fifth floor,” I tell her, at the same time she says, “You don’t have to carry…”
I’m already leading us to the elevator, my back to her, and I’m nervous. Fuck, I’m so nervous. I haven’t felt like this since I texted her to tell her that I wanted her to be mine in my fifteen-year-old way.
Since I’d only just left the elevator to get her, we don’t have to wait for the cart, and so we step in, stand on opposite sides, and stare at each other. “This is nice,” she says, looking around. But we’re literally in a seven-by-seven-foot box, and there’s nothing to see. But there’s everything to feel. My pulse beats against my ribs, as if it’s trying to escape, while Mia chews her thumb, looks down at my chest, and then back up to my eyes. And it hits me then; she’s as nervous as I am. At the thought, a chuckle bubbles out of me, and I roll my eyes. “I’ve known you for ten years, Mia, and you still do crazy things to my heart.”
Her eyes widen, and I realize what I’ve said.
I don’t take it back.
Besides, if I want the truth from her tonight, it’s only right that I give her the same.
I use the keycard to unlock the door of my apartment and hold it open for her to step inside. She looks around, but there’s not much to see: couch, television, a small kitchen and eating area, and two doors. One leads to the bedroom, the other to the bathroom. I set her bag by the front door and say, “I haven’t cooked anything. I’m… not a great cook.”
She turns to me, her lips kicked up at the corners. “Well, lucky for you, I am,” she says, rolling up her sleeves. Before I can stop her, she’s in my kitchen, opening the fridge.
I cringe.
“What do you have?” she calls over her shoulder.
“Chicken, potatoes, and broccoli.”
For a moment, she doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. Then her shoulders begin to shake, and she’s laughing. It’s silent, but it’s there, and when she closes the fridge and turns to me, she’s wiping the wetness from her eyes.
“Are you making fun of me?”
“No.” She shakes her head, her laughter gone, but her smile still there. “I just imagine you eating grilled chicken and steamed potatoes and broccoli every night.”
My eyes narrow, but my lips are twitching to smile.
“It’s like the diner all over again. Same meals, all day, every day.”
“I’ll have you know…” I start, moving around the small counter to get to her. “I’ve moved on from burgers and—” It’s all I can get out before she has her arms wrapped around my waist, squeezing tight. I don’t know if it’s a hug or a death grip, but I don’t get a chance to do anything in response before she’s pulling away, looking up at me.
“It’s been five years, and you haven’t changed, Leo Preston.”
“Is that good, or…”
She shrugs, taking a step back and leaning against the fridge. “Question,” she says, and this time I smile. Nod. “How are you?”
“I’m…” My heavy exhale fills the space between us. “I’m a wreck, to be honest.”
Her head bobs, before tilting to the side. “I’m sorry. I know your life is so full-on right now, and this is the last thing you need.”
I chew the corner of my lip, completely aware that her eyes track the motion. “Question.”
She smiles. “Go ahead.”
Pressing my hip to the counter, I cross my arms, keep my eyes on hers. “Why the fuck do you look so cute right now?”
Her jaw drops, her eyes so wide I’m afraid they’ll fall out. I didn’t mean to say it. The last thing I’d planned was to attempt to flirt with her. What kind of dickhead would I be if I did that? Me. I’m that dickhead. “You can’t say things like that, Leo.”
“Why? You got a boyfriend?” Shut the fuck up, dickhead!
“I do,” she says, and something stupid happens in my chest. In my heart. It hurts. “He’s four years old, and his name is Bennett.”
“Bennett?” I repeat.
Mia nods. “Did you think it was Benjamin?”
“I guess, yeah.”
Her nose wrinkles. “The name Benjamin means Son of my right hand.”
I bust out a laugh.
“Right?” she says. “It sounds so wrong, like...” She does the universal sign for jerking off, then flushes red, her eyes scanning the room.
I want to reach over and run the backs of my fingers across her cheeks just to feel the heat they