“Don’t do that,” I blurt, rubbing the goose bumps on my arms. Mark sets the drinks on the coffee table and joins me on the sofa. His body heat is like a furnace. It’s as if flames are burning my cheeks as he rests his arm behind me on the back of the couch.
“Do what?” he asks, in a deliciously low tone. He knows exactly what he’s doing. I stare at him for a moment. He licks his bottom lip as he meets my gaze.
“You drive me crazy; do you know that?” I stand up and grab a drink as Mark chuckles to himself.
“The feeling is mutual,” he shoots back. I glance at him and feel torn. Part of me wants to slap that stupid smirk off his face. The other part wants to grab his neck and throw myself onto his lips.
“We’re going to be in here for a while. What do you want to do to pass the time?” he asks. My cheeks are flaming hot by now as my eyes scan his perfectly formed muscles. His white shirt leaves little up to the imagination, and even if it did, my memory can fill in the blanks.
“There’s a bunch of movies down here. What are you in the mood for?” I wander over to a cabinet and open it up, looking at the stacks of discs. Now that I think about it, there are worse places to get locked in than Michelle’s basement. At least there’s a bathroom, snack bar and an unlimited supply of movies to watch. Of course, there’s only the one couch. And my company is not only outrageously sexy, but also equally annoying.
“Whatever you want, I’m easy,” Mark says from the couch. I stifle a laugh. Yes, too easy. I bet if I jumped on him right now, he wouldn’t protest. I push the thought out of my mind, grab a random disc and march across the room.
“Why do you hate me?”
Mark’s question stops me in my tracks. His eyes become wide and sincere, and for a moment I forget that he’s the biggest jerk on the planet and see him as a sweet little boy just wanting to be loved.
“I don’t hate you,” I reply carefully. I walk over to the console and insert the disc, chewing my lip with thought.
“Then why do you act like you hate me?”
I turn around with surprise at this sudden change in attitude. But it’s better than having him come on to me. So I decide to just go with it.
“There’s things I don’t like about you,” I say, twirling my hair and averting my eyes from his steady gaze.
“Want to tell me what they are?”
“What, here? Now?”
“Well, we’re not exactly going anywhere.” Mark chuckles again. “You’ve got a captive audience, so why not?” He pats the space on the couch beside him. I hesitate.
“You want me to list the things I don’t like about you?” I ask incredulously.
“There’s a list?” Mark shakes his head to himself. “Yes. I would like to know. Besides, if you tell me what you don’t like about me. I’ll tell you what I don’t like about you.”
His words sting, but I take a deep breath. Well, if it stops us from doing something we’d regret in the morning…
“Okay, deal.” I hand him a drink and sit on the couch.
“What I don’t like about you… number one.”
Mark
This will be interesting. I didn’t think there could be a whole list of things Debbie doesn’t like about me. On the one hand, I’m intrigued. Just what is it about me that rubs her up the wrong way? On the other hand, I’m worried that this is going to be painful.
Maybe this was Michelle’s master plan. Lock us in a room and force us to talk about our feelings. Something I’m not very good at.
“Your arrogance,” Debbie says bluntly. I look at her, mildly offended, but I cannot think of a reply.
I can see how it might seem like I’m arrogant. My dad taught me that to survive in this world, a man needs to assert himself. He needs to show everyone he’s confident and capable. So, even if my head is full of doubts, I play it cool. At all times.
“I’m not arrogant,” I think aloud. Debbie scoffs and drags her fingers through her glossy brown hair. I watch, aching to do the same and caress her cheek. Instead, I clear my throat. “I just act confident.”
Debbie hums in thought and gives me a wry smile. I can’t take my eyes off her delicate lips.
“Don’t tell me underneath the cocky alpha male act, there’s an insecure man just hoping the world won’t see through it?”
She nestles into the couch, lifting her legs and tucking her feet underneath her. The TV remote lies untouched on the coffee table and I get the feeling that she has forgotten about the movie.
“I wouldn’t call myself insecure,” I correct her. Insecure sounds weak, pathetic. “But sometimes I worry…”
I stop talking, trying to find the words to convey my feelings, but it’s not easy. Debbie’s smile falls and her brows pinch together as she touches my arm briefly.
“Worry about what?” she asks. The tone of her voice is softer now, and she looks at me with a kind of intensity that makes me wonder if she can see right into my soul.
“If I’ll ever be good enough,” I blurt.
An awkward silence follows as Debbie looks down and I wrestle with my thoughts. Did I say too much? Should I explain?
Debbie and I have known each other since high school. Which might explain why she has this skewed impression of me. I was arrogant. Especially in senior year. But I was captain of the football team, I had cheerleaders falling at my feet, and I was getting straight A’s. I was flying high and nothing could get in my way.
Those were the days. It’s pretty hard to keep yourself from being over-confident when it feels like you have the
