“He’s not my boyfriend!” she insists, regarding me with an indignant look that eases my pain more than I’d like to admit. “He’s just a good friend.”
She leans over to me, fixating me with a surprisingly intense and serious gaze. “He’s a close friend, a school friend. There was never anything between us, not like that. And I don’t want you, of all people, to believe anything different.”
“Why do you say that? Me of all people?” I ask, careful not to show how much her words flatter me.
She blushes, her eyes widening as she bites her lower lip in a burst of sudden embarrassment. But the drinks have lowered her inhibitions enough to admit something I never dreamed of hearing from her lips.
“Because I’m attracted to you, Jayson,” she says. “Isn’t that... obvious?”
The color on her face darkens even more and she lowers her eyes down to the empty glass in her hands, visibly seeking help at the bottom of it.
“And I... I feel close to you, and grateful and... connected,” she stutters, creasing her eyebrows at the last word. “It’s odd, isn’t it? Christopher and I, we basically grew up together, we went to school together for most of our life, we spend so much time together, while you...”
She dares to look up, a feeble suggestion of fear lacing her expression as she continues.
“You’re around. You show up, we talk a little, and then you disappear. We barely ever spent more than ten minutes together ever since we first met. And still... there’s just. I don’t know. I feel like...”
Her eyes widen with worry before she concludes. “Like there’s something between us.”
A question is drawn across her expression, hoping—no, begging—for reciprocity. She has every right to be confused, because so am I. But our confusion isn’t built on the same grounds. Hers is caused by lack of knowledge that I possess, while mine is nothing more than an aftertaste.
She gets tired of waiting for my response, and my heart skips a beat when she gets up from her chair, placing her glass on the ground between us before she moves over to me. I can’t help but watch it happen.
I know I’m defenseless against her.
I don’t stop her when she straddles me.
I don’t stop when I feel her weight on my lap, her summer dress moving up her thighs as she spreads her legs on top of me.
My hands find their way on her hips while my eyes are glued to hers.
I know I shouldn’t do it. But I’ve denied myself for so long. For years, I’ve been watching from afar, fearing for her, worrying to lose her when I’d never owned her.
She’s about to embark on a journey that will enable her to build a life without me, far away from here. And I sent her on that journey. I helped to make sure she gets everything she deserves.
But now she’s offering me a taste of what could have been.
And I’m not fucking denying myself this time.