bad thing if you did?’
He shrugs back at me in a way that’s not like a shrug at all. Really it’s more akin to a tensing of his entire body. ‘No.’
‘And is it such a bad thing if you talked about having sex with me?’ I ask, expecting another half-sure agreement. This time, however, he’s a little more … vociferous. He actually stops twisting his hands together, and makes gestures in the air.
‘I just don’t want you to think we’re assholes, OK? We’re not assholes who sit around blabbing about your ass or … doing things to your ass … Christ. I can’t believe he said that.’ He shakes his head, with what looks like just a touch of rue. Yeah, he’s mad at Tyler, all right. But I think he’s also kind of … I don’t know … fond of his behaviour? Pleased that things go that way, even if he sort of wants to resist?
Maybe. Maybe.
‘He does it a lot, huh? Saying things, I mean,’ I offer, and then I wait with bated breath. Truthfully, I’m not sure my breath has been anything but for the last two hours.
‘Yeah. Not as much any more. He used to, back in college.’ He glances up from beneath those impossibly long lashes – maybe to judge how exactly I feel about this. And when I give him nothing but the stupidly eager expression I know is painted on my face, he plunges on. ‘God, he used to drive me up the wall with talk of you. Of the things I should do or say or …’
‘Or what?’
Again, he hesitates. But he at least seems aware of how much his hesitation is bugging me now. Another couple of seconds, and he puts me out of my misery.
‘Or the things we could all do together.’
‘And is that so bad either?’ I say, because really, what else am I supposed to go with? I’m practically drooling as it is. Anything less than approval would look like I’m just pulling nonsense out of my ass.
‘I don’t know. Do you think we’re assholes?’
Lord, he looks so
sad
as he says it. As though that’s a real possibility!
‘I never thought you were assholes,’ I tell him, in this kindly sort of voice that in no way fits how I’m really feeling. Mostly, I just want to scream from the rooftops:
You liked me so much that you had graphic chats about my backside. Halle-fucking-lujah.
But thankfully he kind of side-blinds me again, in a way that stops all embarrassing exclamations dead.
‘So why did you run out on us?’ he asks, after which I can barely think of one little quiet word to say, never mind a bunch of loudly blurted ones. Is that what it looked like to them – that I ran out on them? I mean, I sort of suspected, but even so.
That’s a little grimmer than I want to really deal with.
‘Because … because you’re beautiful and golden and perfect,’ I say, before I’ve even really considered if that’s true. It seems stupid once it’s out there, but I can’t deny – it has a certain raw ring to it. ‘I don’t know … I was scared. Weren’t you scared? You’re scared now, even though I came on to you and I touched you and now I’m the one bringing all of this up.’ I run out of breath around sentence two, and keep going on sheer willpower alone. Even I’m marvelling by the time I get to: ‘Man, I can’t believe I’m bringing all of this up.’
But it sets him at ease, at least. His shoulders go down and those hands stop wringing each other. Then, after a moment of silence that’s not quite comfortable, he cracks a faint smile. He puts his wriggling fingers over mine. ‘I’m glad you did. I feel less weird about it now.’
I wonder just how long he has been feeling weird about it, though of course I don’t say. I’m too busy mulling all of this over and over in my head, until I get to the one thing that sticks out a mile. ‘Do you think Tyler’s gay?’
He goes very still, but it doesn’t seem to be out of shock. ‘What – you mean like he’s using my intense burning desire for you to get at me?’
‘Exactly like that,’ I say, and nod,
He shrugs back at me in a way that’s not like a shrug at all. Really it’s more akin to a tensing of his entire body. ‘No.’
‘And is it such a bad thing if you talked about having sex with me?’ I ask, expecting another half-sure agreement. This time, however, he’s a little more … vociferous. He actually stops twisting his hands together, and makes gestures in the air.
‘I just don’t want you to think we’re assholes, OK? We’re not assholes who sit around blabbing about your ass or … doing things to your ass … Christ. I can’t believe he said that.’ He shakes his head, with what looks like just a touch of rue. Yeah, he’s mad at Tyler, all right. But I think he’s also kind of … I don’t know … fond of his behaviour? Pleased that things go that way, even if he sort of wants to resist?
Maybe. Maybe.
‘He does it a lot, huh? Saying things, I mean,’ I offer, and then I wait with bated breath. Truthfully, I’m not sure my breath has been anything but for the last two hours.
‘Yeah. Not as much any more. He used to, back in college.’ He glances up from beneath those impossibly long lashes – maybe to judge how exactly I feel about this. And when I give him nothing but the stupidly eager expression I know is painted on my face, he plunges on. ‘God, he used to drive me up the wall with talk of you. Of the things I should do or say or …’
‘Or what?’
Again, he hesitates. But he at least seems aware of how much his hesitation is bugging me now. Another couple of seconds, and he puts me out of my misery.
‘Or the things we could all do together.’
‘And is that so bad either?’ I say, because really, what else am I supposed to go with? I’m practically drooling as it is. Anything less than approval would look like I’m just pulling nonsense out of my ass.
‘I don’t know. Do you think we’re assholes?’
Lord, he looks so
sad
as he says it. As though that’s a real possibility!
‘I never thought you were assholes,’ I tell him, in this kindly sort of voice that in no way fits how I’m really feeling. Mostly, I just want to scream from the rooftops:
You liked me so much that you had graphic chats about my backside. Halle-fucking-lujah.
But thankfully he kind of side-blinds me again, in a way that stops all embarrassing exclamations dead.
‘So why did you run out on us?’ he asks, after which I can barely think of one little quiet word to say, never mind a bunch of loudly blurted ones. Is that what it looked like to them – that I ran out on them? I mean, I sort of suspected, but even so.
That’s a little grimmer than I want to really deal with.
‘Because … because you’re beautiful and golden and perfect,’ I say, before I’ve even really considered if that’s true. It seems stupid once it’s out there, but I can’t deny – it has a certain raw ring to it. ‘I don’t know … I was scared. Weren’t you scared? You’re scared now, even though I came on to you and I touched you and now I’m the one bringing all of this up.’ I run out of breath around sentence two, and keep going on sheer willpower alone. Even I’m marvelling by the time I get to: ‘Man, I can’t believe I’m bringing all of this up.’
But it sets him at ease, at least. His shoulders go down and those hands stop wringing each other. Then, after a moment of silence that’s not quite comfortable, he cracks a faint smile. He puts his wriggling fingers over mine. ‘I’m glad you did. I feel less weird about it now.’
I wonder just how long he has been feeling weird about it, though of course I don’t say. I’m too busy mulling all of this over and over in my head, until I get to the one thing that sticks out a mile. ‘Do you think Tyler’s gay?’
He goes very still, but it doesn’t seem to be out of shock. ‘What – you mean like he’s using my intense burning desire for you to get at me?’
‘Exactly like that,’ I say, and nod,
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