“Do you always parade around shirtless?” I pry, trying to come off annoyed rather than interested.
“Does it bother you?”
“No . . . yes . . . it must be your generation,” I say, mostly to myself.
“I’m sure you oldies do it. Try it some time? Why not now?” he says with an inviting smirk.
I exhale, loudly, to cover my embarrassment. Haden one. Presley zero.
I grab my clothes and head to the shower. The steaming hot water is exactly what I need and as my body relaxes, my skin begins to prune from the water. Getting changed into my tank and boxers, I cringe at having to wear a bra to bed. It’s extremely uncomfortable with the size of these bazookas, but what choice did I have? The tank I’m wearing is light pink and my nipples have darkened from the pregnancy, not to mention their size. I could have given the Amazonian ladies on National Geographic a run for their money.
Exiting the room, I see that Haden has taken the lids off the plates and my stomach rumbles embarrassingly. The plates surround the bed and I jump on it, immediately devouring everything in sight. On my last bite, I let out a sigh.
“Jesus, I thought you were kidding when you said you could eat all that.” He finishes taking his last bite.
“Baby needed it,” I tell him.
“The buffalo wings as well?”
“Yes.”
“And the cheesy fries?”
“Yes,” I repeat.
“The pizza with extra toppings and salad on the side?”
“Yes and yes.” I smile, satisfied.
“The chocolate mud cake?”
“No, that was for me.”
He shakes his head in disbelief, curling his lips as he laughs. “Well, you still look beautiful. Eloise would never eat anything like that. She’s into this stupid diet where everything has to be green. Even the wedding menu is all green.”
I stop laughing and stare at the TV uncomfortably. Firstly, who invented green diets? What a waste of perfectly good (and delicious) colorful food. Secondly, that’s twice he has mentioned my looks. At what point do I classify that as infatuation instead of just admiration? Both times he’s done it, I have frozen up with no following comment to offer. After last night’s misadventures, I am extremely cautious about being in the same room as him. It would be silly of me to take these passing comments to heart.
“Look, don’t take this the wrong way, but you can sleep on the bed too. Just no scary movies?”
He smiles. “Deal.”
We still argue over each movie before finally settling on Father of the Bride. Haden appears bored by my choice, but continues to watch with a chuckle every now and then at Steve Martin’s ridiculous antics.
“Marcus loves this movie,” I blurt out, regretting it immediately.
In the dark room, his body stiffens beside me. His stare is fixated on the screen.
“Do you still talk to him?” he asks, in a slightly aggravated tone.
“Um, not really, apart from a text here and there.”
“So you do talk to him?”
Confused by his question, I just agree. “If you consider that talking, then yes. Why?”
Crossing his arms to cover his bare chest, he continues to watch the TV, refusing to make eye contact with me. “I just don’t see why you still talk to him. You told him it’s over.”
“Because we’re friends. It wasn’t just about sex.”