After You (Because of You 2)

“I had passion for the project, that’s why people liked it. I’m not talented; I had some feelings to pour out and I knew good editors. My passion bled into the words and people responded. But I’m not that person, I’m not Janie, and if I let you read the books, you’d think that.”

“Janie. What’s the hero’s name?”

Dammit again! “Stop asking me questions. If you figure it out and read the books, I’ll stop talking to you. Don’t test me, Dillinger.”

I feel myself looking nervous. I squirm in response to the way he watches me. After a moment, he eases back in his seat, scooping up some rice and saying casually, “Well, I’m not going to marry you until you let me read your books.”

I choke on startled laughter. “You’ve got a deal. Before we get married, I’ll let you read my books.”

“See, now you sound too eager. Now I think you don’t want to marry me. I feel like

you’re undervaluing the Henry Dillinger package. Want me to get a letter of reference from my boss, telling you how good I am at my job? Nah, what am I saying, you don’t need my money. Maybe I should take my shirt off. Gotta give you some kind of reminder of what I bring to the table.”

Now I cock an eyebrow at him, but he’s letting me off the hook, so my stomach settles down. I lean forward and grab my container of food to resume eating. “I’ve never seen you without a shirt, counselor, so if you think I need a reminder, I think you’re confusing me for another woman.”

Instead of looking remotely guilty, Henry rolls his eyes. “I couldn’t confuse another woman for you if I tried. And I have,” he states. “Doesn’t work.”

“You tried to replace me?” I demand, grasping my heart.

“A fool’s errand,” he assures me. “None of them are you.”

“Not sure if sweet or creepy,” I tell him. Then I shrug. “Either way, I’m kind of into it.”

“You know what I’m kind of into?” he asks, glancing around my living room, occupied by desks and bookshelves, but no television in sight. There is a couch shoved against the wall for when I want to read somewhere other than my desk or bed, but I seldom use it.

“What’s that?”

“Getting you a TV. We can watch your TED talks on the big screen like civilized people. I’m gonna buy you a Smart TV.”

“I don’t need a TV,” I tell him. “I’ll never watch it.”

“We will watch it,” he argues, subtly correcting me. “We won’t have to sit in office chairs and watch stuff on your laptop, because you will own a television like a normal person.”

“Did you know in Norway you have to pay for a license just to own a television? Doesn’t make sense to buy one if you’re not going to use it.”

“Did you know we don’t live in Norway?” he asks me.

“I heard a rumor, but I couldn’t be sure. Thanks for ruining it for me.”

Without missing a beat, he breaks his egg roll in half and asks, “Where do you want me to put your TV? Do you have a measuring tape? I should measure that empty corner to see what size screen will fit there.”

I shake my head, meeting his gaze. “You are not buying me a TV. If I wanted one, I’d buy it myself.”

“Come on. It’s more for me than you. I spend more time here than my own apartment.”

“That’s not my fault,” I tell him.

“Yes, it is,” he disagrees. “You never want to come over when I ask.”

I can’t argue with that. “Well, I like my house.”

“So do I, but I’d like it more if we could kick back and be comfortable while we watch a show in the evenings.”

“I’m comfortable in my chair,” I reply, stubbornly.

“You’re such a pain in the ass,” he informs me.

With an expression of mock-apology, I lift my shoulders in an exaggerated shrug.