Page 70 of Problematic Summer Romance

“Are you? Because when an adult man who has adamantly refused to have a single conversation with me for the past ten months thinks he can tell me what to do with my time, with my body, or with my phone…” His hold on me hardens, and my heart skips. A gust of euphoria blows through me, and this time, I don’t bother holding back my laughter. “Conor, youhaveto be joking.”

“Meeting up with someone you know nothing about is dangerous. Unless you got a picture of his ID, you cannot be sure—”

“Okay, yeah. Very realistic. Background checks are totally something I run every time I want to hook up with someone.”

His eyes burn a hole into me, as if trying to physically extract information on what I plan to do with the guy’s number.

“The thing is,” I say, hoping to sound more conciliatory than I feel, “I’m here. And you’re here. But it’s not the same thing at all, is it? You’re all cozy, hanging out with your ex. You get to have fun, but I—”

“This is bullshit. Minami is married, and she and I haven’t been anything other than friends for—”

“Notthatex, Conor.”

He is briefly perplexed. I watch him buffer for…too long, before he remembers that he used to date Avery, too. “Fuck,” he mutters.

“You really forgot?”

He looks reasonably embarrassed about that. “Listen, Maya—”

“Wow. It’s true.” I cock my head. Study him. The jealousy that’s been bleeding through me for the past few days dissipates at once. Sure, Avery had him, but…She didn’t. Not at all. “You really aren’t interested in her.”

“As I told you,” he replies, harsh. “She’s a friend and a colleague.”

“She still likes you. She told me so yesterday, at the theater—”

“She told me, too, and I made it clear to her that nothing would be happening, ever, and that I don’t think about her that—”

“What about me?” Am I always this reckless? It’s the alcohol, has to be. “Do you think about me? Did I make it into your long-term memory?”

The only reply I get are his fingertips, tightening against my skin. When I lean into him, my chin brushes the fabric on his shoulder. It’s softer than it looks. Smells like laundry soap and salt and him. Smells like his pillow, all those years ago in Edinburgh.

“Here is the deal, Conor,” I tell him. My lips nearly make contact with the short hair behind his ear. “You and I are friends. And because of that, I am willing to give you a say in some of the choices I make when it comes to my…let’s call it, safety.”

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t even breathe. I decide to take a gamble.

“The guy I met? I don’thaveto call him back.”

“You categorically shouldnot. He might—”

“Yeah, I know. I’m a wee lass and the world is a dangerous place. I also don’thaveto be nice to Paul when he flirts with me—”

“Christ, Maya. Paul is not worthy of cleaning the fucking soles of your shoes with his tongue.”

“Right.” I pull back and pat his shoulder, comforting. “The thing is, I can do whatever I like. And you can ask me not to. But if you want me to listen, you’re going to have to give me a valid reason.”

“I told you. It’s not—”

“Safe? That’s not going to cut it. Because Icouldmake it safe. I’m a responsible girl and I’ve had my fair share of hookups, so you don’t need to worry about that. If that’s what your peace of mind requires, you can stand outside my room to make sure that whoever I choose to sleep with doesn’t do anything untoward.”

His free hand closes around the edge of the counter, knuckles moon-white against the dark finishing of the wood.

“If that doesn’t sound good, then you’re going to have to dobetter, Conor. I want to have fun. Youcanask me not to meet up with other guys. But what alternative will you offer?”

He doesn’t prevaricate, which is a relief. My respect for him would definitely take a hit if he pretended not to understand what I’m implying. “No,” he says. So quick, so firm, so definitive, I wonder if the answer is not definitive at all.

“That’s okay,” I say. “You don’t have to be interested just because I am—”

“Maya.”

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