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“Are you ready for your case study review tomorrow?”
“I guess so.”
I shoved all of Ken’s test scores and social/emotional questionnaires into my notebook and closed the cover. I’d been staring at them, all spread out on my bed, for way too long anyway.
“Does that mean you’ve figured out what’s wrong with me?” Ken laughed flatly. He was trying to sound sarcastic, but I could hear an echo of worry behind his words.
“No,” I admitted. “As far as I can tell, you’re just a really smart asshole.”
Ken didn’t respond.
“Who was raised in a house without couches.”
Ken chuckled.
“And never had anyone try to cuddle with him or tell him they loved him until he was in his mid-twenties.”
Silence. As usual.
“But I could be wrong,” I continued, swallowing the lump in my throat for the sake of civility.
Ken was trying to be friends. Maybe I could try, too.
“My professor’s gonna go over your scores and give me his official diagnosis when we’re done.”
“So, I’m not even a little bit autistic?”
“Nope, just an asshole,” I teased.
Ken didn’t laugh. “Hey, I’m off tomorrow, so if you guys have any questions during your meeting, you can just call me.”
“Why are you off? You always work on Fridays.”
“I’m gonna help somebody move.”
“God, you’re so nice. I’d be trying to work as an excuse not to help somebody move.”
“So…”
I could tell just from his tone what was coming next.
“I swear to God, if you ask me how my day was, I’m gonna fucking scream.”
I heard Ken’s soft laughter on the other end of the line, followed by the sound of his keys hitting the kitchen counter.
“It’s not funny! This is the fourth day in a row you’ve called just to ask how my day was. What the fuck are we even doing, Ken?”
“We’re talking.”
“So…you’re just gonna call me every day for the rest of your life to ask me how my day was?”
“It’s looking that way.”
An unexpected laugh burst out of me. “Ugh!” I groaned, mad at myself for letting him wear me down. “I hate you!”
I heard rustling sounds that I knew were from him changing out of his work clothes, and a pang of longing sliced through my heart. I could almost feel the heat radiating off his hard body. Notes of soap hung in the air just beyond my grasp. I knew, in a few minutes, he would climb into bed and curl up around his pillow, and I wanted nothing more than to climb in and curl up around him.
“Ken?”
“Yeah?”
“I didn’t mean that. I don’t hate you.”
“I don’t hate you either.”
The roar of a motorcycle outside vibrated my chest just before the beep of an incoming call interrupted my thoughts.
“Shit.” I reached over and switched off my lamp. “I gotta go.”
