Page 17 of Fun Together (Make Romance #1)

Faye

Rett and I are lying on my bed, newly clad in an overpriced striped linen duvet cover and sheet set I impulse-bought from an Instagram ad, staring up at my freshly-painted bedroom walls.

“What if I made the wrong choice?” I ask.

In the paint aisle of the hardware store, “Dark Burgundy Wine” felt very moody and relaxing. In reality, it’s making me feel like I’m actually inside a glass of merlot.

“I don’t really think there’s a wrong choice. You like this color, don’t you?”

“Do you think it’s a little dungeon-esque?”

She shrugs. “Maybe this is just the right color for you right now. You can always change it.”

The right color for me right now. That makes me feel better, like this doesn’t have to be permanent. But it’s a step in the right direction toward making some sort of change in my space and the Environmental part of my list feels less daunting.

But I really hope I end up liking this color once I live in it for a while.

“I don’t know if I can ever look at a paint roller again.

” It took us three coats before it stopped looking like a recent murder scene and the likelihood that I’ll be able to lift my arms tomorrow is looking slim.

“I just need to put together that dresser and I’ll have a real, grown-up bedroom. ”

“You’re on your own, there. I don’t do furniture assembly.” She rolls over onto her stomach and props her chin in her hands. “This is why you need to start dating.”

“So I’ll have my own personal Task Rabbit?”

“Exactly. Let’s discuss prospects.”

I dig my phone out from underneath the covers. “I’m starving. You want to order food?”

“Yes, please. Has anything more happened with barista guy yet?” I should have never told Rett about meeting Cameron, because now she won’t leave me alone about pursuing something with him. She even said that Eli was her new favorite person for making me talk to him.

“Cameron? I don’t think that’s a good idea. Pizza or Thai?”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know . . . don’t shit where you eat. Or fuck where you drink coffee. Or something.”

“Let’s do pizza.” She grabs her phone. “That’s dumb. Give me two seconds.” A few seconds later she shows me her screen. “Is this him?”

“Yep, that’s him.”

She presses play on his latest post, a video of him standing in a dark kitchen.

There are a few things I notice immediately about this video.

First, he’s wearing an apron and nothing else.

Second, he’s surrounded by white tapered candles that are dripping wax down onto the stainless-steel countertop.

And third, he appears to be demonstrating how to create some kind of latte art.

“Well, I’m intrigued,” Rett says.

The video goes on to show him pouring the hot milk into the cup. He begins to make a squiggly, sort of ruffled shape with the foam. At first, I think he’s making a flower. But as he finishes the design, I think I must be mistaken, and this is some kind of inkblot test situation.

“Is that a . . . ?” I ask.

“A foamy vulva? Yeah, I think it is.”

Then, it jumps to a close-up shot of his hand caressing the rim of the cup until he slowly runs his middle finger down the center of the design.

“Is he . . . ?”

“Stroking the foamy vulva? Yeah, I think he is.”

“Please stop saying ‘foamy vulva’.”

But it’s not over yet, because the video ends with a shot of him running his tongue across the surface to lick up the foam before looking up to smirk at the camera.

“Message him,” Rett says.

“I’m sorry, did we not just watch the same thing?”

“I watched a very well-crafted video with some lovely cinematography.”

It takes a single second of eye contract between us, and we both burst out laughing while we watch the video again. There’s something weirdly fascinating about it, in a car crash kind of way. You can’t seem to stop watching.

“I’m serious,” she says. “Go out with him.”

“I can’t go out with a guy who makes latte art thirst traps. Now I’m going to have to find a new coffee shop to go to, as it is.”

“He’s perfect for your sex need!” She holds her phone up to show where she’s paused the video, Cameron’s face filling the frame as looks passionately down at his frothy creation.

I grab her phone to investigate his profile more. “I just want normal, run-of-the-mill sex. I feel like he would try to pour hot coffee on my body or something.”

She shrugs. “You know what, that’s fair. Food stuff isn’t for everyone.”

“Are you into that?” The closest I’ve ever come to anything like that was having sex on top of a pizza box once.

“No, but one time a guy did ask me if we could use local honey as lube.”

“Sounds . . . sticky.” I keep scrolling through Cameron’s page. There are a few similar videos that I don’t watch, along with quite a few mirror selfies and carefully crafted photos of coffee cups next to a journal that looks like it’s never been opened. “Wait, did it have to be local honey?”

“He seemed to be very specific about it.”

“Maybe he had bad allergies,” I say, and we both start laughing again. “Did you do it?”

“For a ticket to the worst yeast infection of all time? God, no.”

“See? This is the kind of thing I am severely unprepared for.”

“He won’t pour hot coffee on you. And doesn’t he get points for creativity?”

Creativity is one thing, but that video was maybe the most cringe thing I’ve ever seen. But maybe she’s right, though—someone like Cameron would be a low stakes start to my dating journey. “How would I even go about this?”

