“I overestimated how long it would take me to get downstairs. I apparently forgot there was an elevator in my building, and then I got hot standing inside with the heat blasting, so I came outside, deciding to wait, stuck in a vicious cycle of my own making.”
I laugh, my feelings for him pressing up against my rib cage.
“How’s the foot?” I ask, lowering the music. My Spotify playlist is not up for debate, and I’m not changing it if he doesn’t like the Backstreet Boys—that’s just his problem and no one else’s.
“It’s better, thanks. Thank you for picking me up. I appreciate it.”
I nod, still looking straight ahead, noticing that this is the closest we’ve been outside of me doing work on him.
I don’t even know why I’m impressed by his manners anymore. It’s common decency, but really a ha
