25. Caden #2
I can already imagine my text to Fia . . . Hey, I tried to fix your TV, but your nine-pound cat blocked me, and I’m terrified of it, so sorry, you’re shit out of luck.
“Dude, you have to move.” I pat the side of the sofa, trying to get it to follow my movements without creating a ton of noise.
He glares, his little paws tucked up under his body.
This is why I prefer dogs.
They are too eager to please or maybe too dumb. But cats seem to have an evil plan always brewing behind their shifty eyes.
“Listen, I am not leaving here until you get out of the way.”
It just stares at me, its tail flicking back and forth. Amused.
Little asshole.
“Are you talking to Hamburger?”
Fia’s voice makes me jump, and I bang my knee on the coffee table.
“Fuck—” I groan, silencing myself as she covers her mouth, suppressing a laugh.
“What is happening out here?” She steps towards me into the living room, hands resting on her hips, right above her tiny cotton shorts.
“I wanted to reconnect the sound bar for you real quick, but—” I gestured to the cat.
Fia moseys over, picking up the feral thing. “Hammy, it’s okay. We can be nice to Caden. He’s a friend,” she coos, kissing her cat’s face. She is one brave woman.
“Friend?” I ask before I can catch myself.
Fia bites her lip. “I just—” She shrugs.
I look around, arms open wide, and though my chest feels tight, I succumb to the truth I’ve been fighting. “I think friends is a fair label.” I turn back to the TV. “This will only take a minute.”
Fia walks away, but then I hear the distinct sound of the freezer opening. I glance up over the TV screen and see her reading the label on the pint of ice cream.
“I should go straight to bed, but I can’t without at least trying this . . .”
I laugh, turning on the TV to check that everything is working again.
Fia appears next to me, holding the dessert. “Do you want to stay?” she asks. “You can’t leave me unattended with three pints of ice cream.” She lifts a brow.
It’s endearing, and even though I’m sure she would say she looks messy and tired, in the dimly lit living room, she’s beautiful.
“Uhm . . .” I glance at the kitchen with the small round dining table, like it will give me answers. Then back at the woman asking me to stay.
Eating ice cream together is innocent. It’s probably the most innocent thing.
“Yeah, why not,” I reply gruffly, and Fia nods with a small smile.
“Great, you can pick one of the other tubs. I’m sorry, I’m not sharing this one.” She pulls the pint in her arms close to her chest. “Moose Tracks is all mine.”
Fia plops herself on the sofa, a spoon sticking out of her pint, and grabs the remote.
I follow suit, and even though it’s not something out of the ordinary—eating a snack at night on the sofa in front of the TV—usually I do it without a racing heart. And alone.
Hamburger sprawls out on one end of the sectional, and Fia’s in the corner with her legs propped up on the side .
. . so I’m forced to sit next to her. There or the floor, and the latter would make it obvious that I feel something.
So I sit in the corner of the sectional beside her, my back pressed into the cushions, legs stretched in front of me down the length of the chaise.
Suddenly, I feel like I’m fifteen again, alone at a girl’s house for the first time.
“If you keep making me dinner and bringing me sweet treats,” Fia says, mouth full of ice cream, “I may claim squatters’ rights and never leave this place.”
I glance at her long bare length draped over the sofa and smirk.
“Maybe that’s been my plan all along,” I mutter.
But then the air goes still, and Fia looks over at me. She’s inches from me, and I’m all too aware that if I even flexed my shoulder a little, it would touch hers.
“I have to admit, this is nicer than my old house,” she says, spooning another bite. “But it will be good to get home.” She doesn’t sound all that convincing.
“Well the guys are on schedule, might even finish up early,” I add, digging into the pint of mint-chocolate chip even though I’m not hungry. I’ll make this pint last all night if it means I have an excuse to stay here on this sofa with her.
“You’ll get your sanity back before you know it.”
I furrow my brow.
“Oh come on, you and Daisy have been easy neighbors,” I reply.
