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I smile at him triumphantly like I deserve all the praise in the world. The smirk
is still glued to his face as he leans and rubs my left cheek with his right thumb. He
is so close I can tell he has Extra spearmint gum in his mouth, and his cologne toys
with my senses.
“Damn right, you did,” he stage-whispers. My eyes move involuntarily to his

lips. If I just move in a little closer…I slam the brakes on that thought, tie it in chains,
and throw it in the river.
“Let’s go.” I’m almost breathless. I throw the car into drive and zoom out like
I’d done the first time. Henry grabs the “oh, shit” bar when I round the corner,
then he immediately pulls on his seatbelt. I restart the Foo Fighters and turn up the
volume. I have to break the feelings inside of me. I cannot afford to want Henry.
What in the hell is wrong with me? He hasn’t been single for a week and I’ve had
salacious thoughts at least once a day in the past four days since Henry moved in.
The Tuesday all-day thriller movie marathon didn’t help us parked on the
couch watching idiots run in the wrong direction and make terrible life decisions
before they get cut or killed, and laughing at them together wasn’t exactly putting
a check in the you-just-live-here box. We’ve found that we have a lot more in
common. It bothered both of us to the soul that people don’t have code words or
other inconspicuous ways of alerting people when they are in danger.

I’d pointed at him with my water bottle. “I told my parents and best friend a
long time ago If I’m ever in danger, I would say something completely out of character
like can you buy me a can of sardines. Or something else I hate with a passion.”
He’d nodded passionately. His white t-shirt pulling taunt across his muscular
chest. “Exactly! Or find a way to tell them using inside information. Like
mentioning a movie, song, or something!”
Total bums that day! It was amazing too good.
Which is why I now have the radio at a volume that doesn’t welcome
conversation. I love talking to him, and that is part of the problem. All our buffers
are gone. He knows I don’t have a boyfriend, he’s recently single, and now I can’t
act like I need to go home to get space from him since he lives there, too. The only
thing standing between us and twenty-four-hour exposure is work. Even our
commutes are combined most days; we think it will be cost effective to carpool.
Everything smells like him. The day before, I’d curled up in my favorite spot
on my couch only to discover that the cushions and my blanket were covered in