Say You'll Remember Me(73)

He shot me a playful look.

“What?” I said.

“Stop.”

“There’s a VILF hashtag.”

“No, there isn’t.”

“Yes, there is,” I said. “I’m following it.”

He tickled me. I shrieked and twisted to get away from him. He grabbed me by the hips and rolled me over onto my back while I squealed.

“I liked VILFs before it was cool!” I said, giggling.

He tickled me harder. I started tickling him back.

We were both laughing. I had tears in my eyes. He had to hold my hands against the mattress to get me to stop. He leaned over me, his heart pressed to mine, his chest still rumbling.

His hair was shaggy again. It hung down over his forehead and his full smile beamed.

“Are you going to stop?” he asked.

I bit my lip. “Making fun of you or tickling you?”

“Both.”

“I don’t know, I kinda like being pinned here. It’s making me want you in a way that’s a threat to feminism…”

He laughed and let my hands go, caging me between his forearms.

I rubbed my nose to his. “You want my advice? As a social media expert?” I asked.

“Of course.”

“Until we as a society are mature enough to see your naked stomach in a slow-motion montage and act with dignity, I think you need to keep those abs put away.”

His eyes dropped to my mouth. “You want me to keep them put away?” he asked, his voice lowering.

“I mean, not in here. Obviously.” I bit my lip. “Unless you need to sleep. You’re carrying the weight of the thirstiest comment section on TikTok. You’re probably tired, I get it.”

He burst into husky laughter. “Stop.”

Then he dipped his head to kiss me.

“VILF. So lucky,” I breathed.

He smiled while he hiked my leg up around him and tipped my head back to kiss under my jaw.

“Xavier?”

“Hmmm…”

“Would you still want me if I was a worm?”

He pulled his face back and looked at me, amused. “Am I also a worm?”

“No. Just me.”

He blew a long breath through his nose like he was thinking about this seriously. “Well, if you were a worm, things would change.”

“How?”

“You would want to do worm things. You would have worm needs.”

“So no?”

“So I would take care of you,” he said. “I’d learn everything there is to know about worms. I’d become a worm expert. I’d put you in a flowerpot. I’d make sure your soil was warm and you were safe. I’d set you on a windowsill—but not too high, so you wouldn’t be scared.” He started kissing me again. Gentle little pecks around my face. “I wouldn’t know if you still understood me, but I’d talk to you anyway.” Kiss. “I’d play music I know you like and I’d plant flowers for you.” Kiss. “I’d decorate your pot with seashells. I’d never leave you alone. I’d take you with me everywhere. I’d have your lava lamp and a bottle of Murkle’s Mustard where you could see it from your pot—”

“You’d keep buying Murkle’s for me?”

“No, I’d buy it because it’s the best.”

I smiled up at him. His hair, hanging over his eyes.

“I think this is the only right answer,” I whispered.

He curled his fingers around my ear and pressed his lips to mine.

This time I didn’t stop him with silly questions.





33





XAVIER


WELL, IF IT isn’t the threat to feminism,” Jesse said as I walked into Donna’s.

Mike and Chris were cracking up. I ignored them and sat down.

I hadn’t seen them since I got back from California over a month ago, so they’d been waiting a while to use that joke.

It was Sunday, Christmas Eve, at seven in the morning. I’d just gotten off the graveyard shift at the ER. I was going into the clinic from eight to noon to wrap up a few things before the holiday and then I was running from there to another ER shift from one to nine. Normally I’d get to go home and sleep for a bit, but someone had called out, and covering for them meant I’d get paid time and a half for the holiday. It was too much money to pass up. Every shift was one part of an airline ticket. That’s how I lived my life now, in flier miles.

Mike handed me a menu. “Where you been at, man?”

“It’s a long story,” I mumbled. “I’ve been working seven days.”

“The volunteer stuff?” Chris asked.

I looked at the menu. “No. I’ve been picking up shifts at the ER.”

“For what?” Mike said.

“The money. So I can see Samantha.”

I set the menu down and rubbed my eyes.

I was exhausted.

Mike looked me over. “Dude… you look like shit.”

“I feel like shit,” I admitted.

“How long are you gonna have to keep this up?” Mike asked.

“Forever?” I said.

“Until she moves back?” Jesse said.