Page 40 of Revenge Cake

I shut my eyes tight. “Please stop talking about your vagina.”

“Aww, I’m sorry. You’re so susceptible to dirty talk. I love that about you.” She sets her hand on my nape and runs her fingers up my scalp. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you as soon as I can. I’ll blow you on our way home, and I’ll make it nice and sloppy too. You can even come on my face, if you don’t mind getting your car a little dirty.”

My stomach clenches so tight, it’s almost painful. With effort, I smile at her. “I know you’re trying to be sweet right now, and I really appreciate it, but as usual when you try to do normal human things like be sweet or affectionate, you’re just making it a lot worse. No more Truth or Dare. And can we please try to make this dinner last less than three hours? No asking the server a million questions about the charcuterie board. I can tell you right now it’s got cheese on it, and that’s the only part you ever eat anyway, and you leave me all the shitty stuff, like the almonds and the pickled asparagus. And please just eat your god damn food. Fast. Without talking between every bite, because while I’m sure the oral history of the invention of crab cakes is riveting, I’m so hard right now I think I might die.”

She bursts into laughter. “Oh my god, am I really that annoying?”

“Yes,” I answer right away. “You are a nightmare at a restaurant. Well actually, I take that back. I like the oral history thing, just not when I’m hard.”

She shakes her head, smiling. “I was never able to deal with teasing before you. I was always too sensitive. You tease me all the time, and I’m fine with it.”

I grimace. “That makes me sound like a dick.”

She shakes her head sharply. “No. That’s the whole point. You’re so sweet when you do it.” She pauses for a moment, looking thoughtful. When she starts talking again, her tone is somber. “You’re just wonderful all the time. I can’t ever remember being so happy.”

“Hey,” I say softly, squeezing her hand. “That’s a good thing.”

“I know.”

I can’t tell if I’ve reassured her because her eyes stay downcast. Her lips twist, as if she’s biting them from the inside.

Abruptly, she stops walking. She turns toward me with an expression of such vulnerability, I have to fight the urge to take her into my arms, knowing she probably wants to tell me something first. “Can we do one more Truth or Dare?” she asks.

Caught off guard, I frown. “Um… sure.” When she looks at me probingly, I say, “Truth, I guess.”

She sucks in her bottom lip before pulling it out slowly. “No. Say, ‘dare.’”

I smile. “Okay. Dare.”

She straightens her posture, lowering her chin, as if she’s steeling herself for something. I can barely take a breath wondering what she’s about to say.

“I dare you to live with me. In Chicago or Bloomington or wherever I end up going. In a one bedroom or studio apartment. With one bed.”

My jaw drops.

“And it really is a dare,” she says, “because you’re going to hate it. I’m a terrible roommate. I like everything my way. I won’t let you organize a single cupboard. You’ll do it all wrong. The cupboards in your apartment are an absolute disaster, and it ruins my whole baking experience.”

My throat tightens with emotion, but I swallow to ease it away. “I don’t know how I’ll survive. You know how I love organizing cupboards.” I smile warmly at her, but she doesn’t see it. She’s staring down at the sidewalk.

I grab both of her hands and squeeze them tight. “You don’t have to do this. I’m not going to pressure you, I promise. If you need your space, you can have it.”

She lifts her head and settles hard eyes on me. “No. This is what I want. This is how normal human beings behave in a relationship. They don’t move across the country together to live in separate apartments. It’s high time for me to get off my bullshit. And you need to hold me accountable.”

With those last words, her stern expression softens into something I can’t quite interpret. She almost looks…afraid.

She doesn’t want to do this, despite her insistence. I can see it all over her face.

But she’s doing it anyway.

The tenderness that flows through me makes it hard to take a breath. I run my thumbs along the soft skin at the back of her hands. “I just want you to know that I’m happy. Just as we are right now. You don’t have to do anything more for me.”

I mean it too, surprisingly. I don’t need her to give me everything. I’m so happy with what I already have, I feel like my heart might explode.

It’s terrifying to be this happy, because I know I could lose it all in an instant.

But I’m finding I hardly even think that way anymore. The more she compromises, the more she does things that scare her because she knows they’re important to me, the more certain I become.

I have her.

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