Page 25 of Business Casual
It comes out more vulnerable than I’d like, a wobble at the edges that frustrates me. His lips twist down in a frown to match mine.
“Who said you’re a joke?”
He did. When he laughed in my face.
“I’m sorry, okay?” I kick at the loose rocks by my feet. “I shouldn’t have asked you for…what I asked you for. I was caught up in the moment, and I misread the signs between us. I’m sorry I shocked your delicate sensibilities, or whatever, but I don’t want you to dangle it over my head. It makes me feel stupid and I hate feeling stupid. So, let’s just…agree to move on.”
He stares at me for the stretch of three heartbeats, his face unreadable. “You think I’m making fun of you?”
“Aren’t you?”
“No,” he says simply. He combs his fingers through his dark hair, dragging his hand over the back of his head to squeeze his neck. “No, I’m really not.”
“You said no,” I supply quietly. “You laughed at me.”
“I didn’t—Nova. You gave me twenty seconds to respond before you tried to take it back. And I didn’t laugh at you.”
“You told me to ask you again.”
His eyes flare, a comet streak across midnight-blue skies. He takes one step closer to me, the toes of his boots pressed up against my Converse. I have to tilt my head back to keep staring at his face. Sometimes I forget how tall he is. Besides our dance through the trees, I’m not sure we’ve ever stood this close to one another.
“Because if that’s something you want, that’s what I need to hear from you. I’m not laughing at you. I’m not making fun of you. I need you to be sure. I need to know that it’s me you want and not a random roll in the sheets.”
I blink at him standing above me and try to weigh the truth of his statement. I sift through the cloud of my embarrassment and look at our dance together from another angle. I wanted it to be easy, something quick and fun to crack loose all the brittle parts of myself, and I didn’t—I didn’t give Charlie much of a chance, did I?
I asked, and Charlie tripped over his own feet. He asked me to clarify, and I thought the very worst of him. And then I—
Well, I ran away.
“Oh,” I say, at a loss for anything else.
We stand together, watching each other in the small alcove of trees. It smells like pine and sap and something warm and delicious from Layla’s bakery. Charlie’s aftershave and my coconut conditioner. At some point, he looped his fingers around my elbow again, his thumb tracing over the worn leather of my jacket.
“I thought you were making fun ofme,” he explains quietly, eyes on mine. All I hear in his voice is honest sincerity, a touch of bashful restraint. A smile twitches at the corner of his mouth, a shallow dimple flashing in his cheek.
“Why?”
“Because I didn’t think that was something you wanted from me,” he answers simply. “I thought you were—” He coughs on the edge of a laugh. “I thought you were making some sort of commentary on my love life, not extending an invitation. I am—honestly, Nova. Of course I’m interested. Very enthusiastic, actually. Flags, confetti. Exclamation point.” He closes the space between us, dipping his head to hold my eyes. “But the ball’s in your court here, yeah? You ask me again if that’s what you want.”
“I’m not looking for a relationship.”
He shrugs. “Neither am I. But that’s not what we’re talking about, is it?”
“To be honest, Charlie, I’m not really sure what we’re talking about.”
A slow smile unfurls across his mouth. His eyes slip to my mouth and hold. “You keep telling yourself that.”
Yeah, I know what we’re talking about. His big body pressed tight to mine. Grasping hands and sweat-slicked skin. The want hasn’t faded from the other night. I thought it might, buried as it wasbeneath the burn of my embarrassment. But it’s still there. A low buzz. A gentle but insistent hum.
I want Charlie.
I tilt my head to the side and consider. “Why don’t you ask me?”
“Because I want you to do the asking,” he says again. I’m not used to seeing this shade of Charlie. The arch of his eyebrow. The gentle but serious patience in every line of his face. The flannel. He wants me to make the decision. “Like I said, you can think on it. I’m not going anywhere.”
He takes two steps back, widening the distance between us. He reaches for my hand and curls his fingers around my wrist. He opens my palm and drops my phone in it. I notice he’s given me a new wallpaper photo. A close-up picture of his face, smile lines by his eyes, cup of coffee to his mouth. He must have taken it as soon as he got home from the wedding, those damn suspenders in the very edge of the shot.
“For your viewing pleasure,” he explains. “I went back and forth between that and me shirtless in front of the mirror, but this felt more appropriate.”
