Charming, but single

See also: Earlier that night. “I am starving.” I turned to look at him and reached out to rub his shaved head – he bristled earlier when I called him bald, noting that he shaved, not lost, his hair. It was almost 2 a.m. and the last thing I wanted was food or to move out of bed. “But you already ate,” he said. I nodded and pulled closer to him. I never understood how men could think of eating when cuddling and sleeping seemed so much more logical. I couldn’t imagine walking downstairs and cooking. I didn’t want to speak or do anything but just breathe, quietly ini the dark, as we nodded off to sleep. “I have an idea. Why don’t we toss on some clothes …” “Yes …” “And we’ll go downstairs and I’ll walk you to your car, kiss you goodnight, and go find some food.” I half sat, propping myself up on my forearm. I scrunched my eyebrows, though I doubt he could see this in the dark. He was kicking me out. I wanted to protest, to slap him for being nuts. It was raining. And he never kicks me out. But I bit my tongue, reminded myself that we’re not in a relationship. And I’m not going to stay if he doesn’t want me to. The sky was on the edge of a major storm when I felt my heels click on the concrete. I opened the car door and turned around so that the door was between us. He slipped around the door and gave me a kiss. “I brought my A game tonight, right?” he asked. “Yeah, you brought your A game tonight, babe.”