Chapter 19 Luc #2
I suppress a sigh. Now that I think of it, I don’t know how long Cody usually takes to forgive.
After all, we only met several weeks ago, and I don’t know him that well.
I only know that I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, that I haven’t been able to trust anyone like I trust him, and that I want to see where it goes.
Even if I have to put my fantasy of living with him in France with a French bulldog on hold.
I’m not known to be the most patient person, and I’ve never had to wait to get what I want, but this will be worth it, and I can do it. I know I can.
Beside me, Cody leans forward to look out the window. “It’s still raining,” he says, his voice almost curious. The contrast between us is bizarre. He’s waiting for the rain to stop, whereas I’m waiting for the chance of a future with him. Nothing less.
“You can sleep on my couch if it continues. Or I can give you a ride home.”
“On the couch?” I reply before I can stop myself, unable to keep the disappointment out of my voice.
“Yes, on the couch.”
If it were up to me, I’d be in bed with him, but that doesn’t seem like an option.
But then, I must admit that the prospect of sleeping on Cody’s couch is much better than returning to my old bedroom in my dad’s house.
I don’t look forward to that. If I’m sleeping on Cody’s couch, at least he’ll be nearby, and it would feel a little more like home.
Maybe too much like home, in fact . . . If I stayed, I know I wouldn’t want to leave again.
“I should go home, or my dad will think I don’t need my room back, and I might not have a place to stay at all. And I can walk. I want to prove to you that I can take care of myself.”
Cody’s expression darkens slightly. He opens his mouth as if to object, then shuts it again, jaw tightening. Finally, he says quietly, “Okay, fine. But at least stay here until the rain lets up. I don’t want you getting sick.”
He sounds so serious about it, so concerned, and it causes my stomach to swirl. He’s so great, caring the way he does, never pretending otherwise. I already know leaving him is going to be impossible.
A lump forms in my throat but somehow, I manage to give him a slight smile and say, “Okay.”
“I’ll put on something for us to watch in the meantime,” he says, leaning toward the coffee table and reaching for the remote. “Anything particular you want to see?”
I shake my head, lacking the mental capacity to think of something. For some reason, it's as if every movie and show I ever watched has spontaneously disappeared from my memory. “Anything's fine.”
After some clicking on the remote, he restarts an episode of the Canadian sitcom he was halfway through watching.
It takes some getting used to–I don't usually watch English shows without subtitles–but honestly, I’m not really focused on the show anyway.
As we sit together, watching the episode, I keep wondering if it's acceptable for me to move closer to him.
I don't need much; just us holding hands or our legs pressing together would be enough. Because as long as I’m sitting beside him but not touching him, this situation feels like it's missing something.
It won't necessarily be unsatisfactory, but it will certainly feel incomplete.
And so, five minutes into the show, I decide to try something.
Once I’ve mastered the courage, I slowly scoot over, holding the blanket and placing it over both our laps.
When he doesn't move away, I press up against him, lightly wrap my hand around his upper arm and lean my head on his shoulder.
Oh yes, this is much better already…and that's even before what happens next.
To my surprise, after several seconds, he turns toward me and leans down to give me a lingering kiss on my head.
Goodness. A warm tingle travels from my head to my toes.
It might just be a small gesture, but it means the world to me.
Somehow, it feels more caring and intimate than anything else he could have done in this moment.
I give his arm a squeeze and rest my head on his shoulder. I wish I didn't have to leave tonight, that this place was home, and I could just stay here until the time comes for me to crawl into bed with him. Into our bed. That would be so great.
Time seems to pass faster now that I have him close to me and I become even less focused on the show. Before I know it, the episode has ended and silence fills the room as the end credits show. The silence can only mean one thing: the weather cleared up. That's probably my cue to leave. Damnit.
“Uhm,” I start, giving his arm a light squeeze and lifting my head. “It sounds pretty quiet outside,” I tell Cody. “I think the rain stopped.”
“Oh,” he replies, surprised, his head turning to the window. I wonder if he’s just as unhappy about it as I am. He remains silent for a moment, listening for sounds of rain, and then says, “I think you’re right. I suppose I’ll go check if your clothes are dry.”
