Head Over Feels

Rocking back, he nods. “I’m going to work a bit. Let me know if you need anything.”

“I will.”

Like a dead man’s walk, I move into the bedroom and close the door, leaning against the back of it. Closing my eyes, I try to tame the thoughts running rampant through my mind. Everything from what it will be like to see him first thing in the morning to throwing him on the couch right now crosses my brain.

Even with those thoughts competing with my rational side, I still have no regrets about moving in with him. Things will calm. Although we’ve known each other forever, this is new to us. Things will settle as we get used to being around each other.

A rap on the door has me jumping halfway across the room. Straightening my hair before I remember it’s in a knot on top of my head, I call, “Yes?” and swing open the door.

Rad’s holding a mug; One of my mugs, to be specific. “Do you know where this came from?” He walks away and stands where the kitchen meets the hall. When I follow him, he shifts to the side to reveal the open cabinet in the kitchen full of my other mugs. “Or those?”

“I . . .” Is he mad? Curious if the mug fairy visited while we were away? Or fine? His temperament is too even to read into. “I do know where those came from.” I reply, whispering, “They’re mine.”

Twisting the mug in his hand, he furrows his brow. “Kiss my . . .”

“Ass. Kiss my ass. Get it?” I point at the donkey on the mug.

“I get it.” Nothing. I don’t even receive a sly grin like he usually gives to lowbrow humor. Glancing at me, he asks, “But why do you have it?” No cute smile or chuckle follows.

That mug is one of my favorites, too. I sigh, feeling like I might be in trouble. Did I make myself too at home too soon? I simply claimed an empty cabinet. And since I had him carry my preciouses over here and told him to handle them with care, I thought he understood the gravity of my love for mugs. I assumed wrong. “Sometimes, I let my cups speak for me. Speaking of squash—”

“We weren’t speaking of squash.”

Snapping my fingers, I say, “Keep up, Welly. I’m continuing our conversation. Quidditch. Squash. Remember the text?”

I can see when the memory returns by the small smile I receive. “Right.” He sets the mug back in the cabinet and peruses the selection before glancing at me. “Squash.”

“Huh?”

“You said, speaking of squash. The floor is yours.”

I hop onto the counter, and ask, “What do you get when you drop a pumpkin?”

I’m finally rewarded when he can’t hide his smile. “Squash.”

“I’ve riddled it around my head for days, trying to come up with something about squash.”

Giving in to the grin, he chuckles. “You did gourd. Bah dun dun.”

Rad rubs the back of his neck, a tic of his, while looking back at the cabinet. “Back to the mugs . . .”

“Cammie didn’t think you’d mind since you only had four mugs in that large, lonely cabinet, but if you don’t like them—”

“You can leave them. I don’t mind. I just wasn’t expecting to find them . . . or so many.”

My pride shines as I admire the colorful cups. “It’s quite the collection, a thing of beauty.”

“It sure is.” His voice is quiet, so I look at him. He looks away, grabbing a bottle of water on his way out of the kitchen. “Well, good night,” he says, walking into his room. The door closes behind him, leaving me in the kitchen alone.

“Well, alrighty then. Good night to you too.” I close the cabinet, unsure how to feel about that interaction.

I return to my room and shut the door quietly, forcing my thoughts to focus on getting ready for bed instead of what just happened with Rad. As soon as I crawl under the covers and turn out the light, I hear soft footsteps on the other side of the room approaching the door.

But then I hear them distancing into silence again.

My curiosity is getting the better of me and tempting me to open the door and ask if he needs me. But I shouldn’t. He would have knocked. So there is absolutely no reason to walk back out there. None whatsoever.

Not even to check to make sure everything’s okay. We’re fine. It just got a little awkward at the end. The man has a million things on his mind, and I know for a fact that I’m not one of them.

Maybe not for a fact. But I have my suspicions.

15

Rad

This is the biggest mistake I’ve made in years.

Why’d I ask her to move in with me? Why the fuck did I choose to torture myself like this?