Ian was a bit surprised by her question. He leaned over and set the half-finished plate down on the coffee table before answering. “Do I regret it?” he repeated, sighing. “Honestly, no. It may not have been the smartest thing either of us had ever done, but, no, I don’t regret it.” Ian raised one shoulder in a shrug, running a hand through his dark hair. “Do you?” he then asked, looking up at her.
are you sitting down? i need to tell you something.
“You can do this,” Nina whispered to herself. She was currently inside her car, parked outside Ian’s apartment building, with her hands frozen to the steering wheel. She was afraid, plain…
“No problem,” he said, half smiling as he sat down on the opposite side of the couch, leaning into the arm and stretching out his legs in front of him. Ian’s eyes were on the TV as they ate in silence for a couple of minutes. It was only about two, but he felt as though it stretched on forever…When it was on commercial once again—some Jean commercial. Pajama jeans? He wasn’t sure—he muted it and turned to face her.
“So, what’d you need to meet up with me about?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow. Ian brought the fork up to his mouth, taking another bite of the pasta, sauce catching on his chin. He let out an almost inaudible chuckle as he wiped it off before putting his attention back on the petite brunette in front of him. She looked a bit nervous; or that might just be his mind running away.
Nina dug into her pasta, famished. Truthfully, she was using it to stall; the more food she had in her mouth, the less she had to talk. It seemed like a good plan. She fixed her eyes on the TV and ate until Ian muted it. Awaken from her television coma, Nina looked down at her plate. “Do you regret…
that night?” she asked nervously, moving a few pieces of spaghetti around with her fork.