Heston
There’s a first for everything.
*middle finger emoji*
I turn the screen off on my phone and toss it to the side, settling my body further into the couch and opening my beer. With a sigh, Savannah does the same with hers.
“I needed this drink after today,” she sighs.
“Was it easier than you thought it would be?” I ask.
“What, pretending to like you in public?”
I nod, working to hide a grin.
She brings the beer can to her lips and I mirror her motion. Our eyes are locked and I wait for her to take a drink and swallow, then copy her moves. She narrows her gaze at me and then finally answers the question.
“Harder, actually. Nearly impossible.”
I spread my legs and shake my head while running my tongue along my top row of teeth.
“I don’t think you hate me as much as youthinkyou do.”
“Maybe. Maybe not,” she shrugs, but her mouth curves into a devious smile.
I chuckle and take another drink. Like we’re in a game of copy-cat, Savannah sips on her beer at the same time. I tilt my head, she tilts hers. She leans forward and purses her lips, and I place my elbows on my knees and stare right back.
I think she’s testing to see if I walk away or get annoyed. See how far she can push me away before I throw in the towel and stop trying.
I hold my focus on her but look her up and down instead of right in the eyes. Her sundress, light green, makes the golden streaks in her naturally curly brown hair look brighter. She doesn’t squirm when I clearly study the way her toned legs stretch across the footrest, bare and fucking beautiful enough to fantasize about how I wish I could bend them all sorts of ways.
Maybe over my shoulders. Or wrapped around my hips.
Without saying anything, she calls me out with a cocked eyebrow.
I cock mine right back and with that, I’ve won the stare-down because she finally rolls her eyes and takes two long gulps, finishing off her drink. I chug the rest of mine and it takes me less than a minute to fetch a few more beers for us and make it back to my seat.
“What’d your friends think when you told them you had a boyfriend?” I ask to break the silence. I could sit here and stare at her for another few hours but I expect she’d eventually tell me to fuck off and leave the room. I need to keep her talking.
The same strange air of anxiousness that I noticed earlier in the day surrounds her once again, and she begins to chew on her thumbnail instead of answering my question.
I wait, not wanting to force her to open up. When she does, I want it to be because she wanted to. Because she trusted me.
Finally, after a breath of surrender, she explains.
“I don’t have friends,” she laughs. Her head is leaned against the back of the chair and it’s not a joyful giggle by any means. It’s more self-conscious.
“Good friends are hard to come by,” I reassure her.
She looks over to the fireplace. It’s not lit up, being the dead of summer right now. But she pretends to admire it anyway, searching for something else to focus on.
“That’s true,” she agrees. “I’m not good at keeping friendships. Relationships. Jobs.” That same laugh fills the space around us. It’s meant to make light of the situation, which I’m guessing she’s used to doing.
“I don’t believe that.”
She turns her head back to face me, eyes wide.
“I don’t think you know me well enough then.”
