He got up and I propped myself up on my elbows to watch him walk naked to the kitchen. You could bounce a nickel off the man’s ass. God, he had a great body.
Mine, not so much.
I had to make my own naked walk to the bathroom in a minute, and my little stomach bulge had no business strutting around uncovered. My clothes were strewn all over the place. I had no idea where my shirt was.
I sat up, pulling the sheet to my chest to look for something to put on. Then I eyed a Burbank Fire hoodie draped over one of his unpacked boxes nearby. I leaned over and grabbed it before he turned around from the sink.
“Do you mind if I wear this?” I asked, pulling it on before he had the chance to answer. I tucked my nose into the neck and breathed in, closing my eyes.
He climbed back in bed, handing me a glass of water. “You can keep it if you want.” He grinned at me.
“Really?” God, I would never wash it. I would wear it like a warm hug. “Are you sure? That’s a slippery slope, Joshua. Hoodies are gateway clothes. Soon I’ll be stealing your shirts and your jackets.” I took a sip and then set the water down next to the bed and looked back at him.
He leaned in and kissed me, his smile enormous. “I’m sure,” he whispered against my lips. “Take whatever you want.”
I gave him a raised eyebrow. “Why are you so happy about me stealing your clothes?”
“I’m just happy because I like it when you call me Joshua,” he said, smiling. His fingers brushed the hair at the top of my forehead and he kissed me gently.
There was something so intimate in the way he was with me I had to change the subject.
“What’s this, Joshua?” I asked, looking away from him, picking up a dog-eared copy of Under a Flaming Sky from the upside-down box he used as a nightstand. I flopped onto my back. “I didn’t know you like to read.”
He scooted down to lie next to me and propped himself on his elbow. “I like to read about fires.”
I held the book over my face. “Is it any good? What’s it about?” I smiled at him. “Will you read me a chapter?”
He took the book from me and leaned over the other side of the bed. “It’s about a firestorm in Minnesota, back in 1894.” When he came back up, he was wearing glasses.
I blinked at him as he flipped to the dog-eared page, scooting to sit up against his pillows.
“Shut the fuck up,” I said, staring at him.
He looked over at me. “What?”
“You wear glasses?”
“Just for reading. Why?”
Just when I thought the man couldn’t get any more attractive, he goes and puts on motherfucking glasses.
“This is a joke, right? You are not allowed to get hotter than you already are. I forbid it.”
He set the book down across his lap and grinned at me. “You like the glasses, huh?” He bounced his eyebrows. “Want me to keep them on the next time?”
I giggled. “Yes, please.”
He pulled the glasses down and then put them back on. His eyes got wide. “Oh, wow. Look how pretty you are!”
I laughed and moved his book, climbing over his lap until I straddled him. His sweatshirt rode up my thighs. Then I held his cheeks in my hands and peppered kisses all over his face. He closed his eyes and let me, beaming like a happy little kid.
I smiled at his upturned lips. “You know, it’s Tarantino Trivia at Malone’s tonight. You wanna go? I’m getting kind of hungry.” Josh had nothing in his fridge, and we’d eaten the burgers I brought hours ago. I looked at my Fitbit. “But we’d have to leave in, like, ten minutes.”
“Sure,” he said, his hands on my thighs. “Do we invite Brandon and Sloan?”
I shook my head. “They’re going to Luigi’s for dinner. It’ll just be us.”
He gave me a soft peck on the lips, his eyes warm. “It’s a date—let’s go.”
It wasn’t a date, but I didn’t correct him. He’d just roll his eyes and say it was just an expression and he wasn’t trying to slip a date past me, the way he always did. I didn’t need the reminder.
I wished it was a date.
He followed me home in his truck so I could get ready and let Stuntman out. Then we took an Uber so we could both drink.
On the ride over to Malone’s, I checked my emails.
He peered over at me as I tapped on my phone. “Wait until we’re stopped. You’re gonna get carsick.”
“No I won’t.”
“Yeah you will. You get nauseous when you look at your phone in the car,” he said.
“That’s only when you drive, because you drive like a lunatic,” I said, typing in an email about Pug Life sweaters on back order. “Braking, hitting the gas too hard, taking the turns too fast. And on top of that, you don’t even swear.”
He chuckled. “What does swearing have to do with driving?”
“If you’re not pissed off when you drive, you’re not really paying attention.”
I gave him side-eye and caught a dimple on his cheek. I smiled down on my screen. Then I swallowed. I did feel a little dizzy, actually. I set my phone on my lap and closed my eyes.
“I told you,” he said in the darkness behind my lids. “So stubborn, all the time.”
“No. Sometimes I’m asleep. And anyway, you don’t know my life.”
He laughed. “Yeah, actually, I do. I know all about you.”
I scoffed. “Mm-hmm.”
“What? I do. I know you can eat a whole sleeve of Thin Mints by yourself.”
I snorted. “Who can’t?”
He went on. “I know your favorite thing is having your back scratched after you take off your bra. You’re in a better mood when you go to bed at eleven thirty and wake up at seven than when you go to bed at twelve thirty and wake up at eight. You like purple. You love the smell of carnations but hate it when guys buy you flowers because you think it’s a waste of money…”
I opened an eye and looked at him. He was talking to the window, watching the road.
“You like to argue when you think you might be wrong. When you know you’re right, you don’t bother. You hate sharing your food, but you pick at my plate every time. That’s why I always order extra fries.” He looked over at me and smiled. “And you’d rather give me shit for my driving than admit you get carsick when you’re on your phone. See?” He arched an eyebrow. “I know you.”
My heart felt like it might crack in half. He did know me. He’d been paying attention to me. And I knew him too. I knew him inside and out.
I could tell what work had been like by the set of his shoulders when he came over, and I knew it helped him to de-stress to talk to me about a bad call. I always listened, even though sometimes they were hard to hear.
When he got quiet, it meant he was tired. He’d choose pistachio ice cream at Baskin-Robbins every time, but at Cold Stone he got sweet cream instead. I knew he liked Stuntman, though he’d never admit it. And he secretly liked it when I gave him shit. I could tell by the sparkle in his eyes.
And I also knew he hoped he had more sons than daughters. That he liked the name Oliver for his first boy and Eva for his first girl. He planned on teaching all his kids to hunt and had a collection of camo baby clothes. He wanted to build the cribs himself from wood in the forest around his grandparent’s house in South Dakota.
He wanted no fewer than five children, and he planned for nine. And he hoped all his kids got the signature Copeland dimples and cowlick.
I hoped for that too. I wanted him to get all the things he dreamed about.
Yes. I knew him. I knew him well.
* * *