Funny You Should Ask(65)

Even though the last thing my body wanted was to leave the comfort of an extremely soothing and cozy bed, I couldn’t let Gabe give up his room—and I couldn’t let myself stay any longer. I was light-years away from what was appropriate behavior and I wasn’t sure how I was going to write this article without looking like a complete creep. If I’d hoped to dispel the stereotype of the female reporter getting her story via her feminine wiles, well, I was doing a shit job. Not that my feminine wiles had gotten me that far, but still. It was so unprofessional.

My tape recorder was still in my bag. If I wanted to talk about what had happened tonight—and I wasn’t sure that I did since it was so embarrassing—I would have to re-create it from memory, and right now my brain seemed to shrivel up at the mere suggestion that I might have to do some deep thinking.

That was a problem for my de-sugared, hydrated mind to sort through. First, I had to get out of there. Had to get my shoes on, find my purse and my jacket. I needed to call the taxi company I’d used to get here. I needed to get home.

Shoes in hand, I opened the bedroom door.

The noise was coming from the other side of the house, but it became pretty clear pretty quickly that it wasn’t Gabe. It was a woman and a man—but the man was British. Unless Gabe was practicing his Bond accent in the middle of the night with another guest, it seemed far more likely that he was watching TV.

That was confirmed when I crept toward the sound—which was also in the direction of the guest room—and found the distinct blue light of a TV illuminating the living room.

Part of me hoped that Gabe had fallen asleep, that I would be able to get out of there without him seeing me, but instead, the quiet dialogue stopped immediately, the image freezing on the screen.

“Hey,” Gabe said.

He was sitting on the couch. Alone.

He was still wearing what he’d been wearing at the party—a pair of jeans and a T-shirt—but he looked a lot more rumpled. As if he might have been lying down on the couch.

“Hey,” I said.

My head hurt and I was embarrassed beyond reason.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“I’m really sorry,” I said as a response.

He grinned at me.

“You were pretty funny,” he said, his face scrunched up in a teasing manner.

“You didn’t have to put me in your room,” I said.

“I couldn’t leave you on the dog bed,” he said.

He gestured toward it, the puppy still fast asleep.

“You could have put me in the guest room,” I said.

“People would have been coming in and out of that for a while,” he said. “Party only ended about an hour ago.”

“What time is it?” I asked, feeling completely out of sorts.

“Only three,” he said.

“Three?”

Only three.

“You shouldn’t be sleeping on the couch,” I said.

“I wasn’t,” he said. “I was going to go sleep in the guest room when I got tired.”

“You shouldn’t sleep in the guest room,” I said.

He raised an eyebrow. “Is that an invitation?”

I didn’t know what to say. Was he serious? And if he was, was it? An invitation, that is?

Could I actually take him up on it?

“You probably need some water,” Gabe said, thankfully saving me from answering. “Sit.”

He patted the couch as he got up and headed into the kitchen. I perched there, on the edge of one of the cushions, watching his dog sleep. She was very, very cute, her nose tucked under her tail. It was then that I finally directed my attention to what Gabe was watching on TV.

“It’s true,” he said when he returned with a large glass of water. “I’m a huge nerd.”

“I love this episode,” I said after I’d drunk most of it.

“Yeah?” Gabe asked.

“I mean, Data is probably my favorite character, followed by Worf, but the Picard-centric episodes are pretty spectacular.”

Gabe looked at me.

“I’m also a huge nerd,” I said, though I imagined it was less of a surprise to discover that I was a Star Trek: The Next Generation fan than to find out that Gabe Parker was one.

“Want to watch it with me?” he asked, holding up the remote.

“I should go,” I said.

But I didn’t move.

“I can call you a cab in the morning,” he said. “Come on. Watch an episode with me.”

We watched three. The one he was already watching, my favorite episode, and then his favorite. He had all of them on DVD.

Gabe made popcorn—a little bowl of plain for the dog, then sprinkling cinnamon and sugar on the one he made for us.

The whole thing felt weirdly nice. And normal.

More normal and nice than the entire weekend had been.

“Did you grow up watching Star Trek?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Gabe said. “My dad loved it.”

There was a long, weighted silence. Gabe looked at me.

As if he was giving me permission.

“Who was his favorite character?” I asked, carefully pushing the boat out.

“He loved Geordi,” Gabe said. “I think because he was an engineer at heart. Liked to fix things.”