Page 36 of Reptile Dysfunction

Once I’m home and properly sequestered, I stare at the screen while casually nibbling my lower lip. Minutes pass before I realize I’m pushing my lip against my teeth with a finger, chewing a thin line across the tender skin in an effort to will my brain to action.

I’m a writer for heaven’s sake, not a lovestruck teen wondering how to broach the subject of a second date.

You sure about that? my mind asks.

“I drink alcohol, don’t I?” I answer myself, stuffing my face in a couch pillow. This was not what I had in mind when I left his place.

Didn’t he appreciate how quickly I left? How efficient I was? I could have stayed for longer and talked his and his snakes’ heads off. But do I get a little sex get in the way of a professional relationship? No.

I bring a hand to my heart, then press the space between my breasts with a few fingers. The angst burning a hole in my chest is real, but I’m not interested in investigating the source. Not when I have an article to turn in.

I heave a heavy sigh as I realize where I am, my apartment and not the office. I roll my eyes and head into the bedroom, hoping my laptop is where I think I left it.

I move a pillow from the center of the bed, and there she is. It’s maybe five minutes before my final edits on the museum fluff piece are done. I hover over the send button of my email, wondering if maybe I should give it another read.

Is it because you don’t want to think about Mason?

I frown at the question bouncing across my skull. Of course, that’s not what it is. That would be ridiculous. Wouldn’t it?

I hit send because I’m not a child but a grown woman. I do the same thing to the call button on my phone after dialing Mason’s digits.

“Did you forget something?” His voice isn’t rude, only matter-of-fact, which smacks me across the face with every syllable. No hello? No, how are you? We just had sex for crying out loud.

Oh…

“I didn’t mean to leave like that,” I begin, even though I sort of did. “My assignment is uploaded.”

“That must be a relief,” he replies.

I gulp and offer a weak smile, then wince as I realize he can’t see it. What am I doing? When did I become so… nervous?

“It is. Are you busy right now? I’d love to come back over now that I’m done.”

I don’t know if I mean this professionally or personally. All I know is I want to hear his voice on the other end, and it scares me. I feel the realization at the base of my neck and shudder before I can stop myself.

“I’m actually in the middle of something right now. My own work.”

“Nice. Nice.”

I nod and catch sight of myself in the mirror. When did I get into the bathroom? I run a hand through my hair, realizing I’ve worry-walked my way to the sink. I close my eyes rather than gaze into the inky blackness of the drain, where my professionalism might have just fallen into. I try to swallow despite my dry throat.

“You still there?”

“I’m here,” comes his voice after another moment.

I make my excuses to get off the phone, mainly to save face and feel in control. He was no doubt just about to suggest the same thing. He’s polite when he ends the call, and I wonder if I should have stayed to cuddle or something.

Would you have wanted that? I suck a breath in through my teeth and will myself to think of something else besides him.

A full twenty-four hours later, I’m still in the midst of deciphering my feelings — and all of them, not just the ones I’m comfortable admitting — when I head to the supermarket. I run into Mason and find myself behind him, tapping his shoulder until he turns my way.

“Fancy meeting you here,” I offer with what I hope is a casual smile. “Do you like apples as much as I do?” I take the biggest red delicious I can find from the pile in front of us, then toss it in the air and catch it.

“I have no idea how much you like apples, so how can I answer that?” He’s smiling and I’m blushing.

“You sure you’re still busy all week?” I begin. I’m pretty certain his emotionless text had more to do with my exit than his schedule. “Maybe I could go into detail about that more.” I frown as soon as the words come out of my mouth.

“Apples?”