Steph wipes her hands on a napkin before reaching into her backpack. She pulls out a sheet of notebook paper and hands it to me. Sure enough, right at the top, THE RULES is written in black ink.
“You actually made a list?”
She nods. “I’m a big believer in lists.”
With a chuckle, I scan the page. My laughter quickly fades when I read the first rule on the page.
#1. No touching.
“Seriously, Steph? We’re not allowed to touch each other?”
“Not in the apartment, no.”
“Is kissing considered touching?”
“Keep reading.”
#2. No kissing.
What a bunch of crap.
“This is honestly what you want?”
“I never said it’s what I want. I just think we have to keep a respectable distance when we’re in the apartment. If we’re on a date, the rules don’t exist. But when we’re home, I really think we need to try to keep our hands to ourselves.”
I try to find the logic in that, but it escapes me, so I keep reading. The rest of the list is just basic roommate info. Rent is due on the first of the month. Utilities on the fifteenth. I take out the trash; she cleans the bathroom. Evenly divided responsibilities, right down to who cleans the litter box.
“That’s mine,” Steph says simply. “She’s my cat, so . . .”
I nod. Bangle hates me, anyway.
“Is the list okay?”
I shrug. “I’m fine with everything—except for numbers one and two. From what I can recall, we like touching each other. I think you’re just setting us up for failure.”
“I’d like to try anyway.”
“But dating is okay?”
“Yes.”
“And we can kiss on dates, but not in the apartment.”
“Right.”
“Why does it matter?”
Steph sighs and pushes away her empty plate. “I just think we will . . . behave ourselves if we’re out in public.”
Translation: There are no soft, comfy beds out in public.
“Steph, I promised to be respectful, and I will be.”
“I know you did. But like I said, I may not want you to be. Maybe having established rules will keep us from tempting fate.”
She’s giving this sheet of paper a lot of power. I hope it works.
Remember, Brandon. Let her lead.
“Okay. Where’s a pen?”
She finds one in her backpack, and we both sign at the bottom. If this is what it will take to get her to trust me, I’ll write my name on whatever she wants.
In an unspoken attempt to follow the stupid rules, we occupy ourselves and our hands with homework. I don’t know if it’s a conscious decision, but we both end up on the couch. I’m on one side, she’s on the other, and in the middle is her evil cat.
Staring at me.
Steph pretends to read from an ancient paperback copy of The Silence of the Lambs while I pretend to study a chapter on operating systems. Her eyes might be glued to the page, but she’s not fooling me. She has a little smile on her face, and I know for a fact there’s not a thing in that book that would give her a warm, fuzzy feeling.
“You know, Brandon, you’d get more accomplished if you looked at your book.”
“It’s not as pretty.”
Sighing softly, Steph shakes her head before turning her attention back to her book. I can see the faint blush of her cheeks, and I watch in fascination as it spreads down her neck. My hand twitches in response, which leads Bangle to hiss in my direction.
Stupid cat.
I realize I’m being distracting, which was her fear all along, so I decide to give it up and call it a night.
“I should try to sleep. I have to be up at five.”
Steph closes her book. “You always get up at five?”
“Yep.”
“To work out?”
I nod. “Only three days are required, but I do six.”
“I’ve never understood why an engineering major has required workouts.”
Shit.
“It’s umm . . . for an elective PE course I’m taking.”
It’s not exactly a lie, but it still leaves a bad taste in my mouth.
We stand and walk down the hallway toward our bedrooms. Our adjacent bedrooms—you know, because just being under
“You actually made a list?”
She nods. “I’m a big believer in lists.”
With a chuckle, I scan the page. My laughter quickly fades when I read the first rule on the page.
#1. No touching.
“Seriously, Steph? We’re not allowed to touch each other?”
“Not in the apartment, no.”
“Is kissing considered touching?”
“Keep reading.”
#2. No kissing.
What a bunch of crap.
“This is honestly what you want?”
“I never said it’s what I want. I just think we have to keep a respectable distance when we’re in the apartment. If we’re on a date, the rules don’t exist. But when we’re home, I really think we need to try to keep our hands to ourselves.”
I try to find the logic in that, but it escapes me, so I keep reading. The rest of the list is just basic roommate info. Rent is due on the first of the month. Utilities on the fifteenth. I take out the trash; she cleans the bathroom. Evenly divided responsibilities, right down to who cleans the litter box.
“That’s mine,” Steph says simply. “She’s my cat, so . . .”
I nod. Bangle hates me, anyway.
“Is the list okay?”
I shrug. “I’m fine with everything—except for numbers one and two. From what I can recall, we like touching each other. I think you’re just setting us up for failure.”
“I’d like to try anyway.”
“But dating is okay?”
“Yes.”
“And we can kiss on dates, but not in the apartment.”
“Right.”
“Why does it matter?”
Steph sighs and pushes away her empty plate. “I just think we will . . . behave ourselves if we’re out in public.”
Translation: There are no soft, comfy beds out in public.
“Steph, I promised to be respectful, and I will be.”
“I know you did. But like I said, I may not want you to be. Maybe having established rules will keep us from tempting fate.”
She’s giving this sheet of paper a lot of power. I hope it works.
Remember, Brandon. Let her lead.
“Okay. Where’s a pen?”
She finds one in her backpack, and we both sign at the bottom. If this is what it will take to get her to trust me, I’ll write my name on whatever she wants.
In an unspoken attempt to follow the stupid rules, we occupy ourselves and our hands with homework. I don’t know if it’s a conscious decision, but we both end up on the couch. I’m on one side, she’s on the other, and in the middle is her evil cat.
Staring at me.
Steph pretends to read from an ancient paperback copy of The Silence of the Lambs while I pretend to study a chapter on operating systems. Her eyes might be glued to the page, but she’s not fooling me. She has a little smile on her face, and I know for a fact there’s not a thing in that book that would give her a warm, fuzzy feeling.
“You know, Brandon, you’d get more accomplished if you looked at your book.”
“It’s not as pretty.”
Sighing softly, Steph shakes her head before turning her attention back to her book. I can see the faint blush of her cheeks, and I watch in fascination as it spreads down her neck. My hand twitches in response, which leads Bangle to hiss in my direction.
Stupid cat.
I realize I’m being distracting, which was her fear all along, so I decide to give it up and call it a night.
“I should try to sleep. I have to be up at five.”
Steph closes her book. “You always get up at five?”
“Yep.”
“To work out?”
I nod. “Only three days are required, but I do six.”
“I’ve never understood why an engineering major has required workouts.”
Shit.
“It’s umm . . . for an elective PE course I’m taking.”
It’s not exactly a lie, but it still leaves a bad taste in my mouth.
We stand and walk down the hallway toward our bedrooms. Our adjacent bedrooms—you know, because just being under
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