Mess To Be Made

20

The front door quietly crept open.

Tyler stood there in red sweatpants and a black t-shirt. I had to hold in the inhale I wanted to take at just the sight of him. He looked really good. But, when did he not.

Immediately, I blamed these thoughts on the fact that I was very intoxicated.

He tried to be subtle, but I couldn't miss how he scanned me too, taking in my tiny red dress.

He shook his head at me and muttered quietly, "Do you ever wear a jacket?"

I let a real smirk cross my lips. Before I could respond, Tyler brought one finger to his lips before motioning me inside.

I'd been to the Hennessy's house quite a few times now. Never, though, had I ventured upstairs and as I followed him up, I got embarrassingly giddy at the realization I was going to see his bedroom.

He was the first door on the right and he respectfully gestured for me to go in ahead of him.

I've been in a lot of guys rooms. They were usually predictable-one of two things. Extremely crowded, with unnecessary furniture and items surrounding their obsessions, or creepily unmarked, like a hotel room. Whichever one it was, there was always no doubt it was going to be messy.

Tyler's wasn't messy. Not a single article of clothing on the floor. I eyed the closed closet door on the other side of his room, smiling to myself as I wondered if he'd spent the minute between hanging up on me and retrieving me from the front door shoving things into his closet.

His room was actually quite comfortable. Not overwhelming, but not bland. A bed with a gray quilt, a light wood desk and desk chair, a shiny dresser with a TV on top, a few different posters scattered about the cream-colored walls. One side of the room had a small square table against the wall and on it sat a record player. Above it were shelves, packed full of different records. I found myself walking towards it, but a lava lamp sitting on one of his bedside tables stopped me and brought the smile back to my mouth.

"You have a lava lamp?" I tantalized, turning to look at Tyler. He had closed his door and was leaning against it. I think watching me as I took in his surroundings.

In response to my teasing, he narrowed his eyes. "You can leave if you're going to mock."

"I'm not making fun," I assured him, even though I kind of was. "I just haven't seen one in ages."

"I got it for Christmas when I was 12," he explained gruffly.

I nodded and replied, "Sounds about right," before continuing my zig-zagged journey to the stacks of records.

There were too many to even begin to sort through in my mind's current state, so I focused on the small stack he had on top of the record player. Albums I assumed he'd recently played or played often.

Atmosphere's Lucy Ford

Mac Miller's Swimming

Less Than Jake's Anthem

Then an album by a band called Tumbleweed Wanderers. So Long

"Who are they?" I asked, holding the vinyl up over my shoulder.

"Some local guys," Tyler replied slowly. His voice sounded far away. "They're good."

I smiled even though he couldn't see it. "I'd assume so if you have one of their records."

There was a beat before Tyler asked, "You think I have good taste in music?"

I converted my smile to my signature smirk before turning to look at him. "I know you have good taste in music."