Not even having to think about it, I shake my head. “No, I don’t think so. Why settle when you know what you want? Although, don’t you think you were settling with Edwin?”
“Edwin was clearly a momentary lapse of judgment. Frankly, I blame you for Edwin.”
“Me?” I point to my chest. “Why do you blame me? I didn’t force you to go out with the dweeb.”
“He wasn’t a dweeb, he was just . . . dweebish.”
“If that makes you feel better, sure. But not sure why you’re blaming me.”
“Because, that dinner we had at the blind date restaurant was atrocious. It made me think I had to lower my standards.”
“It wasn’t that bad,” I say.
“You weren’t the one who was there to meet someone. You were there to fulfill a bet. I was honestly excited. It might have seemed entertaining to you, but it was more disheartening to me.”
Now that actually makes me feel bad. I never thought about it that way, and before I know it, guilt consumes me.
“Sorry, Kelsey,” I say, looking her in the eyes. “I was an idiotic, prideful man that night. You wounded my pride when I first showed up, and I didn’t shake it off. I tried to bring you down with me. I shouldn’t have done that.”
She pauses, her spoon midway to her mouth as she says, “Wow, uh . . . thanks, JP.” She grins while bringing her spoon to her mouth. “Carousel, pictures, bibs . . . and an apology. Dare I say, this might be one of my favorite nights ever? A vast improvement from the blind date restaurant. This whole ‘short-term companionship’ thing is actually rather enjoyable.”
“Glad I could make it up to you.”
“You did . . . Josiah Phoenix.”
“Close.”
Her eyes widen with excitement. “Really?”
I laugh. “No.”
“Ugh.” She pushes me. “That was just mean.”
“I found it entertaining.” I exchange a smirk with her, which to my goddamn delight . . . she reciprocates.
“Can you roll me to my room?” Kelsey asks as she collapses to the floor of the penthouse and takes off her shoes. “I don’t think I can move another inch.”
She then lies on the floor, fumbles with the waistband of her jeans, and undoes the button before groaning in relief.
“Wow, this is a sight to see.”
Blechhhh.
She covers her mouth from the very unladylike burp that just erupted out of her. She glances at me, shock registering across her face, before she asks, “Did you happen to hear that?”
“Babe, the doorman thirty stories down heard that. It rattled the very floor I’m standing on.”
“Don’t be dramatic.”
“I think San Francisco will be reporting an earthquake on the Richter scale.”
“Stop it.”
“I actually feel nauseated from the aftershocks.”
She swats at my legs, and I laugh as I reach down and grab her by the ankles.
“What are you doing?”
“Pulling you to your room . . . wait . . . nothing going to come out of the bottom end, is there?”
“Eww, do you really think I would do that?”
“Well, honestly, I wouldn’t be able to tell you, because the girl I once knew as the tight-lipped perfectionist just unbuttoned her jeans in front of me and let out a monstrous belch, so . . . I can’t be sure what might happen next.”
She drapes her arm over her eyes as I continue to pull her. “This is why I’ll never find anyone to love me. I’m a closet gross person.”
“No, you’re not . . . you’re just normal.”
She peeks past her arm and says, “You’re just saying that so I don’t actually fart while you’re pulling me.”
“I’m really not. It’s nice to see that you’re not always so stuck-up.”
“Stuck-up? That’s preposterous.”
“Only someone who’s stuck-up would use the term preposterous,” I say as I reach her bedroom. I open her door and drag her in. I consider leaving her on the floor but, bending down, I pick her up. She squeals in surprise before looping her arms around my neck.
“What on earth are you doing?”
“Tossing you on your bed,” I say as I throw her, but to my chagrin, she doesn’t let go of my neck, so instead of me watching her flop onto the bed, we collide in a fit of limbs on the bed. “Jesus Christ,” I mumble into the comforter. “You were supposed to let go.”