Was that a note of disappointment I heard? I hope it was.
“You can, but I was actually wondering if I could borrow your sweater for a while longer. I don’t have a jacket,” I tell him. That part is true, I don’t have a jacket, but I’m also not ready to say goodbye to the warm sweater that smells like Cody.
“Okay, sure, but . . . you could just let me give you a ride, you know. You don’t have to be cold.”
I can’t help that my flirty side takes over, and I give him a wink and a nudge on the arm. “If you’re that unwilling to say goodbye to me, you can just tell me, big guy. Because I’ll certainly miss you until I return tomorrow.”
Cody opens and closes his mouth again. His expression tells me he’s at a loss for how to respond. “I’ll go check on the dryer,” he eventually decides on, and it saddens me.
I nod, disappointed, and Cody stands up to leave the room.
Did I do something wrong, I wonder? Should I have accepted his offer to give me a ride?
The thing is, I’m not sure what the right move is here.
I want him to know I can take care of myself, but then again .
. . Cody can absolutely take care of me if he wants to. Did I mess this up already?
Unfortunately, the only thing standing between me and leaving is whether Cody’s dryer is finished running.
Is it bad that I’m hoping the machine breaks so that I’ll have no choice but to stay here?
Of course, deep down I know it won’t do any good.
Cody would probably just lend me some more of his too-big clothing.
Why did I decide to go home in the first place?
What was I thinking? Oh, right, it’s because I need a place where I can stay for more than just a few days, and right now, moving back in with my dad seems like my only option.
Cody comes back, carrying my clothes. “They’re dry. You want me to put them in the bathroom so you can put them on?”
I shake my head, push the blanket off, and walk toward him, not wearing pants.
I take my jeans from his arms and say, “No need. Nothing you haven’t seen before, right?
” Before he can reply, I give him a smirk and start to wiggle myself into my jeans.
I wonder if I can drag the moment out to see if he’ll check me out again, and for how long I can pull that off.
I don’t want to take things too far accidentally.
But also, Cody is still holding onto my shirt.
I glance at it. “Actually, I’ll leave that here just in case I need it another time.
” I wonder if that’s crossing a line? By suggesting that I might need a spare shirt at his house, I’m clearly hinting at having to change clothes at some point or staying here for several nights.
But Cody only nods and puts the shirt on the armrest of the couch. Strange . . . did he miss the meaning of my statement?
“Okay, I’ll put it in the closet,” he replies.
I then notice that his cheeks have reddened slightly, and I wonder if that means he understood after all.
But he sticks with his approach, quickly changing the topic.
“Will you text me when you’re home?” Cody says, his voice steady.
It’s so different to when he walked in on me in the bathroom. “You have my number now.”
I feel conflicted. Part of me thinks it’s adorable that he wants to know I get home safely.
It makes me want to leave even less. But on the other hand, why didn’t he react when I stood in front of him, wearing his sweater and no pants?
Or when I said I’ll leave my shirt here?
A lingering look or a change in tone would have been enough, but he merely blushed. Has the spell worn off already?
I don’t know the answer to that, but I’m now fully dressed in his sweater and my jeans, and since there’s no sign that the rain has continued, I can’t postpone this any longer. Now, the question arises: should I do something to say goodbye? Hug him? Kiss him on the cheek? Or lips?
Eventually, I decide that a kiss on the cheek can’t hurt, and I step toward him, lean in, and place my lips on his skin.
He tenses up, but only for a moment. Then he lightly places his hand on my back, the touch warm and comforting.
I let my lips linger for several seconds, savoring his touch.
I can’t help feeling like he’s doing the same, but I don’t want to overstate, so I pull away begrudgingly.
When I do, he gives me a faint smile, and I say, “See you tomorrow, Cody. I can’t wait. ”
“See you tomorrow. Text me when you’re home,” he says again, and my stomach flutters at how important it seems to him. Maybe things can still work between us. There’s nothing I want more, so here’s the problem: I don’t know if I have it in me to wait much longer . . .