“What’s wrong with you coming here?”
“Nothing. I just thought it would be nice if it was equitable.” I scour the board one last time. There’s no good place to put my word, and without a double-letter score of some kind, I’ll only manage eight points.
“You should move in here.” He says it nonchalantly, but his eyes are on his tiles and his hand is still wrapped around his mostly hard cock.
My heart does this fluttery thing. I’m not sure whether he’s kidding.
“We’ve been dating for what, like two months? Yeah, I think moving in with you is totally reasonable.” If we’d been dating a few months longer, I’d jump at the opportunity. Things have been so crazy lately. His evasiveness in interviews isn’t canceled out by how much time we spend together, or introducing me to his friends and family.
“It’s close to three months. You don’t want to move in with me?” He’s peeking up at me from under his pretty, long man-lashes, looking hurt.
“It’s not that.”