He shrugs. “I’m just encouraging you to do what you want. Go home, Priscilla.”
I narrow my eyes. “If you’re trying reverse psychology, it’s not going to work.”
“Then why are you still in my house?” He doesn’t raise his voice, but his words still bite. Even through all of our bickering, I’ve never heard him sound this angry before.
I’m so annoyed I could growl. I don’t know why he’s upset over this. He should be glad that I’m leaving and getting out of his hair. I walk out and head for my car without looking back. I can hear his door close when I’m halfway across his yard. It’s not until I reach my car that I realize I don’t have my keys with me. My keys are inside of my handbag, which is… oh no. I look inside my car. My bag is sitting right there on the passenger seat. In my haste to get inside of Oliver’s house, I left it in my car, along with my keys. I try my door handle, but I already know that I locked it. It’s a habit I have from living in a less-than-ideal area. I groan and thump my forehead against the window.
I look back up at Oliver’s house. I’m not sure if what just happened could be considered a fight, but it makes me reluctant to ask him for help. I look around and sigh. Even if I wait for a locksmith, he’s going to notice I’m still out here. I don’t have much of a choice.
I head back to his front door and knock. He takes a full minute to open the door.
He gives me weary look. “Change your mind?”
“I’m locked out of my car.”
Without a word, he opens the door a little wider and steps back so that I can come in. I feel like a jerk coming back to ask him for help right after leaving the way I did.
“I know a good locksmith,” he says. “What kind of car do you have?”
I tell him, and then he pulls out his phone and dials a number. He talks to someone for a minute, then hangs up and says, “He’ll be here in about an hour.”
“Great,” I say. I realize that I don’t sound as sincere as I want to, so I add, “Thanks.”
He reaches up behind his head and scratches the back of his neck. “I’m sorry.”
I frown. “For what?”
“For trying to convince you to hang out with me when you clearly didn’t want to.”
I shrug. “Looks like the universe wanted me to hang out with you anyway.”
He smirks. “It seems so.”
Neither of us says a word for what feels like a very long time. The silence is awkward and uncomfortable. I feel like I need to be the one to break it. “I’m sorry, too.”
“Don’t,” he says. “Seriously, I shouldn’t have been so pushy. You didn’t want to hang out and that should have been final.”
I wish I could tell him that the only reason I didn’t want to hang out is because I’m afraid of where it might lead. We’re supposed to be putting on an act for our friends, but the lines start to blur when he suggests that we do things like make out with each other when no one is even around to see. More than that, though, I’m afraid of how much I like it. I don’t understand how I can like the way his mouth tastes when I can’t even stand to be around him.
“All of this apologizing is making me feel weird,” I tell him. “I’m not used to it coming from you. I feel like I’ve entered a parallel universe.”
“You were already plenty weird before I apologized,” he says.
I cross my arms. “That’s not what I—” I stop myself and shake my head with a sigh.
I set my phone on his coffee table and then drop myself onto his couch where I normally sit when I’m here. It’s a little strange to realize that I have a normal spot in Oliver’s house now. I watch him. I wonder if he’ll come sit next to me or if he’ll sit down in the armchair on the other side of the room. He stays where I left him for a moment, his eyes traveling from the couch to the chair, like the same thought might be going through his head. I reach for a crocheted blanket on the back of the couch and pull it over myself.
“Don’t get too cozy.” He finally makes his way over to me and drops himself onto the couch. “Wouldn’t want you to fall asleep before the locksmith gets here.”
His hand settles where the blanket covers my foot. I wonder if he knows my foot is under there. I wiggle my toes beneath his hand. He doesn’t move.
“The last time I fell asleep here, we ended up tricking our best friends that we’re sleeping with each other and now we’re fake-dating. Imagine what the locksmith might walk in on.”
His face turns pink. It’s so subtle that I wonder if I’m imagining it. My phone buzzes on his coffee table, distracting me. The sound is loud. Both of us look at my phone as the screen lights up.
“Oh God,” I say. “I bet that’s Tina asking me why I was pretending to be at your house.”
I lean over and grab my phone. It’s not Tina, but a number I don’t recognize. I only have to read the first sentence to know who this is from.
