I stalk down the hall, doing my best to walk normal with the chubby that’s growing in my jeans. This fucking woman is testing my resolve in ways that would make Satan proud. To my right is an open bedroom door. Beyond the door is a messy-ass bedroom that I already know belongs to Mel. It’s decorated in a beach-like color scheme, with light blue, teal, khaki, and crisp white materials accented with bright gold metallic finishes. There are clothes on the floor and a dressing table in the corner of the room that looks like it’s been bombed with open tubes of lipstick and tissues that have been used to discard makeup with.
When I realize I’ve stepped into the room, I back up and take a deep breath. It smells just like Mel—fresh and clean—despite the chaos. I don’t need the bathroom anymore. Never really did, I guess. I just needed the space to be able to be the guy I know Mel wants me to be. To be the guy I want to be. I’ve been with Lydia for so long, just going through the motions and dodging questions about where we’re going—if anywhere—that I haven’t had to worry about not being a good guy in a long time. Like anybody, I’ve been faced with temptation and questions of right and wrong before. It was just never this difficult before.
I never wanted anything this much.
I push all of the shit out of my mind as I make it back down the hall. We make it through the pizza delivery with the dude making a single suggestive comment about the sausage on the pizza that has Mel blushing so bad that I find myself looking for ways to get her to do it again. She’s so confident and says what’s on her mind, so catching her off guard is a treat. We eat our slices of pizza and drink a few beers at the breakfast bar, and I try to ignore how everything in this place is expensive. After pizza, I move over to the large sectional that faces a fifteen-foot-wide wall where the TV hangs above an electric fireplace while Mel gets the popcorn going in the microwave. The wall is surrounded by windows so expansive that the wall looks more like a supporting structure for the view.
Beyond the wall and the windows is a large patio that looks like it doubles as a small urban vegetable garden. Mel pops in the scary movie she picked out and dims the lights both on the terrace and inside the apartment then sets the bowl of freshly popped popcorn on the coffee table. We stay silent throughout the process of deciding where to sit. She fluffs the throw pillows in one corner and eyes the center of the sectional nervously. Finally, I decide that it’s best if I just choose a cushion and claim it. So I do. I choose the one that’s to the left of the middle and plop down. First she chooses the seat to the right of the middle, but when the movie starts with a teenage prankster jumping out of a closet to scare his friends, she lets out a little peep and wiggles over. Halfway through the movie, she’s fully on the middle cushion and very nearly touching me.
“Friends can cuddle friends when they’re scared, right?” she whispers. I tense from head to toe but nod my head. She must sense that I’m hesitant, because she doesn’t move. Like an asshole and an idiot, I reach out and wrap my arm around her, tucking her into my side. It’s crossing a line to even be here, but this—this is fucked.
The movie ends with Mel curled into a tight little coil at my side. The credits roll, and I breathe a sigh of relief. What the fuck was I thinking coming over here? What the fuck was she thinking inviting me? It was an obvious ploy, putting on a scary movie and cuddling up beside me, but the bad part about it all is that I don’t care. I don’t care that she obviously hates my girlfriend. I don’t care that she tempts me and that I want to give into it.
She uncoils herself and sits up, her feet tucked underneath her so that we’re almost the same height. Our faces are close—too close—and I can feel her breath on my chin.
Every thought I tried to push away as we watched the movie comes flooding to the front of my mind. That time Lydia spent her portion of the cable bill on a new pair of shoes. The time she threw a fit because I had to work Christmas. The numerous times she’s complained about my hanging out with Mel at my parents’ house. The times she’s asked me if we’re okay, if I like Mel, and if there’s something I haven’t told her.
Then the guilt settles in. The time she forgave me for forgetting her birthday. The time I thought she was lying about working late and I showed up and accused her of cheating. She really was working late. Every little offense I try to come up with is so small and stupid that I can’t convince myself they’re equal to what I want to do right now.
“You’re such a chicken.” I’m whispering. Breathy. Like a chick. It’s pathetic, really.
“I’m like a baby deer,” she whispers back. “I scare easily.”
“Cuter.” I clear my throat and suck in a deep breath. All I smell is her light, clean, airy perfume. God, she fucking smells amazing. I bet the crook of her neck smells even better. Tastes even better. Feels even better.
“First beautiful, now cute,” she muses. I’ve gotten closer without realizing it. The tips of our noses graze and my breath hitches. Shit. She’s affecting me in ways I don’t expect and can’t handle. Not while being a good guy. Not while being the guy Mel needs me to be—the guy I want to be. “By the end of the night I’m going to be downright acceptable.”
I don’t move or speak. There’s nothing good I can say right now.