Undecided(98)

“Okay, I think. Better than last year, definitely. You?”

He shrugs, and his shirt lifts up to reveal a swath of pale skin and his boxers peeking out from the top of his jeans. “Not too bad.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah. How was your trip home?”

I hesitate. “Ah…”

He stops working. “What does that mean? No turkey?”

“There was turkey. And there was…truth-telling.”

“Truth-telling?”

“Yeah. I basically made my parents admit they hated each other.”

“Do they? Did they?”

“Yes and yes. My dad’s already looking for a new place.”

“No way.”

“Turkey’s overrated.”

“Or underrated,” Crosbie counters. “As a truth serum.”

I laugh. “Fair enough.”

“How about Nate and Marcela? Are they going at it yet?” He turns his attention back to connecting the final pieces of the frame.

“I don’t know,” I muse. “I don’t think so. Marcela said she wasn’t ready to admit she was in love with him, but she’s not going to pretend not to care, either.”

“Where does that get them?”

I shrug. “Marcela’s in Tahiti, so…paradise?”

He smiles and pushes to his feet, gently kicking the frame to make sure it’s sturdy. “Grab the other end,” he instructs, picking up the box spring. I do as I’m told and we wedge it into the frame, following with the top mattress. Crosbie sits down heavily, bouncing a few times, and it all holds up.

Then he looks at me.

“You know what I’m going to say.”

“Happy New Year?”

“Jump on the bed, Nora.”

“Remember what happened last time?”

He gives me a thorough once-over. “You look like you’ve lost some weight. It should be okay.”

“I can’t believe I ever missed you.”

His smile fades slightly. “Did you?”

“Did I miss you? Yes, of course. You got a hundred texts.”

“A hundred and fourteen, but who’s counting?”

“Who, indeed.” I take a breath when he stands and extends a hand to help me up. I’m perfectly capable of climbing into bed on my own, but I want to feel him again, even if it’s just the coarse skin of his fingers against mine, the faint squeeze before he lets go. I stand in the middle and watch him as he leans against the far wall, folding his arms across his chest. His biceps bulge, his forearms look ridiculously strong—he’s so sexy and I feel like such an idiot.

“I’m not—”

“Jump,” he interrupts. “We have to make sure it’s safe.”

“I’ll probably—”

He clears his throat and raises an eyebrow.

I grimace and give a tentative push with my toes. The mattress springs squeak, but nothing terrible happens. I stare at my socked feet and push a little harder this time, my heels coming off the slippery fabric, skidding a little. I bend my knees and try a bit more, glancing up warily, as though I’m in any danger of hitting the ceiling.

I’m not.

I inhale and tell myself I’m only going to do this once, just one big jump to show Crosbie that I can, even though by now I think he knows it.

I jump.

Nothing breaks.

I plant my feet and wait, fully expecting the mattress to come tumbling down or a neighbor to pound on the door, but it doesn’t happen. I jump again and the mattress squeaks, but everything holds firm. I jump again, and again, and again, and when I look up Crosbie is smiling as he watches, sexy and amused and somehow knowing.

I brace a hand against the wall as I stop, the mattress wobbly under my feet, my breath a little unsteady as I curl a finger in Crosbie’s direction. “Come on,” I say. “Your turn.”

“I’ve already had a turn.”

“I just want to see that you know how to have fun,” I say. “Isn’t that what you said to me?”

“Did I?”

“Mm hmm.”

“And what did you say?”

“I was like, ‘Okay, great idea.’”

He laughs. “I’ve already built this thing twice. I’m not building it a third time. Get down here.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.” He bends to collect his jacket from the floor, and my stomach sinks. Oh.

But then he pulls out the flat red box from his coat pocket and turns to face me, exhaling carefully. “You know what else I realized?” he asks quietly.

I step down off the mattress but don’t cross the four feet that separate us. “What?”

“That we saw each other on Labor Day, Veteran’s Day, Halloween, Chrisgiving, and now New Year’s. But not Christmas.”

I stare at the box he must have retrieved from the kitchen. “I know.”

“I got you this. I put it under your pillow, but then…”

“I know.”

“I thought a lot about it recently. I mean, f*ck, I thought a lot about it since we met. I was really worried that I was in love with someone who was in love with someone else.”