Kelsey: Yeah, I think that’s pretty accurate. I don’t know. I like him, I really do. I’ve realized that more and more over the last few days. I’m just nervous.
Lottie: About what?
Kelsey: That I won’t be enough. That he’ll get tired of me. That he thinks he’s ready for a relationship, but he’s really not, and I’ll end up getting hurt.
Lottie: All valid concerns, but you won’t know the answers unless you try, unless you let him try.
Kelsey: And if he hurts me?
Lottie: Then he’ll not only have to answer to Huxley, but he’ll have to face me, as well, and as you know, I don’t let anyone hurt my sister.
Kelsey: Edwin hurt me.
Lottie: And guess who got a glitter bomb delivered to his house with a note that said to open it in front of his computer? He’s probably still plucking glitter from his keyboard.
Kelsey: You didn’t . . .
Lottie: No one fucks with you and gets away with it. And if JP hurts you, well, just imagine the damage I can do.
Kelsey: I might be a little scared.
Lottie: Good, I always want everyone to think I’m slightly unhinged. Keeps them on their toes.
Kelsey: I somehow feel bad for Huxley.
Lottie: Don’t, he loves it. And, also . . . don’t be worrying about what could go wrong with JP. Focus on what can go right. He likes you. You like him. Start there.
Kelsey: You’re right. Thank you, sis.
Lottie: Now, tell me more about this night of sex. Six times!
“You didn’t have to help me up to my apartment,” I say as I reach my front door.
JP gives me a pointed look. “Do you really think I was going to let you carry your luggage up here alone?”
“I guess not.” I unlock my door, push it open, and then scoot one of my bags in as JP follows me, dragging my larger bag behind him. “You can just set it over here.”
“This is your place?” JP asks, taking in my six-hundred-square-foot apartment.
“Yeah. It’s small, I know, but it does the job. I hope to get a bigger place at some point, but it’s hard to find an apartment that’s in a good area and doesn’t cost me my whole paycheck.”
Not saying anything, JP walks around the small place, running his fingers over the bistro set I call a dining table, peeking his head into my kitchen, and even opening the door to my closet and bathroom. When he turns toward me, he sticks his hands in his pockets and says, “I like it, babe. It’s very you.”
“It’s small, nothing compared to your house.”
“Why do you have to do that?” he asks. “Put down your place? It’s not a competition. This is where you live, be proud of it.”
That warms my heart.
“You’re right. I do like my place. It’s served me well. But I do hope to have a place bigger than this someday.”
He walks up to me, tugs on my hand, and pulls me against his chest. “Until then, maybe we can make some memories here.”
“What kind of memories are you suggesting?”
“Well, I was thinking we can cuddle on your bed, share some ice cream, and talk?”
“Jonah Peter Cane, the man who has sex on the brain twenty-four hours a day, just wants to talk?” I give him a pointed look.
“What did I tell you? You said you want to take this slow, so that’s what we’ll do. I want to spend some more time with you before I have to kiss you good night and leave.”
I play with the hem of his shirt. “Being the romantic girl that I am, I’ve always dreamed of someone saying they want to spend more time with me, but I’ve never heard it.”
“Because you weren’t with the right guy. No need to look anymore. I’m right here,” he says, placing a soft kiss on my lips. “And, thankfully, ice cream will be here shortly. I asked our driver, Ramon, to stop by the corner store to grab us some, banking on you saying yes.”
“And what if I said no?”
“Then I would’ve gone home and eaten my feelings.”
I chuckle and kiss his jaw. “How about this—we eat ice cream and I unpack while we talk, because I can’t possibly be in my apartment with two untouched luggage bags.”
“I can help. I can sort your lingerie, if you want.”
I roll my eyes and push him toward my bed. “You just hang out there and talk to me while I unpack. I don’t need you messing with my system.”
“Okay, Monica Geller,” he says, flopping on my bed.
I point at his feet and say, “Uh, shoes, mister. Those need to be taken off.”