She held up her phone with a spiderweb-cracked screen. I’d been eyeballing that screen, trying to figure out how I could get it replaced without her knowing, but figured that was impossible.
I squinted and finally took in the photo and description on the app she was showing me. Some dude in his early thirties wearing a bandana. “No.”
“No?”
“He looks desperate. And douchey.” I motioned to my head. “The bandana is a dead giveaway.”
“Of what?”
“Perversion.”
Elise laughed, seemingly enjoying our battles over whom she should date next. “That’s ridiculous.”
I shrugged. “I call it like I see it.”
She’d been showing me profiles of potential suitors all week, and each time I came up with a different excuse for her to not date them. But some of the men squeaked through when I wasn’t around to veto.
She tilted her head while staring at the photo. “You’re right. He does look desperate. I bet he’s clingy.”
“Definitely clingy.”
I’d offhandedly asked Sophia if Elise normally went out this much, and she’d shook her head and said, “No, must be because she isn’t living at home anymore.”
Why living with me brought out her dating bug, I didn’t know, but I wasn’t happy about it.
Elise sighed and sank onto my mattress while scrolling through her phone.
I eyed her suspiciously. Elise on my mattress wasn’t a good image to get in my head.
She looked up. “Are you almost done working? Do you want to grab a beer?”
“At a bar?” I wasn’t sure I was up for that, but I’d go if she did. At least there I could cockblock.
She scoffed. “Hell no. The pajamas are on and I’m in for the night. I was thinking from our fridge.”
This would be the first time she hadn’t gone out in days. “No big date tonight?”
“Nope.”
I didn’t know why that flippant one-word response made me so damn happy, but I wasn’t going to dwell on it.
I stood and gestured for her to go. “After you.” Elise sitting on my bed gave me ideas. Not that I needed help in that department. My mind had been wandering there a lot lately.
We headed to the kitchen, and Elise opened the fridge while I sat at the counter. She bent over, putting her ass in my direct line of vision.
I sighed. Her face was scrunched in concentration as she decided between the five different IPAs I kept on hand. She wasn’t flirting on purpose; her sexiness was simply a part of her.
Regardless of my attraction to Elise, I wouldn’t go there. I’d screw it up even if I was open to a relationship, which I wasn’t. There was a reason my previous relationships had failed, and it wasn’t always the women’s fault. Some of them had wanted more connection, and that need had shut me down like a Swedish vault. Beyond the superficial gifts and whatnot, I was a trash boyfriend. Which was why I’d been taking a break. I was beginning to feel guilty.
Elise opened a bottle of Anchor Steam—the ale I typically drank—and handed it to me. She pulled out chips and salsa and corn nuts and joined me at the counter with a Sierra Nevada in hand, propping herself on a stool.
The side of my body radiated heat at her nearness. And yet this little moment of domesticity was also peaceful. I liked the companionable crunching, no conversation necessary. Just enjoying each other’s company.
She reached for her old-lady word search book—the kind you find on grocery store magazine racks—and started a new page with words related to the Kentucky Derby.
I looked over her shoulder. “Filly—diagonal.” I pointed to the spot.
She circled it and crossed it out on the list.
