“In my defense,” Tyler says slowly, smirking, “I was too busy staring at you.”
I whack his arm, careful not to touch the new tattoo on his bicep, which has started scabbing, and then purse my lips at him. “Can you say something in Spanish again?”
Tyler raises his eyebrows at me suspiciously, his body mirroring mine as he crosses his arms. “Is this all you’re gonna do for the rest of my life? Ask me to speak Spanish?”
“Well,” I say with a nonchalant shrug, “it’s kinda hot.”
He laughs again, and for a moment, I just watch him. Study the expression in his eyes. Listen. Two years ago, he never laughed like this. He never laughed like he meant it. It was always so sarcastic and so harsh back then, but now it’s so gentle and so soft and so happy. I can feel that positive aura surrounding him again, the same way it does each day, the way it never did before. I think seeing him genuinely happy is the most attractive thing about him. From the way he was before to the way he is now, I couldn’t be prouder. I’m grinning, but he doesn’t even seem to notice the way I’m looking at him.
“Me estoy muriendo por besarte,” he says, smirking.
The words somehow sound familiar and I think for a second while I try to figure out where I’ve heard them before. It doesn’t take long for me to realize. “Doesn’t that mean that—?”
“I’m dying to kiss you?” he finishes. Arching a brow, he steps toward me. “Yeah. Yeah, it does.” Before I can even laugh or blush or react in any way whatsoever, he plants a kiss on my lips. Just one. Just quick. And then another, softly, as he places his hands on my waist. “Tell me something in French.”
I glance up at him from beneath my eyelashes. I think his good mood is brushing off on me. Courageously, I decide to murmur, “How about: Je t’aime?”
Tyler doesn’t even flinch. However, the expression in his eyes shifts. “Only if te amo works for you,” he says softly. He’s still smiling, as am I, and I think we both know that neither of us are ready to say it in English yet. Once more, he presses his lips to mine, and just when I think it’s about to develop into a deeper, French kiss, I hear the toast pop up.
Tyler’s pulling away from me and laughing before I’ve even glanced over to the toaster, and when I do, I let out a sigh. The toast is burnt again.
“I think we should just give up on the whole toast idea,” I say. I can’t help but chuckle too. We’re both ridiculous.
“For sure,” Tyler says. “I’ll take you out for lunch to make up for it. Wherever you wanna go, I’m down.”
Just as I’m about to take him up on the offer, my phone starts ringing from the coffee table in the living room. I brush past him and head over. It’s not my usual ringtone, and as I grasp my phone in my hand and peer at the screen, I realize it’s because I’m getting a video call. And it’s from Dean.
Automatically, I go to decline it, but I stop myself short just before I tap the screen. It’s still ringing and Tyler’s eyeing me suspiciously from the kitchen. I haven’t spoken to Dean in a few days, not since Sunday. I know I need to answer, so I throw Tyler an apologetic shrug and accept the call.
“Hiiiii,” I say, as cheerful as I can possibly sound right now without sounding too fake.
It takes a moment for Dean’s face to appear and he stares through the screen at me, perplexed. I don’t think he’s heard me, so I wave to let him know I’m definitely here. Immediately, his face lights up. “Hey, you answered!”
“Sure did,” I say. “What’s up?”
“Just about to head off for work,” he tells me, but I already know. He’s wearing his signature blue jumpsuit, grease stains and all, hair ruffled. “Thought I’d check up on my favorite girl first. How you doing?”
“It’s almost eight there, right? It’s eleven here.” I sink down into the couch, crossing my legs as I hold my phone in front of me, trying to focus all of my attention on my boyfriend. It’s hard to ignore the fact that I can sense Tyler’s eyes boring into me from across the room. “I’m great. Just hanging out.”
Dean arches an eyebrow. “Got anything you wanna fill me in on?”
“Nope.” I can’t look at his eyes, so I stare at his shoulder instead. It’s not like he can tell. I feel too guilty to meet his gaze.
“Nothing new since Sunday?”