PART OF ME WANTS to continue the conversation and find out why she kissed me in the first place, but I figure that she clearly doesn't want to talk about it, so I won't push it. I don't want to make her uncomfortable or give her the impression that I didn't enjoy it.
I'm trying to learn how to be an "adult." It's getting easier each month, but sometimes I forget that instant intimacy is something only young people desire. If we were teenagers, her kissing me would automatically make us committed to each other in some way, but adult dating is so . . . so much more complicated. It's a much slower process. It's usually like this: You meet someone through your friend, you hit it off, you go on a date. By the end of date number two, you usually kiss. By five dates, you have slept together, twelve dates before you start sleeping over on a regular basis, a year before you move in together, another two you get married. You buy a house, a baby follows.
Sometimes the last two are reversed, but most of the time this seems like how it goes. According to television and romantic movies. Sure, not for people like Hardin and Tessa, who clearly didn't google the SparkNotes of Dating 101 and moved in together within five months of meeting, but still.
"Is that a no?" she presses.
I shake my head, trying to remember what we were talking about. Her roommates . . . Oh yeah, going out with her roommates.
I look toward the living room when I hear Tessa talking to someone, and when I turn back to Nora, she's stretching, holding her arms up in the air, exposing more skin. She's tall and curvy; she looks to be at least five foot seven.
It's distracting, for sure.
"Where will you be going?" I ask. I don't want to decline, I'm just curious.
"I don't know yet, honestly." She grabs her cell phone from the counter and swipes her finger over the screen. "Let me ask. We have this group chat that I usually ignore because it's mostly just three horny chicks spamming pictures of hot, naked men, but I'll ask."
I laugh. "Sounds like my kind of chat."
I immediately recoil at my own joke, but humor fills her eyes. Why won't my mouth just stay closed around her? I need a lameness filter. Though if I couldn't say anything embarrassing around her, I probably wouldn't have much to say at all.
"Well then . . ." She laughs. My awkwardness is drowned out by the sound. Her laughter is light, like she doesn't have a care in the world. I want to hear the sound again.
"Sometimes I try too hard," I admit, laughing with her.
She tilts her chin up at me. "You don't say." Her lips are pouty now, as if she's testing me. It's like they are begging me to kiss them again.
Her phone starts to play the theme song from a show I immediately recognize.
I raise one eyebrow. "Parks and Rec? I didn't think you were the type," I tease.
I loved that show until the internet stole it from the actual fans and turned it into a cool, meme worthy thing that I can't wrap my mind around.
She quickly ignores the call, but the phone starts ringing again, and Nora immediately swipes to ignore it and puts the phone on the counter. I consider asking her why she did that, just to make sure she's okay. I can't help it. It's become some sort of habit of mine, making sure everyone is okay. Before I butt into Nora's business, Tessa walks back into the kitchen followed by a young man wearing a red work vest and utility belt.
"He's here to fix the garbage disposal," she explains. The man smiles at her, looking at her for a beat too long.
"Do we have a garbage disposal?" I ask. This is news to me.
Both women look at each other and do that thing where women use their eyes to say, Oh, men! like back in the fifties.
Not fair. I help with dishes. I load them. I scrub them. I dry the silverware if Tessa doesn't beat me to it. So I'm not just a dumb dude who doesn't know there's a garbage disposal because I'm lazy—I just hadn't noticed it. Or used it. Come to think of it, I don't think I've ever used a garbage disposal in my life.
Nora grabs her phone from the counter. It's lighting up like it's ringing again, but she must have switched it to silent. Her eyes close and she sighs. "I better go," she announces. Her eyes move back down to her phone. She shoves it into the pocket of her jacket, which is hanging on the back of the chair, and which she then grabs.
I move to help her and hold the jacket behind her as she maneuvers into it. The repairman takes notice of her, watching her as she hugs Tessa and then kisses me on the cheek. Something hot, with a shot of bitter, boils inside of me as he stares at her ass. He's not even trying to hide it. Not that I blame him for wanting to look, but come on, be a little respectful.
Before I smack some manners into the guy, Nora gives me a wave and says, "I'll text you when I know where we're going!"
I'd be lying if I said I wasn't interested, and just a tad worried that she won't actually text me. I don't know how many options she has lying around. I don't know my competitors' stats—oh Lord, I'm comparing dating to sports. Again. I've repeatedly come to the conclusion that they're not that much different, but I'm better off looking at things from a different angle.
But why am I already jumping to the conclusion that Nora wants to date me? Because she kissed me, then invited me to go out with her?
Yes, that's exactly why. I can't tell if this is a regression in my "adulting" progress or not.
When Nora is gone, Tessa looks like a little chipmunk that has just found a stash of nuts hidden under some leaves. "What was that about?" she asks noisily.
I'm so used to her intrusiveness it doesn't bother me. I run my hand over my chin, tugging slightly at the hair growing there. I lift my hands up in defense.
"I have no freaking clue, she just kissed me. I didn't even know she knew my name—"
"She what!" Tessa shrieks.
This little sip of gossip is enough to keep Tessa Young going for days. I'll definitely hear about it later. My mom may hear about it, too.
The repairman cocks his head to the side like he's listening to a daytime drama. He could at least be subtle about it. Then again, if I fixed appliances all day, I would want some comic relief or some kind of entertainment. Like adding a little splash of color to a black-and-white painting.
"I didn't know either! Well, I know she knew your name," Tessa says, being as literal as ever.
"I don't know. I'm just as confused as you."
Something is off in the way Tessa is looking at me, like she's trying to hide her disappointment. I'm not sure what to make of this. My guess is because she misses Hardin, but I'm probably wrong. I haven't got a clue what to think about any of this.
Instead of indulging in gossip that may or may not be worth it, I tighten the drawstring on my sweats and head toward the door.
"We aren't done here, Landon Gibson!" Tessa shouts after me.
And somehow it all makes me feel a little like a criminal on the run.