Because I’m a normal, red-blooded American woman, and that’s what we do. The same way we go all soft over babies and cry during Hallmark movies and enjoy flowers. And sometimes we say I love you during the sweetest, most intimate sex ever.
I cringe and sit back on my heels as I dunk my rag in the bucket of warm soapy water. I can’t believe I did that! I mean, it wasn’t entirely my fault. I was half asleep, and it was so good and the words just slipped out. I didn’t even remember or realize I said it until this morning when I woke up, but then it hit me: he didn’t say it back.
It’s embarrassing. And I have to see him in a little bit and try to act like everything’s normal, when it definitely isn’t.
Just as I’m calling myself every kind of moron in the book, my phone pings with a text from Dec. Hey babe, gonna be a little late.
Great. We’ll just prolong the misery. The bathroom needs a good scrubbing.
I quickly text him back and am glaring at the backsplash behind the stove, wondering how in the bloody hell the marinara sauce ended up on the tile—doesn’t Adam use a lid when he cooks?—when the man himself comes sauntering through the front door, a smile on his handsome face. He stops cold when he sees me.
“Uh oh,” he says.
“What?” I snap, still frowning at the tile. Why is dried tomato sauce so hard to get off?
“You’re mad.”
“I’m cleaning,” I reply.
“Which means you’re mad.”
I shrug, still not looking at him.
“Wanna talk about it?” he asks.
“No,” I reply immediately, then quit scrubbing and spin around to face Adam. “I don’t get men.”
“So you do want to talk about it.”
“I mean, I guess it’s not really his fault, and if he’s not in the same place I am, it’s okay, but damn it, I’m embarrassed that pisses me off more than anything.”
“Back up,” Adam says, shaking his head while he takes a seat at the breakfast bar. “What happened?”
I twist my rag in my hands and frown. “Did you hear the part where I said I’m embarrassed?”
“You can tell me. It can’t be that bad.”
“I said I love you and he didn’t say it back.”
Adam’s eyes get big, then he clears his throat. “Wow, you said the L word?”
“Yeah.” I drop the rag in the bucket, then lean on the counter and bury my face in my hands. “I’m so dumb.”
“You’re not dumb,” he says. “How did you say it?”
“While we were having sex,” I mumble into my hands. “Jesus, he must think I’m an idiot.”
“You don’t have anything to be embarrassed about,” Adam says, confidence in his voice.
“I don’t?” I look up from my hands and he’s smiling. “Why?”
“If you said it during sex, it doesn’t count.” He smiles proudly, but I just stare at him, frowning in confusion.
“Is that guy logic?”
“You were in the moment, Callie. Maybe you said, Oh, I love that, or something. Maybe he didn’t hear you.”
“That’s stupid,” I announce and begin pacing around the kitchen. “I didn’t really mean to let it slip out, but I was still half asleep, and he was going down on me, and he’s so good at that, and I couldn’t help it. But he didn’t say it back, and now he has to think I’m stupid. Or, I’ve freaked him out.”
My phone buzzes with another text from Declan.
Sorry to do this, but something came up. Been a rough day. I’ll definitely be there to walk you to your car after work. Sorry babe.
“See!” I show Declan the text, knowing that I sound like a crazy woman, and not caring. “He’s blowing me off. He’s never blown me off before. I’ve made everything weird.”
I don’t bother to respond to Declan. I just toss my phone on the counter and grab a rag to feverishly scrub down the cabinets.
“You’re a pig, by the way. This kitchen is disgusting.”
“I don’t cook in it,” he replies, smiling at me. “The girls I bring home sometimes do.”
“Well, they’re pigs then. And why are you grinning at me?”
“Because you make me smile.”
I frown, leaning on the broom handle. “Why are you so calm? What do you know?”