Page 24 of Swept Away

“All sex acts strictly forbidden,” he says, waving a hand in acutmotion.

“I’ve got it, Zeke,” I say sharply.

Christ,sex acts? Where are we, the courtroom?

“Sorry. I was so crap for you yesterday. I want to be better today.”

I melt slightly. He is being considerate, really. And he’s absolutely right: the dynamic between us is complicated enough as it is. Wecan’tsleep together again; that would be madness. I mean, there’s no morning-after pill out here if the condom breaks, forstarters. And the brutal reality is that in my experience, sleeping with a guy never ends with a positive relationship. I needed to hear him say all this.

But needing something and wanting something are different matters entirely, and even though it probablydoeshave to be this way, I’m surprised to discover quite how much I wish it didn’t.

“Right,” I say briskly. “I’ll just get dressed, then. Platonically. So…”

“Yeah, sorry,” he says, spinning on his heel and heading out of the room. He pauses briefly in the doorway, glancing over his shoulder. “Thanks for having that conversation,” he says quietly, and the hint of a smile tells me he’s remembering me saying the same on the deck yesterday. “It helped.”

Zeke

I’m hanging outwith a beautiful woman, and we’re not going to have sex.

I don’t really know how I feel about this.

I saw the way she was looking at me when I walked into the bedroom earlier, and my heart kind of sank, like, oh yeah, that’s what she needs from me, isn’t it? I should’ve guessed it would be. She made it clear that was all she wanted from the start.

But then I remembered what she said yesterday, about being a woman trapped somewhere with a man she hardly knows. I remembered the way she doubled over laughing this morning on the deck as I messed around trying to grab Eugene, and how good it felt to hear that sound, to know that it was me that brought it out of her. I remembered that I’m actually good for more than one thing, and that maybe that’snotwhat she needs from me here, and maybe it can be me who sets that boundary this time.

And I’m kind of proud of myself.

For the last eight months, I’ve been working with a therapist. My flatmate, Brady, brought up the idea, and the suggestion was so out of character, I actually listened.I just wonder if you’re OK, mate,he’d said, fidgeting next to me as we watched an oldHow I Met Your Motherrerun at nine a.m. He was just up, and I’d not slept, going from the restaurant to a nightclub, bringing another woman home to my bed, seeing her down to her Uber that morning the way I always do.Like, it’s cool to want a lot of sex and stay out all night with women if that’s what you like, but…do you?Brady asked.Do you actually? Because you seem really fucking tired all the time, man. What’s it all for?

Turns out that was a very good question. The sex was a temporary fix, that’s what therapy’s taught me. It was a way to feel good about myself for a night without any of the risks associated with actually getting to know someone.

I don’t know when it became a habit, but it did. Wanting to give people what they need from me so they’ll like me better, and then wanting to leave when it’s still my decision to go.

I’ve been making progress, though. I made a conscious choice to take a different path—fall in love, have a healthy, happy family, all that stuff. I’m worth more than just one night.

That’s the mantra anyway.

I stand out on the deck, fingering the tarpaulin by the helm. I guess breaking my rules for Lexi meant I felt like I couldn’t be totally myself with her. And now that I’ve set that boundary, now that I know we’re not going to sleep together, I feel like a weight’s lifted, even though—and this is so messed up—even though actually I’dloveto sleep with Lexi again. I mean, she’s so beautiful. And that night was…

“You’re always standing there,” she says, emerging suddenly through the door onto the deck.

She’s in shorts and a T-shirt now, hair piled in its usual giant bun. Stripped back and gorgeous. I bet she has no idea how attractive this look is.

“Does it make you feel in control, or something?” she says. “Captain of your own ship?”

I realize I’ve got one hand on the completely useless helm.

“Oh,” I say. “Umm.”

“Co-captain,” she corrects herself. “Platonicco-captain.”

I wince slightly. “Did I go too hard on the platonic thing? Because…”

“What, you mean…”

She mimics the slashing gesture I made when I said,All sex acts strictly forbidden.

“I’ve not had a lot of practice at that conversation,” I say, smoothing my curls down.

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