Page 9 of Just Watch Me

“What scares you about it?” He handed me a beer and settled on one end of his couch.

I sat on the other end and faced him. “The longer I’ve gone without doing it, the bigger the fear gets in my head. My parents are, uh, overprotective. I guess that’s the nicest way to say it.” I let out a humorless laugh.

Skylar’s eyebrows pinched together. “How so?”

Why am I spilling my guts to this guy?Probably the same reason I jerked off for him. Deep down, I knew he wouldn’t be around for long. I could step out of my carefully constructed box for a while then go back to playing it safe.

“I was an only child, so no other kids split my parents’ attention.” I took a fortifying drink of the beer, a stout from my favorite brewery. The man had good taste. “I don’t have a tragic backstory or anything. For whatever reason, my parents found it more productive to warn me about every possible danger in the world and instill a sense of avoidance than build up my resilience.” I looked out the window at my apartment. I wished I’d left the blinds open that morning so I could experience Skylar’s perspective.

“That sounds really tough.”

I searched his face for a hint of sarcasm but came up empty. I’d always felt silly explaining why I was too scared to do things others thought were no big deal. My last ex had thought I was a wuss and never understood that my mom constantly telling me how unsafe the world was, how people couldn’t be trusted, how it was best to keep my head down, had colored all my actions. Most days, I didn’t even realize how much I’d internalized her relentless rhetoric.

You’re my only child, sweetheart. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you. Please, be safe for me. You are the most important thing in the world to us.

Somehow, the loving, supportive words my mom always said were also stifling and controlling. My parents had never let me stay over at someone else’s house because she couldn’t trust them, and my house was too boring for friends to want to come over. A memory came out of nowhere of overhearing my parents talking about how they wouldn’t let me join my high school band’s trip to compete at nationals my senior year. Sometimes, I marveled that my mom let me go off to college instead of locking me in a basement for my own good.

“It was. Moving around had to be tough too.”

“What childhood isn’t difficult in its own way? We all have scars, but the weapons used to make the wounds are different.”

Skylar said the words so casually, but I felt like he saw me,reallysaw me. I’d never been more validated by someone I knew well, let alone basically a stranger.

I knew my childhood wasn’t anywhere near the worst it could have been, but I was often bothered that I couldn’t connect with people at a deep level because they never understood what I had gone through. Or because I didn’t have the ability to express it without sounding like a whiny kid who’d been loved too much. I’d had friends with overprotective parents but not to the extent of mine.

I didn’t need people to understand my exact experience, but I needed people to empathize that I’dhadan experience. My ex had never been able to do that. He’d always accused me of having a perfect childhood because my parents were still married and I’d had a stable home. That was true, but it didn’t correlate to a healthy environment by any stretch of the imagination.

I’d once come across an article about how overprotective parents could stunt a child’s risk tolerance, and that had always stuck with me. As I aged, my ability and willingness to take risks eroded like a coastline in climate change. I remembered the overwhelming urge to do a cartwheel as a kid because it had seemed fun and everyone else was doing it. As an adult, I knew how much I could hurt myself if I fell wrong. If I hurt my wrist on an attempt, it would make work difficult, and I wouldn’t be able to play games for a while. The moment of possible fun wasn’t worth the gamble.

I desperately needed a change of subject before my mood sank faster than an anchor. “Nice furniture.” I didn’t know enough about interior decorating to recognize the style, but it looked modern and far more expensive than my IKEA purchases.

I snatched my hand back to my lap once I realized I’d dragged my palm over the arm of the couch where Skylar had fucked the guy the other day, as though touching the spot would somehow help me experience what it would feel like to have him inside of me. Once I worked up the nerve to turn my attention back to him, I found him grinning at me with a knowing look in his eyes.

“It’s rented. The company gives me a per diem for housing, and instead of staying in one of those bland, long-stay corporate hotels, I prefer to get a month-to-month place. The per diem helps offset a fair amount of the furniture and apartment rent, and not having a permanent place elsewhere saves me money. I guess it helps me feel like each place is home, even for a little bit.” He smiled softly.

That made me sort of sad. He seemed to like being on the road all the time, but it had to be exhausting. “That’s a great idea. Do you know where you’re headed next?” I wanted to ask how long he was in Portland, but that question carried implications.

“I haven’t been given my next assignment yet. I guess I’m weighing my options.”

Something in his expression I couldn’t quite read. I cleared my throat. “Options are good.”

Skylar smiled.

He’s so handsome.

“They are.”

The words settled between us, but before I could get too in my head about it, his expression turned cheerful. “Speaking of options, dinner? I’ve been wanting to try this Thai place, and they deliver.”

“Perfect.” I could hide my awkwardness and seem interesting for an hour or so. The last thing I wanted was for him to feel trapped with his weird geek of a neighbor, who kept absently stroking his microfiber couch. I would be a cool, normal guy who was totally used to having dinner with people he barely knew and not making a fool out of himself. Easy.

CHAPTER7

It had been easy. Being around Skylar was infuriatingly easy.

I smiled as I dropped my lunch off in the employee break room before heading to my desk. The smile had barely left my face the past two days since we’d had dinner together.

Normally, around new people, I was all in my head. Second-guessing everything I said, worrying I was acting like an idiot, agonizing over whether I was boring them. None of those thoughts passed through my mind that night except to notice theyweren’t.

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