"That's disappointing. We should hang more."
I glanced over my shoulder, laughing at him as he trailed me into my apartment. "We hang out all the time."
"Clearly, it's not enough if this is the first time I've exposed you to the correct size of a Patron bottle."
"Well then, thank you. I expect you to help me drink it." Setting the huge container on the counter, I grabbed the small garment box I'd tucked away earlier and handed it to Matt. "Here, this is for you."
He accepted the gift hesitantly, shooting me a confused but delighted look. "What's this for?"
"No reason. Just open it." I tucked my hands under my chin and watched him, not even trying to hide my big, goofy smile.
Matt opened the box and I was happy to see how his eyes widened with pleased surprise. "Space Invaders! On a tie," he yelled.
"I know," I yelled.
"I love it." Matt bent and gave me a hug. "I will wear it all the time. I should put it on now."
As he straightened, I shook my head. "No. Save it for a special occasion, when you want to make a good impression. It'll be your lucky tie."
Though he'd purchased several outfits the day we went to Hugo Boss, I hadn't yet seen him in any of them. Tonight for example, he was wearing his usual uniform of T-shirt and jeans, with the T-shirt being a schematic of a Dalek.
Still smiling, his gaze warm with good feelings as it moved over me, he tucked the box in his bag. "Marie, you are the sine to my cosine."
My eyelashes fluttered and so did my heart, but I managed to tease, "Are you saying we'll never be on the same wavelength?"
He moved his head to the side as though considering my words. "More like, we complement each other. In basic trigonometry terms, cosine is the sine of the complementary or co-angle."
"I took trigonometry in high school. All I remember is pi r squared."
"I would argue that pie are round, but whatever gives you a right angle." He shrugged.
I laughed, even though the joke was painfully punny, and my hopes took his words as permission to start the countdown clock on their evil little space rocket.
"So," he rubbed his hands together, "about those margaritas."
We didn't have margaritas or shots, sadly.
Instead we ate while we worked-him on the couch with his feet propped up on the ottoman, me on the floor again-and listened to The Police on vinyl. But this time I kept sneaking peeks at him, watching how he shoved his hands into his hair every so often. I guessed whenever he encountered a problem, he sent it in all different directions. I also noticed how nice his hands were, and his chin.
I chided myself for not admiring his chin prior to now.
What is wrong with you? The man has a magnificent chin. And jaw.
Truly. I was in love with his jaw, or at the very least I had a crush on it.
We'd long finished dinner and had been working for a good hour when he suddenly asked me, "Why did your boyfriend break up with you?"
I glanced up from my laptop and peered at him, unsure I'd heard the question correctly. Here I was, mooning over his exquisite jaw, and there he was, thinking about my ex-boyfriend.
Was that a good sign?
"Pardon me?"
"Your ex-boyfriend. David." He lifted his magnificent chin toward the engagement party invite on the top of my mail stack by the door. "The one who invited you to his party, the one-"
"Yes. I know who he is."
"Why'd he do it?"
Tilting my head from one side to the other, I searched the air around me for a succinct way to explain all the ways our relationship had failed.
"You cheated?" he guessed, his look full of suspicion.
The question made me flinch. "What? No! No, I didn't cheat. I wouldn't do that. If I wanted out of a relationship, I'd just be upfront about it. I don't understand cheating, as a concept. Why not just leave?"
"Agreed." He set his laptop on the ottoman and stood, meandering to the untouched bottle of Patron and opened it.
My kitchen was so small, he was able to open the bottle, then shift his weight to one side in order to grab a glass. My eyes strayed to where his shirt lifted, exposing his firm stomach and one side as he reached for the tumbler.
I felt a little lightheaded.
I also swallowed, rather than drool on myself.
"I don't understand cheating either. Do you want some?" He indicated to the tequila.
"No. Thank you." I was already light-headed enough, the last thing I needed was a shot of tequila. On autopilot, I added, "Cheating and lying make no sense."
Matt poured himself two fingers of tequila and shook his head at my statement. "No. I understand lying."
This statement shocked me out of my Matt-body-appreciation trance. "You understand lying?"