Chapter Thirteen
AM
BO LEFT EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, whispering in my sleepy ear that he was going for a run. Later that day, he appeared, showered, changed, and ready to fulfill one of our lab requirements. I spent the time apart embarrassed by the revelations I had shared and confused about our status. We dating? Hooking up? Just friends? I didn’t even know exactly what I wanted from Bo, so when he treated me with such normalcy, I didn’t bring the subject up. My anxiety over the previous night’s events only lingered for a moment, but my bewilderment over us only increased.
“Would you help me open this?” I handed him a jar of spaghetti sauce. I’d agreed, somehow, to make dinner for Bo tonight, ostensibly because we needed to study, but mostly because being around Bo and being the subject of his light flirtations actually made me feel good. I deserved that once in a while, I told myself.
He deftly twisted off the top and handed the bottle back to me.
“You know a man would never ask that. That’s a difference between men and women.”
“What?” I was incredulous. “You would never ask for help to remove a cap from a bottle?”
“You might ask for a bottle opener, but you’d never ask for help to remove the cap itself,” he clarified.
“But how does that make you more manly?”
“Men don’t need help opening jars.”
“Are you telling me that every jar is openable for you?”
“If it’s not, then it doesn’t need to be opened.”
“Not being able to admit you need help is manly?”
“Asking for help is a woman’s thing,” Bo said, ducking my point. “We don’t ask for directions, and we don’t need help opening bottles.”
I shook my head. “I don’t believe you. I think you’re just a Neanderthal.” I could tell he was egging me on, but I had to see how far he would take this.
“Real men never ask for help.” Bo leaned forward, his arm across the counter. “In fact, this could be our lab.”
“You’re on.” I slapped my hand on the table. “Where do we hold the lab study?”
“My house. We’ll superglue a mayonnaise jar shut and we’ll see if any of my roommates ask for help. I bet none of them will.”
“You’re on.”
“Great. We’ll do it Monday, unless you have another class after?”
“No, why do you think that?”
“Because you always run out of there like the hounds of hell are chasing you.” He leaned even closer so that his arm brushed mine and his mouth was almost touching mine. I didn’t move an inch. “It’s only me who’s chasing you.”
“I’m not running away from you.”
He leaned back. “So you say.”
BO DIDN’T SLEEP OVER ON Saturday night or Sunday, either. After we ate on Saturday night, he hugged me good-bye, molding my body to his. I might be somewhat inexperienced, but I knew an erection when I felt it poking into my stomach. But he ignored it, so I didn’t bring it up, either. Instead, I hugged him back, enjoying the physical contact. His hands stroked up and down my back, and I bit my tongue to suppress the shivers of need building inside me. When his hand swept into my hair and his nose was buried in the side of my neck, I couldn’t keep back a moan of delight.
“I’ve got to go,” Bo said, but his hand tightened in my hair and his other hand spanning my waist pulled me closer.
If I spent a rational moment thinking about it all, Bo was right. We weren’t ready. I was still feeling vulnerable after last night, and I didn’t really know where Bo’s head was. That didn’t mean I was going to turn away an embrace. As if he understood my reserve and the need to go slow, he released me with a sigh and tapped me on the nose.
“See you in class.”
Longing filled me the entire weekend, and I was so anxious to see him on Monday I think I flew to class rather than walked. When I finally did see him lounging outside the classroom waiting for me, I felt a giddy smile light up my face. Bo didn’t pressure me into making some declaration, but he made it known throughout class that he was interested by the way he found little excuses to touch me, throwing an arm behind my chair and letting his thumb brush my shoulder. In response, I leaned into him closer than necessary. Class seemed like one long, extended bout of foreplay, so I was glad that he kept the tone upbeat and neutral when we were done.
“I’m going to need directions to your house,” I told him as we exited class. Instead of responding, Bo tugged at the strap of my messenger bag until I let it slide off my shoulder. He looped it over his head and walked off again. “Hey, wait a minute.” I trotted after him and when we reached his car, Bo popped the miniscule trunk where I saw a gym bag and nothing else. He threw both our bags in and came around to open my car door.