Page 55 of Two Guys, a Girl, and a Tripod

Brody

I’m married.

I have kids I didn’t tell you about.

I’m a convicted felon.

Porn wasn't on the list of things I expected her to admit to. She looks like the most innocent woman I’ve ever seen with her cute, flowy sundresses and her hair falling in soft curls around that angelic face. I almost laugh with relief, but something stops me.

“Please say something,” Sophie whispers, not looking up.

I reach for her wrist and pull it away, forcing her to lift her head.

“I’m not going to say it’s no big deal,” I warn her, letting go of her wrist. “But I have a… friend who does the same thing.”

“You don’t hate me?” Her eyes are wide with shock.

“Hate you?” I scoot my chair around the table and place my hand on her forearm. “Sophie, you’re gorgeous. You’re funny and clearly intelligent. You’re confident in who you are. Make your living how you want.”

She squints, waiting for the other shoe to drop. How could she think I would hate her? Do other men really feel so insecure that they would rather see their partner unhappy than in a career they love?

“I work with other people,” Sophie says slowly. “Men, women, transmen and women, nonbinary people.”

“As long as you’re safe. Sophie, of all the things I thought you were going to admit, this wasn’t on my radar, but it’s not a deal breaker. It’s not-”

I almost said it’s not a big deal, negating the very words I said moments ago. It kind of is. She said she works with other people, all genders, just like Miles does. She’s fucking other guys. A man like me, inexperienced to the point of ineptitude–how would I measure up?

My face falls, my stomach churns. She’d never want me.

Before I realize what’s happening, Sophie leans in to kiss me, her lips soft and supple. I deepen the kiss, turning it hungry as my tongue slides into her mouth. Her hand reaches for my thigh. As it slips higher and I feel those sparks heading straight for my dick, panic mode kicks in. I pull back.

“I have to go,” I blurt, standing quickly.

“What?” Her eyes are round and I can see the hurt there, but I can’t breathe, can’t think. She’s looking at me with those beautiful brown eyes, amber in the soft light as the sun finally begins to set.

“I just-” I turn and race toward the door, leaving Sophie sitting at the table.

I’m not going to live this one down.

Miles is in the kitchen, filling the dishwasher when I walk in the door. He does a double take, then looks at the clock on the stove. It’s still not dark yet. I definitely shouldn’t be home already. He leans against the counter, eyes studying my face while drying his hands on a tea towel.

“The fuck did you do, man?”

I take a deep breath to tell him, but then deflate, letting the air out in awhoosh. Miles frowns and crosses his arms over his chest, still holding the towel in one hand.

“Seriously, what happened?”

“Why am I like this?” I blurt.

“Gonna need context.”

“The longer I go without-” I can’t say it, but Miles nods. “The weirder I get when there’s a possibility of that changing.”

“Still not sure how you fucked up. Is it because you don’t bang every girl you meet?”

“Am I broken?”

Miles is taken aback by my question. Frankly, so am I. I’ve had the thought before, but I’ve never said it out loud.

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