"Is this mine?" Seth asks, holding up the deodorant.
Now it's my turn to blush. When I was packing up my belongings at the farm, I realized Seth had left his deodorant in our shared bathroom. On impulse, I stuffed it into my makeup bag and brought it home with me. The spicy smell reminded me of him, and, in those first few pathetic days, I may have huffed it a few times like an addict. In my defense, I hadn't opened it in weeks, not since I got my shit together and started planning my future career. It was part of my Forget Seth project. Step one, only smell the stick once a day. Step two, only smell it once a week. Step three, stop smelling it altogether. Step four, throw it away. I'd only made it to step three, unfortunately.
I make my face as innocent as a Girl Scout's. "I accidentally put that in my makeup bag when I was packing to leave the farm."
Seth is watching me with raised eyebrows and an amused look on his face, the deodorant stick still raised in the air. I'm the worst liar.
"Okay, I took it on purpose. I'm a freak, I know."
He laughs and finally drops the arm holding the deodorant.
"The t-shirt you left at my place has been sitting on a chair in my bedroom." His smile straightens. "It's been torture looking at it every day, but I couldn't bring myself to mail it back to you."
"Well, that makes me feel like less of a loser. Thanks," I say, thinking about how I have his Metallica shirt folded under my pillow. I will need to move it before he sees it tonight because, please bitch, there is no way Seth is sleeping on my couch. Torturing him that way would also mean torturing myself, and I've suffered enough.
"Do you want to keep this?" he asks, waggling the deodorant in his hand.
"No," I say. "I think I'm good now. And I'd like my t-shirt back."
He smiles and walks past me to the bedroom. "I brought it with me. I washed and ironed it, of course."
His towel is so close that it brushes the couch as he passes me. He's lucky—or maybe unlucky—that I have the willpower not to whisk it right off his bottom.
* * *
Sethand I spend the evening shooting pool and hanging out at my favorite dive bar. We play three games, and I consider letting him beat me once, but decide against it. He's the kind of guy who can handle losing to a girl. I tell him winner buys our meal and treat him to tacos from the food truck on my block.
It's eleven o'clock by the time we walk home, but the heat of the day hasn't worn off completely. The weather isn't the reason I have goose bumps on my bare arms. I'm a ball of nervous excitement about what will happen when we get home.
Seth puts an arm around me. "Are you cold? It's still about eighty degrees out."
I lean into him, enjoying the snuggle. "No, I'm good."
We stop at a crosswalk and he turns to me and brushes my hair away from my cheek. I'm aching for him to kiss me, and when he leans down, I think this is the moment, but his lips only caress my forehead.
"I had a great time tonight," he says, gazing into my eyes.
"Me, too."
I know he's playing a waiting game. He wants to make sure I've forgiven him before he makes any real moves. Or maybe he just wants to see what happens when I lose my mind from sexual frustration.
This evening was even better than the special date we had in North Carolina—I mean the part before we got into a huge argument—because we're both completely relaxed and relieved just to be together again. And there's nothing standing between us now, no secrets or hidden agendas. I even told him about Officer Vega taking me home from Ricky's. I thought he might piss his pants from laughing so hard.
When we get to the front door of my building, he stands behind me as I unlock the door, gently rubbing my shoulders.
"You ready to get cozy on that couch?" I tease him. "I'm not sure you can even stretch out full length on that thing. It's going to be a long night."
"It's fine," he says, as we enter the tiny foyer of my building where I'll need to use my key again to open the second door.
He's serious. Seth will scrunch his giant self onto that couch without even trying to finagle his way into my bed, which makes me want to kiss him even more. It's proof that he cares about me and hasn't come all this way just to get a piece of ass. He's here for me. All of me. I turn around to face him, and our chests are almost touching in this tiny cube of space that's filled with all our emotions and longing.
"I guess you could sleep in my bed with me," I say.
"Can I?" His strong hand slides over my cheekbone.
My breath catches in my throat, and I lean into his palm. I've enjoyed the build-up to this moment, but I can't wait any longer. My answer is a kiss, mouth slightly open, lips pressed gently against his. And I'm saying more than yes to the bed. I'm saying yes to us, yes to trying again. Yes, yes, yes.
Seth's lips are as soft and full as I remembered them to be, and he tastes like cinnamon sugar from the churro we shared after dinner. I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him closer, letting my tongue slide into his mouth. His response is something like a low growl, and he takes my hips in his huge mitts, cinching our bodies together as our kisses deepen. Tongues are tasting, teeth are nibbling, and hands are roaming. It's a ridiculous place for a make-out session, this little alcove with mailboxes on the wall and take-out flyers littering the floor, but neither of us seems to notice.
