Making Up (Shacking Up 4)

“Wow, you’re really selling it, Nev.”

“I’m just saying, Cosy. If you’re already swooning this hard over a kiss, imagine how good the sex could be. You get a guy with experience, and he’s not just going to jackhammer his way to Jizzville.”

Not the most eloquent way to put it, but once again, she makes a good point.Chapter Five: Wine and DineCosy

I’ve just gotten settled in bed—I took a shower and gave myself a hand in the sexual frustration relief department—when my phone rings. It’s after midnight.

I pick it up with the intention of sending it to voicemail, except Griffin’s name flashes across the screen. “Hello?”

“Hi, Cosy.” His voice has that raspy quality I associate with sleep, or maybe sex. I wonder if he did the same thing as me when he got home, wherever that is. I imagine him stretched out on his bed in a pair of boxers, or nothing at all.

“Um, hi.” I bite my knuckle and press my knees together.

“You answered.”

“I said I would.”

“So . . . at the risk of killing any game I might’ve had, I wanted to tell you that I had a great time tonight.”

“You realize calling me two hours after you dropped me off flushes all your game right down the toilet.” I’m glad he can’t see me since I’m smiling like an idiot.

“Yeah, figured as much. But the phone was already ringing, so hanging up wasn’t an option. Are you busy tomorrow night? Or tonight, I suppose, since it’s technically already tomorrow.”

“Um . . . I work until eight.”

“Eight is good for me. We could have a late dinner, I get to pick the place this time, though.”

“I haven’t even said yes yet.”

“You haven’t said no either.”

It’s a solid point, but I still keep him hanging for a few seconds, as if I’m debating my answer. “I can do dinner, but I have an early morning the next day, so I need to be home before midnight.”

“You don’t have a curfew, do you?”

I laugh. “No. And if that was an indirect way of asking if I still live with my parents, the answer is no, I live in the apartment on my own.” Most of the time, anyway. “But I’m cranky on less than six hours of sleep, and no one needs to be subjected to me when I’m overtired.” I also want to avoid having to turn him down should he want an invite up or suggest going back to his place. I don’t care how hot he is, or how good that kiss was, I’m not putting myself in a position where I have to try not to get naked with him. Partly because I think I might want to, and that freaks me out.

“Noted. I’ll choose the location accordingly. Can I pick you up at work to optimize our time together?”

“Sure.”

“Great. See you tonight at eight. Sleep well, Cosy.”

“You too, Griffin.”

I decide for once maybe I should take Nev’s advice and enjoy this for what it is. We’re both looking for someone to have fun with, and there’s nothing wrong with that.

* * *

Over the next couple of weeks I see a lot of Griffin. We do all the normal date things, glow-in-the-dark mini putt—where 50 percent of the time we golf and the other 50 we make out in the dark. We discover we have the same love for action movies and agree they’re best experienced in the theater, we go for dinner a bunch of times, alternating between high-end expensive places with bottles of wine that cost hundreds of dollars (which is insane) and my favorite diners.

Usually by this time, any guy I’m seeing would be pushing for sex. But not Griffin. He might be waiting for me to make a move. Goodnight kisses turn into heated make-out sessions in his car, but my sister seems to be extending her stay on my couch, so inviting him up isn’t an option, and he has yet to ask me to come back to his place.

It’s a rare Saturday when I don’t have to work, and Griffin has some kind of surprise planned. When I ask about the dress code—there have been a couple of occasions in which I was not adequately prepared for the level of class he’s subjected me to—he tells me casual is good.

“Your casual or my casual?” I ask as I flip through my sundresses.

“Is there a difference between my casual and your casual?” I can hear his smile.

“You wear shirts for bands you’ve never heard of as an attempt to appear younger than you actually are, Griffin. Yes, your casual and my casual are different.”

“How about shorts and a tank? But you could bring a dress for later if you want.”

“Later? What’s happening later?”

“Dinner. It’s an all-day affair, and you may be inclined to change.”