Page 77 of Just Bromantically Invested

“Umm …” I run my fingers over the side of the table. “Conversation?”

“Well, have you talked about it? To know he’s okay?”

A flare of indignance hits me because what if he does have an issue with it? Am I supposed to change who I am to fit him and his needs? What about mine? Because I know that’s what Damien is implying. He doesn’t want to have the conversation about being clothing optional at work in case Penn has an issue with him seeing my body.

I take a measured breath and warn my attitude to take a seat. As much as I want to rage that he should love me as I am, I also know that feelings aren’t always rational. When you’re in a relationship, you consider the other person, but I’ve never hidden who I am. This isn’t a new thing I’m springing on him. “Penn’s known me since high school, and while I’ve only been immersed in the naturist lifestyle in the last few years, he knows who I am. He’s tried it, and he understands my reasons for it. He wouldn’t hold me back.”

“I’m sure your situation is completely different to mine, but I’m going to caution you about assumptions. Your relationshiphas changed, and you both need to have an open conversation about it where you can express any feelings you both have without judgment.”

I’m chewing on my tongue, trying to hold in my question but not able to. “And what if it’s a conversation I don’t like?”

“Then it’s going to come out at one point or another. Better now than down the line when you’re married and your lives are tied together.” He runs a hand over his face. “Ask me how I know.”

We haven’t talked about his relationship much, and all I know about Damien is that he’s divorced and he’s a great guy and an architect. With a lot of money, apparently.

“Not an amicable divorce, then?”

“No. I can’t say anyone was totally at fault—there were a lot of bad decisions made by both of us.”

“I’m sorry.”

He presses his lips tighter, and it feels like when I try to hold something in. “Not always enjoyable when your husband tells you he’s polyamorous and wants to see other people.”

“Oh.” A stunned silence follows his words.

“He tried to make monogamy work, so that’s a credit to him, but I would have appreciated knowing he was trying from the start. I know there are plenty of poly people who are perfectly happy with one partner, but he wasn’t one of them.”

“Shit, that’s a lot.”

“It is. I tried to be okay with him having other people in his life, but it became clear to me very quickly that I’m not built like that. The jealousy was killing me. The control was killing him. All-around horrible experience.”

There it is. The point that relates back to me and Penn. People are who they are, and changing what makes you who you are for another person doesn’t work in the long run. Wearing clothes isn’t something that I can do anymore. Not permanently. I’ve done a lot of work on myself to know thatthe more I cover up, the more I psychologically shut down. I like being naked because it strips me of protection. It’s me, in my rawest form. Physically, it feels better, but mentally, it’s made so many changes to who I am I don’t think I could go back.

Penn said he tried it and it didn’t work.

I love that he did that for me, and when we’re at home, he’ll usually wear his underwear and nothing else. But it’s not whoheis. He has no desire to take things further, and that’s okay. Disappointing, but okay.

What if Penn is too much like Damien, though? What if he’s someone who gets jealous? I can’t picture it after all these years, but how the fuck would I know without actually talking about it? Fuck, that sounds like a fun conversation to bring up. “Hey, babe, just checking that you’re not bothered about other people seeing my cock and aren’t going to have a jealous breakdown over it?”

I bury my face in my hands. “I know where you’re coming from,” I finally say. “And I’ll clarify with him, but Penn … he’s not like that. He’s not.”

“Well, I’m glad. I really like you both, and he obviously makes you happy.”

That little burst of love hits my chest like it always does when he’s brought up. “He really does.”

“Okay, why don’t we come to a compromise?”

I tilt my head, trying to follow. “A compromise?”

“Yeah … no more stifling work clothes. When you’re dressed, what are you comfortable in?”

Literally nothing isn’t the answer he’s after here. We’re compromising, so … “Gym shorts. Loose sweats. Loose tank tops.”

“Okay. So wear those.”

“Seriously?”

Damien flips through his notebook, where he’s been jottingdown the business names he’s contacted for quotes. “Of course. I’m more comfortable with sticking to being dressed when we’re having these meetings and planning the site, but that doesn’t mean you have to wear what I do. As long as you’re dressed, wear whatever you like.”

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