Phoebe Berman's Gonna Lose It(78)

“I swear.”

He breathes in and out heavily, like he just confessed to murdering someone. Beneath the palm of my hand, his leg is still trembling slightly. This must have been weighing on him heavily.

“Would you want to do a crossword?” I ask. “Those always calm me down.” I still have an entire book of them in my tote.

He exhales shakily. “That sounds perfect.”



* * *



—

“Twenty-one across is the Volga River.” Matthew points to the empty space on the crossword grid. His knowing the answer to the longest river in Europe makes my toes curl. All throughout the night, I’ve been getting progressively more turned on with each random fact Matthew pulls from his arsenal. I squirm next to him in the booth.

“That makes twenty-one down vasectomy.” I scribble the answers onto the page.

“Good one,” he encourages.

I don’t know how long we’ve been sitting here. Long enough to finish three full crossword puzzles and the rest of our champagne. Long enough for me to feel comfortable enough to scooch so close to Matthew that I might as well be sitting on his lap.

It’s a shock when Jerry comes up to our table to let us know the bar is closed.

“What do you mean last call was thirty minutes ago?” I look up for the first time in hours. The bar is completely empty. “What time is it?”

“One-thirty,” Jerry answers.

“One-thirty?” I haven’t been up this late since college. And if it’s almost two in the morning here, that means it’s almost five a.m. in New York.

“Oh, Matthew, I’m sorry.” He looks down at me quizzically. “I kept you here so long. You must be so tired.”

He shakes his head back and forth quickly. “I’m not tired at all.”

“I’m not, either,” I respond, unable to stifle a yawn.

“We’ll get out of your hair,” Matthew tells Jerry, who, in turn, winks at me.

“Sorry, Jerry!” I call after him.

I begrudgingly pull myself away from Matthew and begin collecting my things. “Are you sure you have to leave tomorrow?”

He nods sympathetically. “I wish I didn’t. But I have a shoot tomorrow night back in New York.” He looks at his phone. “I guess it’s technically tonight now, actually.”

I bow my head solemnly in understanding, leading us to the exit of the bar.

“Wait.” He halts in his tracks, lightly tugging my arm so that I stop with him. “I know you said you threw that list of yours away”—he pauses, scratching at the side of his neck until it’s red—“but is there any chance you’d still want to go on that date?”

There’s no point in trying to fight the lopsided smile that spreads across my entire face. My head bobs up and down rapidly in a way that’s entirely out of my control. “I would.”

“Great,” he says, placing his hand on my back as he leads me through the door. “I’ll just have to come back, then.”



* * *



—

I could tell Matthew wanted to kiss me when he dropped me off at my front door, and I was ready for it. I was excited for it. But as soon as he looked at my lips, he stuck both hands in his pockets and started tapping his foot again.

He’s a nervous boy.

It’s ironic, considering how calm he made me feel tonight.

The thought of him being anxious was too much for me to bear, so I hugged him good night and made him promise to come back one last time before turning toward my front door. Hopefully, by the time he comes back, he’ll have worked up the courage. I’m honestly not sure how much longer I can wait.

It’s pitch-black by the time I make it inside the apartment. I squint, trying to see if I can make out a body under a lump of blankets on the couch where I left Jonathan, but it’s too dark. Equal parts euphoric and exhausted, I float toward the steps, startling suddenly when a bright light flickers on at the far end of the room. Jonathan sits in the corner of the couch, half of his face illuminated by a lamp while the other half remains shrouded in darkness. With his eyebrows drawn into a serious expression, he looks like a detective from an old-timey movie, poised for an interrogation.

“Shit.” I clutch my chest, catching my breath from the jump scare. “I didn’t see you.”

“Where have you been?” he asks, looking genuinely concerned. “I called you fifteen times. Your bed is hardly made. I thought you were abducted.”

“I didn’t think you’d wake up.” I shuffle over to him and sit down on the couch. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t checking my phone.”

“Well?” He looks at me expectantly, tapping his foot while crossing his arms over his chest. “Where were you?”

“Uh.” I hesitate, not wanting my excitement to overshadow anything he told me earlier today.

“Please,” he says on an exhale. “I can’t handle any more secrets between us.”

“Okay,” I respond, nodding. “I was with Matthew.”

He blinks. “What do you mean you were with Matthew?”

“I called him after you fell asleep earlier,” I confess. “Everything you said in your office…You are so brave, Jonathan, and you make me want to be brave, too.” I place my hand over his. “So I called Matthew, with no plan other than to grovel and apologize for everything. I wasn’t expecting him to be here. In LA.”