“I gave her our numbers.”
He leaned back against the kitchen counter, watching me rub the herb mixture onto the raw chicken breasts; distant sharp cheers coming from the television in the living room. Less than forty-eight hours ago, we met the topic of our current discussion at our favorite wine bar during one of our nights out, the three of us deciding to continue our fun at a nearby hotel. Sadly, after a nice wakeup call and delicious breakfast, I fell back asleep only to miss her before I could say goodbye or get her name.
“Why would you do that?” I asked, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. It didn’t stop the giddy feeling or the small smile that creeped into the corner of my mouth.
“What do you mean why? You wanted to see her again, didn’t you?”
I did. I really shouldn’t, but I did. “I don’t know, is it ok to see her again?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?” He asked the question so nonchalant as if it was the most natural thing in the world and I was the weird one for thinking it wasn’t. Why did I think it was weird?