“You want to come in? When Sam has his SleepPhones on, he rarely wakes, unless I forget to set the music to loop. Tonight I remembered.”
This was so momentous, and I couldn’t stop smiling. This had to be my karmic reward for not making out with a random stoned guy. “That would be great. I was about to flee.”
Ty gestured at his place. “You can hide out with me until things settle down.”
“Thanks.” I brushed by. From the clean smell of him and his damp hair, I guessed he’d just gotten out of the shower.
Inside, his apartment looked much nicer than ours, decorated with a quirky charm that immediately made me feel at home. The basic floor plan was the same with a galley-style kitchen visible on entry, the front door opening into a combination living and dining room, where there was also a breakfast bar. He had three rustic, leather-topped stools set up plus a small wooden bistro table. The space had very little glass, probably because of Sam, and I loved the padded red L-shaped sectional. A geometric-patterned area rug covered the worn beige carpet, and he had an antique steamer trunk in the middle instead of a coffee table, very cool; it was wood, covered in leather and bound in bronze. The walls were adorned with an interesting combination of pen-and-ink cityscapes and some really colorful abstract art. On closer examination, I was pretty sure Ty had framed both his own work and Sam’s. Overall it was impressively tidy, and I said so.
“The auntie Sam mentioned is my mom’s older sister, and she’s always cleaning when she’s here,” he said sheepishly. “But she needs knee surgery, and she won’t be up to chasing after him for a long while, if ever.”
“So that’s why you asked about day care.”
“Yeah. Do you want something to drink?” He spoke softly, though he’d said Sam wasn’t likely to wake up.
And if he did, it wasn’t a huge deal, right? Surely Ty had friends over occasionally.
“Tea?” I suggested.
“I don’t have orange Ceylon spice, but I can offer chai or honey lemon.”
“Honey lemon sounds good. My nerves could use some soothing. If we had stairs, they’d definitely be diving down them.”
“Let’s hope they don’t take the party into the hall and follow in your footsteps.” The teasing glance as he put two mugs of water in the microwave sent heat straight to my cheeks.
“Yeah, yeah, I fought the steps and the steps won.”
“Make yourself at home. I’ll be right there.”
“Sure.” After I sat down, I couldn’t resist the cream chenille throw draped over the back of the couch. I snuggled up in it, listening to the music booming from my apartment and the constant thumping overhead. “Sounds like they’re coming through the ceiling, huh?”
“It’s about what I expected when I saw college students were moving in.”
“Spoken as if you aren’t one,” I said, slightly defensive.
Ty leveled a long look at me as the microwave beeped. “Are you really planning to argue that my circumstances are the same as yours?”
“I guess not.” I felt young and stupid now, the first time he’d made me feel that way.
The silence thickened until I almost got up to leave. Then he said, “Sorry. I’m a little...sensitive. People are always telling me to get out, live while I’m young. Like it’s that easy.”
I took the mug he handed me and played sink the tea bag with the spoon for a few seconds. “It’s okay. How about a deal? I won’t bother you about having more fun, if you don’t bug me to try out for women’s basketball.”
“I’m enjoying myself now,” he said. “And pestering people really isn’t my thing.”
He sank down on the other end of the couch. It was too noisy for us to watch anything, and we didn’t need more music. That left talking, and I was totally okay with that.
“Me, too. So you said something about SleepPhones before. Is that different from normal headphones?”
“Yeah, it’s a headband with speakers in it. Much more comfortable to sleep in.”
“That sounds cool, actually. Maybe I need that. What music does Sam fall asleep listening to?” I asked.
“You’ll laugh.”
“Maybe. Tell me, anyway.”
“He might be the world’s smallest One Direction fan.”
It took all of my self-control, but I didn’t let out a peep, though my eyes watered. “You know that’s insanely cute, right?”
“I think so.”
“What about you? Your favorite bands?” I congratulated myself on acting normal, like I hadn’t basically told Ty last night that he was everything I wanted for Christmas. The fact that he hadn’t made use of that opening told me everything I needed to know about his intentions.
Friends it is.
“Right now I’m into Grouplove, Tove Lo, Passenger, The National and Speedy Ortiz.”
“Would you think I’m superlame if I admit I’ve only heard of one of those?”
“Passenger,” he guessed.
I nodded. “He toured with Ed Sheeran. I have a friend who saw their show. She said it was amazing.”
He sipped his tea, seeming pensive. “That’s one thing I miss.”
“What?”
“Concerts. And going to clubs in the city to check out a new indie group.” At my expression, which was probably something like well, you can still go, he added, “I know what you’re thinking. When my parents have Sam, I could still see a concert or hit up a club.”
I pretended to peer at him suspiciously. “You didn’t tell me you were psychic.”
“It’s complicated,” he muttered.
“Enlighten me. The party’s still going strong, so I have nothing but time.”
“The people I started college with have graduated, gotten jobs and moved away. The guys at work are all a lot older, and they’re not interested in hanging out after hours.”
“Make new friends,” I suggested.
“Most people aren’t interested in getting to know someone who can’t be spontaneous, who’s on a completely fixed schedule and may be a grumpy asshole on any given day.”
“Yet here I am.”
“Yeah, well. You’re...unique.”
Is that a compliment? It could go either way. I decided it didn’t matter; I’d already settled on friendship. Still, I can’t believe I’m suggesting this.
“We could see a concert sometime—on your off weekend. If you plan for it, you could nap on Saturday afternoon and be primed for revelry that night.”
“Maybe,” he said.
To cover my disappointment, I lowered my head and stared into my mug. The tea was a lovely shade of amber; if it steeped any longer it would be too strong, so I fished the bag out with my spoon, wrapped the string around the handle and set it on the steamer trunk. For the life of me, I couldn’t think of a thing to say. Tonight wasn’t working out like I’d hoped, and the first achy burn of tears stung at the back of my throat.
“God. This face, you show me everything. I hope you don’t play poker. They’d rob you blind.” His voice was disturbingly gentle, tender even, and closer than I expected.
While I was looking everywhere but at him, Ty slid closer, his hand hovering