“First, follow him. Then, like a few of his posts. He’ll come to you. I promise.”

“Really?”

“Yes, I give it two minutes and he’ll have already followed you back and sent you a message saying something like, ‘Hey! How’s your day going?’”

I’m skeptical of this approach, but I find his profile on my phone and press “Follow.” Then, I like the video we just watched along with a photo of a crushed Sprite can on a sidewalk with the caption, “ Find the beauty in the mundane .”

Sure enough, no sooner than I’ve placed the pizza order do I get a notification that he’s followed me, and I get a message from him that says, “Faye! What’s up?”

I show the message to Rett. “Guess I’ll never doubt you again.”

“Told you,” she says, clearly pleased with herself.

“What do I do now?”

“Say nothing.”

I toss my phone down and cover my face with my forearm. “I don’t want to play this game anymore.”

She gets up and picks up one of the drop cloths from the floor. “It’s all part of the mystery. You leave a guy on read and they go feral for you.”

“Maybe in your case.” Rett has always been a free-spirited kind of person, drawn to people who are a challenge. Men and women fall at her feet, but the people she likes are usually terrible. “I don’t want to be mysterious.”

“You’re the most mysterious person I know.”

I pick up the paint rollers and try to avoid smearing red paint on myself. “What are you talking about?”

“You don’t let anyone know anything about you. You float through the world like a mystifying little fairy.”

“Let me see your eyes. I think the paint fumes might have gotten to you.”

“I’m just saying, you need to use your mysterious ways to your advantage. Don’t respond to Cameron. If I’m wrong, I’ll help you put that dresser together.”

“Aren’t you supposed to tell me I should be more open to people, and that it’s okay to allow them to know me?”

“Sounds like you’re aware of that already.”

It’s 11:22 p.m. and I’m determined to sleep in my bedroom tonight. I close my eyes and attempt to relish the quiet, savoring the ambient noise of the traffic on the street below. A car door slams in the distance.

I hate it. I check my phone and nearly jump for joy when I see I have a text to distract me.

Eli: You got that date yet?

Faye: No, but I did stalk him on Instagram.

Eli: Find anything interesting?

I send him a link to Cameron’s video.

Eli: You think he ever burns his tongue?

Faye: 100%. Rett thinks I should still go out with him despite the cringey video.

Eli: What do you think?

Faye: I think I might die alone.

My phone rings and it’s Eli.I hesitate before answering, but I’m admittedly eager to feel someone else’s presence in the room with me. I pick up on the second ring.

“Don’t say that,” he says.

“I don’t want to date. I want to magically be with someone and already know every single thing about them without even having to try.”

“Unfortunately, I don’t think it works that way.”

“Bummer.”

“How was your day?” he asks.

“I painted my bedroom,” I say.

“Oh yeah? What color?”

“Dark Burgundy Wine.”The dark red makes the room feel even more like a cave at night, like it sucks any hint of moonlight out.

“So you are a vampire.”

“I can’t sleep, so maybe that’s true. A coffin would go well in here.”

He chuckles and I hear a rustling of sheets. “Why can’t you sleep?”

“Because I’m in my bed.”

“Likely place for you to sleep.”

I roll over and look longingly out my bedroom door. “I usually sleep on the couch. But I need to overcome my fear of this bed.”

“Why are you afraid of your bed?”

“Never mind.” I wish I hadn’t steered the conversation to this. Afraid of a bed? I sound insane. “What are you up to?”

“Is this your first time living alone?”

Should have known he wouldn’t drop it. “Yep. Clearly, I’m adjusting well,” I joke.

“At least you have your own place. I’m currently curled up next to my family’s Christmas decorations.

Hang on.” He sends me a selfie of him laying on a couch with a Santa statue hovering behind his head.

He’s got a sheet pulled up to his chest, but I can see he’s not wearing a shirt.

I now have confirmation that he has tattoos on his shoulder and chest too.

“Imagine waking up to that staring down at your sleeping body. Don’t recommend. ”

I laugh. “So you live with your parents?”

“Currently, but I’m trying to find a place.”

“I got lucky when this apartment became available. Even though I think something is living in my walls. The other day I heard what I’m pretty sure is a family of squirrels scurrying above my head while I was making dinner.”

“See? You don’t live alone.” His voice is groggy, and I like to imagine he’s got me on speakerphone, his phone resting on top of his chest while he’s talking to me.

I don’t say anything for a few seconds, and he doesn’t either. “I think it’s the sleeping alone part that’s hardest,” I finally say, voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah, I get that.”

“I’ve been eyeing this really nice sherpa body pillow for a while now.”

“That’s very sad, Faye.” I like when he says my name, even when we’re not talking about anything important.

“Or very comfy?”

He laughs. “You’re right. I won’t judge.”

I feel my eyes starting to get tired. “I think I’m going to try to sleep now.”

“See you in the break room for coffee in the morning?” he asks.

“Sounds good,” I say before drifting off.