“Oh, I’m a lot of things, Mags. But a coward isn’t one of them.”
I started toward the door.
“I’m watching.” She followed me to the hall but ducked just around the corner, her head barely visible.
“Creep,” I muttered.
“I have popcorn in spirit.”
I knocked twice on Doris’s door, loud enough to wake a cryptid. Then I stood there, shirtless, barefoot, and completely regretting my life choices. A few seconds later, the door creaked open. Doris stared at me like she was debating whether to swat me with a broom or a rosary.
“Roman,” she said slowly, eyes narrowing behind her bifocals. “Why are you shirtless?”
I gave her my best earnest face. “Doris, I need your help. I just got back from a nature hike. I think I may have been exposed to a… a tick situation.”
Her expression didn’t change.
“Could you check my back?” I turned slightly. “I’d ask Maggie, but she’s squeamish.”
From around the corner, Maggie let out a very un-squeamish snort.
Doris crossed her arms. “Are you on drugs?”
“No! I’m high on life, Doris. Life and public health awareness.”
That’s when I lost it. I tried so hard to keep it together, but I couldn’t quite hold in a snort of laughter.
Doris squinted at me and pointed a sharp, wrinkled finger. “Ticks are no laughing matter, young man. You think this is a joke?”
“I-uh-no, ma’am,” I managed, biting down hard on the inside of my cheek.
“You better turn around. They like to hide in crevices.” She took a step forward. “And don’t you go getting shy on me. You think Lyme disease is sexy? ‘Cause it’s not.”
That broke me. The laugh exploded out before I could stop it. Full-body, gasping, can’t-breathe laughter. My knees buckled under the effort of staying upright.
Maggie was losing it around the corner, fully bent over, trying to keep it together but absolutely failing. She had her arm over her mouth to muffle her laughter, but I could still hear it. It was the only thing that kept me from collapsing.
I glanced over my shoulder. Doris squinted harder, leaning slightly to the side to see around the corner. “I know you’re over there,” she barked. “You think you’re hiding? I can hear you cackling like a damn hyena.”
Maggie peeked out, red-faced, still grinning like a kid who got caught sneaking cookies from a locked jar.
“Oh no, no,” Doris said, pointing at her like she was directing traffic. “You better get over here and help this poor man. If he’s got ticks, they’re your problem too. They could’ve hitched a ride in during one of your little cuddle fests or whatever it is you two are doing.”
My eyes nearly bugged out of my head. “Cuddle-? Doris, I?-“
“Don’t ‘Doris’ me, boy,” she snapped. “And you”-she jabbed a finger toward Maggie, who was now crying with laughter-“stop hiding and check your man’s crevices. Don’t act like you haven’t seen ’em.”
Maggie lost it again, laughing so hard she had to prop herself up on the wall.
“I-I can’t,” she gasped.
“You can, and you will,” Doris declared. “Ticks like warm, damp places. I’m not explaining that twice.”
That did it. I had to hold the door frame to stay upright, wheezing out, “We’re going, we’re leaving, we’re done, I swear.”
Doris exhaled slowly. “Lord help me. The youth are helpless.”
She gave me a look that could curdle milk, then turned and shut her door with the weary grace of a woman who had survived multiple wars, three husbands, and now us.
I turned back to Maggie, who was still leaning against the wall and laughing.
God, she was gorgeous when she laughed. Radiant. There was something in the way she relaxed, the way her whole body gave in to joy. She didn’t do it often, but when she did, it made my chest ache.
I wished, for one split second, that we could follow Doris’s advice. Go back to the apartment. Keep laughing. Maybe push past that almost-kiss from earlier and see what happened when it wasn’t part of a game. When it was just us.
But I knew better.
She wasn’t ready. I wasn’t sure I was either.
So, when we were back in the apartment, I pulled my shirt on. “Consider your dare completed.”
She shook her head. “You’re absolutely insane.”
“And yet, here you are, following me around like a judgmental ghost.”
She rolled her eyes. “You know,” she said, plopping back onto the couch, “for a guy who pretends to be bad at people, you’re dangerously good at making me laugh.”
“Only for the cause,” I said. “Tick awareness is serious business.”
She laughed again and leaned her head back on the cushion. I sat next to her, my knee bumping hers. She didn’t pull away.
And even though I knew we’d dodged something back there-something real-I couldn’t help but think about how close we’d come to sharing a real kiss. Her eyes had flicked to my mouth like she’d wanted it.
The closeness of the apartment pressed in all around us, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Her smile softened but didn’t disappear completely. It hovered at the corners of lips, like it wasn’t sure what came next. She bit her bottom lip, and it was like a punch to my gut.
That tiny, impulsive motion wrecked me. Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was because we’d almost kissed for real earlier, and it had been haunting me ever since. Or maybe it was the fact that I’d spent the entire night listening to her laugh and thought:
I could get used to this. I could live here, in this exact moment, and be stupidly happy.
I leaned into her space, and her back straightened as I closed the distance. I slid my hand around her waist and drew her toward me.
She let it happen. Her eyes didn’t widen in alarm. She didn’t hesitate. If anything, she leaned in. I braced my other hand against the back of the sofa, pinning her in. Not trapping, not forcing-just claiming a space that felt like ours.
Her breath hitched, and the sound traveled all the way through me. Then her chin tipped up, just slightly, like she was daring me.
I took the dare.
Our mouths crashed together. There was no tentative start. No gentle lead-in. It was heat and friction and too much want pressed into too little space.
She tasted like wine and wildflowers and everything I couldn’t let myself need. Her hands were in my hair, fisting at the back of my neck, and mine were everywhere at once-her waist, her hip, her jaw. I wanted to touch all of her, memorize her shape, burn her into my skin.
She let out a sound that was half sigh, half moan, and I lost it.
The kiss was messy and uncoordinated and real. Her body arched into mine, her fingers tugging my shirt like she couldn’t decide if she wanted to pull me closer or push me away. Either way, I was already gone.
Time blurred. It could’ve been seconds or minutes. Eventually, we both pulled apart, gasping for air like we’d run a marathon.
I stepped back first. The second I did, I regretted it. Not the kiss, but the confusion in her eyes. The heat on her cheeks. The way her hand lingered at her lips like she was trying to make sense of what just happened.
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