stomach. Scott bolts upright, brows furrowed, disoriented, as Trevor, Kevin, and I snort with laughter. “What the fuck, man?”
I give him an embarrassing jazz-hands wave, like that of a dad trying to be hip in front of his tween daughter and her friends. I make a mental note to never do it again as long as I live. “Looks like you’re working hard. Or hardly working, I should say.” I cringe. My uncool dad vibes are out of control right now.
One of them asks me if I liked the flowers yesterday, which warms my heart, because now I know Scott talked about me at work.
“Thanks, Crys. This is really good.” “Glad you like it.” He catches my gaze and holds it. “I love it.”
“Did you hate my guts at the gym when we first met?” “No.” He shakes his head, as if offended I’d even ask. “I don’t hate anyone. And I definitely didn’t hate you.” “You didn’t have much of an issue stealing that squat rack from me. I even called you Squat Rack Thief until the engagement dinner.” He bursts out laughing, his deep chuckle sending vibrations throughout my body.
“Because I thought you were cool. I wanted an excuse to talk to you. I didn’t know how else to do it.”
“Please don’t say my eyes.” I shyly cover them with my hands. My entire life, my eyes have been a hot topic. People have always fetishized my “light” eyes, which makes me uncomfortable.
“Hello, hello, nice to see you again.” I laugh, returning Albus’s nearly human smile. His bushy tail sways back and forth like windshield wipers at full speed. I kneel down to give him a generous belly rub, which he takes full advantage of, rolling onto his back. It’s become our ritual whenever I come over. “Nice to see you, too, I suppose.” I pretend to regard Scott dismissively, trying to ignore the way he towers over me, and how his muscular chest strains under his fitted navy-blue Henley rolled at the elbows. The man can seriously wear the shit out of a Henley. He closes the distance
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“My deepest regrets. Would you also like your belly scratched?” His gaze flickers briefly over my chest before settling back on my face with a devilish smile. “I mean, I wouldn’t say no.”
When he returns to the living area, he’s bearing fruit. Literally. There’s a carton of clementines tucked under his right arm. He remembered my favorite snack.
I’ve never been one for the element of surprise. I’m one of those people who read every movie spoiler. I always know who’s going to win The Bachelor, thanks to Reality Steve.
“Did you bring me here to creep in the windows?” I’d passively mentioned how curious I was to see what these homes looked like on the inside a couple weeks ago on our way back from dinner with my parents. He gives me a throaty laugh. “Yup.” “This is officially my favorite date ever,” I tell him as he pulls to the shoulder of the road. “Ever?” “I think so.” “You’re such an oddball,” he says through a massive grin.
I never want this to end. I never want to forget how it feels to have Scott look at me the way he’s looking at me right now, his eye contact unbreaking as he watches me unravel in front of him.
His name is Spike. Why Grandma thought it would be safe to send me to the address of a man named Spike is beyond me.
pissed-off spirit with unfinished business.
Scott follows my gaze and shakes his head, silently telling me Don’t even think about trying it with his eyes.
Too tall to climb. Then again, I’ve never been one to shy away from a challenge. • • • THIS WAS OFFICIALLY the worst idea of my life.
I never imagined I would die like this, falling from a tree outside an abandoned barn. Grandma is going to be devastated, both because of my untimely demise and because of the lack of magical lanterns at her wedding.
“Sweetheart,
I stare at his hands for a moment, and then his lips, recalling their exceptional talent. In fact, my body owes them public recognition plaques for their service, innovation, leadership, and stellar initiative.
“We had sex. Two months early.” His face doesn’t change. In fact, it stays flat. “Wait—what?” I go still for a moment before the corners of his lips turn up into a devious smile. I swat him on the arm. “You’re such a dick.”
“Babe, this isn’t a competition.” I level him with a knowing stare. “It is. You always make it one.” “You do realize you’re the competitive one. I’m just here, going at a leisurely pace. Just enjoying the view.” “What view?” He shrugs, green eyes falling to my chest. My mouth falls open. That bastard. His grin is Disney villain–worthy. “The faster I went, the faster you’d go, and the higher they’d bounce . . .” I pretend to punch him in the chest, flustered. “You’re diabolical.” He grabs my wrist and pulls me flush to him, the heat of our bodies melding together. He gives me a chaste peck on
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“Don’t get too ahead of yourself. You need my dad’s permission first,” I tease, clapping as Dad swaggers off the stage, returning to our table at the end of his speech. Scott gives me a confident wink before polishing off the remainder of his drink. “Pfft. Not worried. He already gave me his blessing long before we even started dating. Planted that seed early.”
