Page 64 of Hate It with You

I’m not exactly sure what that was, but I miss him. Weeks without training, without his snarky remarks, his hands on my body, watching how gently he interacts with the people who visit his gym, is too long a time to go without seeing him.

My leg bounces up and down, my heel repeatedly hitting the floor when my mind mulls over the idea of making my way to his apartment. I heard him get home an hour ago, and my inner turmoil followed shortly after.

It’s a risk if I tell him, but it’s also a risk if I don’t.

My heart pulls in his direction too forcefully to ignore. I can’t go another minute without seeing him, face-to-face, so I push forward. Grabbing my zip-up hoodie, I slip my arms through, the oversized material fitting comfortably over my leggings and Alex’s T-shirt. The air outside has become nippy with the changing of the seasons, but I still can’t bring myself to wear anything other than his T-shirt at night. I worry that if I wear something else, our connection will be forever severed.

Maybe that’s for the best.

The voice in my head makes me pause, my hand only inches from the doorknob.

Maybe you shouldn’t do this.

The voice becomes louder, but that pull in my chest returns, tugging me toward the door. My hand moves, unlocking the door and turning the knob fully before stepping out into the hallway.

With only a few hesitant steps, I’m in front of Alex’s door. My hand raised, ready to knock, but my wrist pauses, unmoving. Still unsure of my choice to come over here.

It is late.

Another tug-of-war between my head and my heart. The more romantic of the two ultimately wins when my wrist moves, and I knock firmly on the hard wood surface.

There’s no turning back now.

When Alex opens the door, it takes everything in me for my jaw not to hit the floor. Alex stands before me shirtless, in gray sweatpants. The sweats hanging low on his body, I can see every inch of his defined V-line point straight to the one thing I’m still not sure I’m fully equipped to handle.

His hair is tousled, like he’s run his hand through it repeatedly tonight. A few of the dark strands are falling onto his forehead. He either got more attractive in the last few weeks or I forgot how beautiful he is.

The best part? The fucking glasses.

“You come over to stare at me all night, or did you need something?” Ouch. His tone packs a bite I wasn’t prepared for, but I can’t argue with his frustration in this situation.

“Uh, no, sorry.” I’m flustered, so preoccupied with whether or not to come over here that I didn’t think through what I was going to say. So many things float through my head until I finally land on, “You wear glasses?” My tone is more breathless than I want it to be.

He opens the door wider, looking up at the ceiling as he waves his hand, ushering me into his apartment. He appears annoyed with my question but, like me, can’t say no to whatever apparent connection is between us.

Walking into his apartment, I’m hit with another surprise. The layout is the same as mine, only flipped, our living rooms and bedrooms sharing a wall. Moving to the kitchen island on the right, I take note of the noticeably nicer cabinets than mine, stained a dark walnut, with a black granite countertop I certainly don’t have. The dark hardwood flooring that runs throughout feels clean on my bare feet, without a crumb in sight.

Dark wood tones, black accents, and a touch of green added by a few plants throughout the apartment give the place a cozy feel I wasn’t expecting from Alex. A sense of safety comparable to what I feel in his arms washes over me as I stand in his apartment.

What catches me by surprise the most is the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lining his living room walls, no TV to be found. All genres of books are stacked neatly on the shelves, his collection easily twice the size of mine, putting my unpacked boxes of books to shame.

I’m embarrassed he ever visited my apartment, given the state of his.

As I step farther into his apartment, I’m pulled in the direction of the stack of books on the kitchen counter, with a few pens and highlighters sitting next to them. Upon closer inspection, I notice they’re the books he bought from my store a few months ago. When I move to open one of the covers to take a peek inside, Alex’s tattooed hand covers mine, stopping it in motion.

“Is there a reason you stopped by?” His tone is still snippy, but his hand doesn’t budge.

I pull my hand away, shoving it into my sweatshirt pocket, trying to find the courage to begin this conversation.

“I haven’t heard from you in a while. I wanted to check if you were okay.” It’s a shitty start, but it’s all I could get off my tongue.

“If I’m okay? We’ve already been over this. You’re the one I’m worried about.” His voice cracks, and I take a small step back.

“I told you, I’m fine. I want to thank you for installing the new window so quickly. I haven’t had any more disturbances since, so there’s nothing to worry about.”

“C’mon Beth, you have to give me more than that. At least tell me why someone in your life is terrorizing you so badly that he’s hurting what’s mine.”

What’s his? Right, the window. He’s mentioned that before. That’s why he put up the cameras. I shouldn’t want him to mean something else by that, but I do.