I’m melodramatic in the mornings. Always am.
The only reason I’m able to drag myself out of bed every day is because I’m the boss’s son, and if I’m late, it reflects poorly on my dad, and if I reflect poorly on him, my father has no qualms making an example of my bad behaviour.
Welcome to the world of law firm politics. Where who you know gets you in and you spend the rest of the time trying to separate yourself from said person.
It took a while, because my dad and I don’t share the same last name thanks to my mother’s doing, but everyone knows I’m a name-partner’s son. The only people who are nice to me are the ones who think I could put in a good word for them. When they find out I have even less pull than a first-year work placement trainee, they’re suddenly less interested in water cooler talk.
Like I have time for sucking up anyway.
Nope, I’m too busy trying to prove I’m worthy of being there without the use of my father’s name.
When I manage to get my butt out of bed and amble out to the kitchen, it takes a minute for the sound of the TV to register.
I turn and blink away the sleep to find Anders on our couch. He looks like a zombie with his long, in-need-of-a-wash hair in his face and the prominent bags under his eyes. He stares at the TV, which is on the shopping channel, for crying out loud.
“You’re up early,” I mumble.
“Mm,” he grunts.
I ignore Lucky on Anders’ lap. I’m too tired to tease him about it. “Coffee?”
He holds up a mug.
“That’s the instant crap, right? I have an espresso machine—you should use it.”
“Didn’t want to wake you.” Anders’ voice is groggy with a definite croak. If he didn’t look like he was about to keel over, I’d think it was sexy.
“You okay? You look sick.”
His gaze goes from the TV to mine and back again. “Just tired.”
“Did you sleep at all?”
No answer.
“Is it because your lock isn’t fixed? I forgot to call someone yesterday. I’ll do it today.”
“It’s okay, I’ll do it. I’m gonna—” Anders slams his mouth shut.
“Going to what?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing.”
I purse my lips. Anders has gone back to being the quirky, nervous guy, and I take back what I thought the other night. I like him much more relaxed than nervous. Nervous means he’s not comfortable around me, and I was kind of hoping after last night …
Stupid brain. Two kisses don’t take away years of anxiety. Two kisses clearly haven’t knocked him for six like they have me. Two kisses aren’t going to magically fix everything.
No matter how much I want them to.
Any progress I thought I made last night has been obliterated.
At least, that’s my impression until I feel a presence behind me. Oh, how I want to lean back against Anders’ chest. I close my eyes imagining it, when his voice cuts through the din.
“Are we cool?”
I clear my throat. “Of course.”
“The last two nights have been kinda heavy, so I’ll understand if you want me to go or whatever.”
I spin and bring us face to face. “What? Why would I kick you out?”
“For kissing you and then pretending I didn’t? Then trying to make you kiss me again because I felt an ounce of my old self coming back when your lips were on mine?”
I don’t know what to do with that. Part of me is happy dancing on the inside because everything in me wants to help Anders any way I can. It’s instinct. But at the same time, it’s a lot of pressure to be the one to “fix” him.
“I’m sorry if I made it uncomfortable.” Anders’ voice is small, like he’s ashamed of the things that are out of his control.
I can’t help myself. My hand moves, cupping his jaw. “The only uncomfortable part was trying to get to sleep when all I could think about was …” Instead of mentioning those mind-blowing kisses and risk freaking him out again, my thumb traces over his lips.
Anders pulls away anyway.
“Sorry,” I say.
“Don’t be,” he whispers.
We stand there, staring at each other, a few feet of space between us.
“How do we make it not awkward now?” I ask. All I want to do is kiss him again. And again, and again, and again.
“Being awkward for the majority of the day? Welcome to my entire life.” With a smile, Anders goes to his bedroom and softly closes the door while I remain in the kitchen, both turned on and confused.
* * *
Apparently, Anders thinks to make our situation un-awkward, he should go back to working out whenever I walk in the door. Only now when he leaves, I’m no longer offended but relieved. It’s not that I don’t want to see him. I want to see him too much.