Fia rolls her eyes. “Yeah, okay. No need to fake politeness for my sake. I know we are a lot, I know I am a lot.” She scoffs, turning her attention back to the TV, which is so low I can barely hear it. A game show with cheering people and flashing lights plays across the screen.
Who told her she was too much? Too much what?
Too much fucking sunshine?
I bite my tongue.
They are wrong. I want to tell her that, but instead I stick with something less . . . Something that friends would say.
“If you were too much,” I reply, gruffer than before, “I would’ve kicked you out a week ago.”
Fia offers me a playful grin, and we fall into comfortable silence.
She sets her ice-cream carton on the coffee table and comments on the game show, but I’m not paying attention.
It’s taking all my energy to tamp down my thoughts about the girl next to me.
“Have you ever seen the show where they—” I start to ask but turn to see Fia’s eyes shut, her head laid on the back of the sofa, breathing deep.
Shit, she’s out.
I lean forward, setting down my half-empty ice-cream pint. I should seriously go now.
Without standing, so I don’t wake her up, I reach down to the end of the sofa and grab a blanket, tossing it over her bare legs. But then she stirs—not enough to wake, but enough to shift and lean over—lying straight onto me.
Fia’s head falls against my chest, her arm draped over my shoulder. Her soft hair splayed across me, filling my nose with the scent of jasmine.
I hold my breath, too afraid to move.
Who knows how long Fia’s been awake, taking care of a sick child. I’d be a fucking jerk to wake her—she needs this sleep.
While I try to figure out what to do, falling into a sleepy state myself, she curls more into my side, and I lean further back and loop an arm protectively around her body until we are fully entangled on the sofa together.
Her fingers twitch over my chest, and if I set my hand down, it’s going to land straight on her ass. Her ass, which is hardly contained by her shorts.
Fuck.
The ice cream will have to melt on the coffee table. Because I’m not moving.
What is that?
I jolt as something soft steps on my forehead and open my eyes to the glow of the TV and . . . a damn cat. And a hot weight across my body.
Gradually, my eyes adjust, and I glance down, barely having to look far at all. Because Fia’s fully on top of me, her long red hair draped over my chest, her face hidden in the crook of my neck.
My heart thrums wildly as I take stock of my body.
When I realize my palm is fully encasing her ass cheek, I bite my lip hard and lift my hand away.
Shit, shit, shit.
Fia stirs but doesn’t wake up, so I reach for my phone. It’s three in the morning.
I have two options: lie here until it’s a reasonable time to get up, let Fia discover that we fell asleep like this, and deal with the repercussions—awkward tension at work, me having to disclose my feelings, her possibly feeling uneasy here . . .
Or I sneak out.
Hamburger’s eyes glow from the other side of the living room while the TV plays some infomercial. But as I slowly roll to the side, trying to shift Fia from lying on top of me to lying on the sofa, she blinks awake.
I didn’t make it very far; our faces are still inches from each other, her lips so close to mine I could simply tip down my head to taste them.
No, get that thought out of your head.
She has to see the panic in my eyes, but she doesn’t move.
“I’m sorry,” she rasps out.
There’s no way she can’t feel my heart beating through my thin shirt, especially where her chest is pressed against mine.
“It’s okay,” I whisper, our gazes locked. “You were tired . . . I didn’t want to wake you.”
Fia’s eyes widen, like she suddenly realizes how close we are, like she’s just coming out of a dreamy state, and she rolls back, sitting up abruptly.
“I’m going to head home.” I stand, grabbing my phone, and she remains on the sofa, legs tucked up, hair messy, looking like a fever dream.
“Yeah, sounds good,” she replies, face bright red.
I should never have moved.
I should’ve stayed right where I was, stayed awake and appreciated the feel of her body against mine. I might never have it again.
Outside, I inhale the cool night air, and though this should feel like a walk of shame back to my house, I don’t feel any shame.
In fact, I feel something that scares me even more . . .
I want to do it again.