Page 126 of The Influencer

Fuck, he sounds so straight when he calls me a dude. It’s hot and also intensely aggravating.

“What’s your problem?” he asks. “Being accepted for who you are? Being free to make your own choices and live your life the way you want to is some sort of issue for you?”

I guess I’m not the only one aggravated if the tone he’s using is anything to go from.

“Look,” I say. “I’m all about being accepted, but if this is why you don’t want me to be anything more than a pit stop on your gay world tour, then I guess I’d have to say I find that disappointing.”

“A pit stop,” he says. “Seriously?”

“Is it more than that?” I dare him.

He turns to glare at me. “Can it be?”

I swallow hard against a sudden stiffness in my throat. “Do you want it to be?”

We stare at each other for a long moment. Too long, actually. The silence is beyond awful as neither of us answers the other’s question. For my part, my fear of rejection has reached its max. It started off small tonight with my love confession going unreturned, but I certainly didn’t expect him to say it back since I’d accidentally blurted it out in the middle of sex. Admittedly, that had come out of nowhere for him, and I get why he’s in no hurry to return the sentiment.

But my trust issues reached a new level when he told me to go on about my life—making money off videos of my fucking other men. If Asher were to say our relationship can’t be anything more than casual sex because I admit to him that I do want more, that would send me over a cliff—the same cliff I fell from when my father kicked me out for not trying to hide the fact that I’m gay.

This literally feels no different, even if it is, in fact, the exact opposite. The feeling is the same exactly because being unwanted while being accepted is still being unwanted.

But it took some balls for me to ask that question, and I don’t plan on taking it back, or letting him talk his way around it. “Well?” I finally ask, breaking the long silence.

“Yeah, Jade. I want it to be,” he says, almost angrily. “What the fuck do you think I’m doing here?”

“Self-destructing?” I venture.

His eyes narrow to a menacing glare. “Nice,” he says.

“I’m just trying to understand?—”

“What do you want me to say?” he snaps. “That I like you? That I want to keep seeing you? Or do you want something more than that? You want me to tell you you’re mine, and no one else gets to touch you while I’m around? And then what? You go off on your actual world tour and have to turn down every opportunity you get because you have a jealous boyfriend while I what? Sit around for another year and fuck my hand? You know how this ends, right?”

I gulp, unsuccessful at keeping the tears from slipping down my cheeks. I wipe them away as fast as they come, not because I think I can hide them, but because of how vulnerable they make me feel.

“Is what I have to offer so fucking terrible?” he asks, his own voice cracking with emotion.

“No,” I whisper.

His gaze hardens. “Then do me a favor, Jade—keep doing what you’re doing so I don’t have to fall for you, too.”

I choke on a sob, and the noise I make isn’t subtle at all. I go immediately into his arms, weeping against his bare chest while my entire body shakes in his tight embrace. I hadn’t been trying to hurt him. I hadn’t meant to let the words slip out. I didn’t want to have this conversation with its inevitable conclusion and then have to carry on as if he’s not the best man I’ve ever known. My favorite person of all fucking time.

The only man I’ve ever loved.

And I know I’m young, and I know I’m kind of a non-serious person in general, but I’ve been through a lot, and never once in my life have I ever felt as safe as I do with Asher. When I lose him, I will never drop my guard again. I’ll never put myself through this ever again. I’ll just take whatever scraps of love I can gather from my mom, Aven, and my fans, and I’ll fucking make do.

It’s not like there’s any lack of people who want to fuck me—or be fucked by me. It’s not like I’m planning to let myself go and turn into a celibate hermit.

I’ll be fine. I’ll just miss him.

Like so, so much.

And I’ll very much miss what could have been.

That’s when he reminds me, “In the meantime, I’m still not going anywhere.” He plants a kiss on the crown of my head. “Unless you change your mind.”

I never answered his question—can we be more? But the answer is obvious now. Even if I hate it. Even if I desperately wish we could be everything.

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