luck for the night - rl.

40. (no) time for confessions.

"Thanks for inviting me over, by the way," Remington said as walked through the small hallway, into my living room.

"Don't thank me," I answered, picking at a loose bit of skin next to my nail, nervous all of a sudden. I was rather private with my house. I had not let anyone else in here except my closest friends and my parents. And the occasional fuck buddy... But well, since Remington belonged to two out of those three categories, it made sense to have him here.

"I have to apologise for something, though," he said.

My heart jumped, but I still turned around to face him. I knew what he was going to say now, I can't see you anymore. "What's that?"

A smirk appeared on Remington's face. "I did not have time to bring you that La Perla lingerie, after all."

A chuckle left my lips, but at the same time, a warmth grew in my lower belly. "I didn't expect you to." Our eyes met and for a second, I was overwhelmed with the desire to step forward, push him against the wall, and press my lips to his. I turned back around again, my chest suddenly frozen with the realisation that I could not. Should not. Luck, it was all about luck. And with Remington appearing at my front door, I had run out for today.

"Fancy a drink?" I asked, suddenly wanting to flee into the kitchen.

"Yeah, sure," Remington plopped down on the couch as if he hadn't just walked into a new space, bag next to him on the floor, "I've gotten pretty used to that tea you always feed me."

"Two lemongrass ginger tea, coming up."

With shaking hands, I filled the kettle, putting two mugs on the countertop and hanging two bangs of tea in them. I took the few minutes that it took the kettle to boil the water to calm myself down, focusing on getting air in and out of my lungs.

I had hoped that this would happen, yes, but it felt weird to have him here, and in a sense, it felt wrong. I had been so distant since that kiss, and now, there seemed to be something between us that caused a strange discomfort: I had to keep my guard up at all times, or I would do something I could never take back. But what I liked about being with Remington was the fact that I could totally be myself.

"fuck," I muttered, taking another deep breath. But I had no other choice: I needed to tread lightly, be safe with my own heart, be safe with how much luck I still had.

With a click, the kettle was done, and I filled up the mugs.

Back in the living room, I put the tea on the coffee table and looked at the man who was here with me, now standing, looking around the living room.

It was strange, to see my house from his point of view. He looked at the prints on the wall, took a couple of minutes in front of my bookcases, eyes going over the titles. As if he was seeing a part of me that he had not seen before, getting to know me on a whole other level.

"What the fuck is a Philosopher's Stone?" He turned to me, holding up part one of the Harry Potter series.

"You know? The stone the whole book is about? In the end, he fights Voldemort for it?"

Remington frowned. "No, that's the Sorcerer's Stone. Why would a philosopher make a stone to live eternally? Don't you think that philosophers would be the exact people that'd hate living forever?"

I squinted. "Maybe you're right, yeah. Hm, I should look this up." I grabbed my phone from the coffee table, but what I was doing was soon forgotten. A jolt of electricity burst through my skin as I realised what song was still on my lock screen, waiting to be played again. I knew it was just a stupid song, and just a stupid coincidence that said stupid song made me think about the stupid man who was turning back around now, to my bookcase, but my heart started to beat louder, and I knew that if he looked at me right now, with that softness in his dark eyes, the words would've tumbled out. Something stupid like I love you.