Page 105 of Nerdplay
“Right back at you.” I turn to face her. “You said you didn’t want this night to end. Well, I don’t want this to end.” I motion between us. “Whatever this is, I want to keep it going.”
She hooks her finger around the collar of the robe and tugs. “Then climb aboard, sailor. This ship is heading out to sea.”
I roll on top of her. “I have no idea how that metaphor works in this scenario, but I get the drift.”
She brushes her lips against my jawline, sending a hard shiver through me. “The drift. Even when you’re being serious, you manage to be funny.”
I don’t want her to know the effect those lips are having on me. I dip my mouth to hers. She tastes like mint, not that I’m surprised. Between us, we swished enough mouthwash to destroy bacteria that hadn’t even formed yet.
She pulls back, and I see splotches of green on her pale face. I point at her cheek. “You’ve got a little cucumber.”
“I know you don’t.” She smiles. “And now you have pink on your cheeks, too.”
I touch the mask that’s hardened on my skin. “I should probably wash this off first.”
“Do it after,” she says, shifting her hips beneath me. “I think we’ve both waited long enough.”
* * *
I wake up before dawn to feel the weight of Cricket’s arm and leg pressed against me like it’s the most natural thing in the world. My whole body stiffens, and I do mean all of it.
She tilts back her head to look at me. “Did my alarm wake you?”
“No. I didn’t realize you were up.”
“Sunrise yoga, remember?” She smiles. “Last night was pretty great, huh?”
“It was.”
Straightening, she twists her torso to regard me. “What is it?”
“What do you mean? I agreed with you.”
“Last night you were Mr. Fun. Now you sound like you’re at a funeral. What happened?”
What happened is that I had hours in dark solitude to think. I can picture this lifestyle for myself—tranquil, serene, with my favorite person by my side. It’s perfection, the kind of life people dream about.
And it’s dangerous.
It isn’t me. I’m not like Cricket. I wear suits and attend boring cocktail parties. I spend the majority of my days behind a desk at a computer. I’m in a committed relationship with my job. It wouldn’t be fair to Cricket, knowing I can never be the man she wants me to be.
“You seem to think I’m not the competitive hard-ass I say I am…”
“That’s right. You’re not an extrovert either.” She pats my leg. “I know you think you’re Mr. Mayor, out there shaking hands and memorizing everybody’s name, but that’s all part of the act.”
“Act?” I echo.
“You’re not an extrovert, Charlie. You’re an introvert forced to walk in the expensive shoes of an extrovert.”
I relax slightly. “How does that work?”
“Your social battery runs out by the end of every day. All you want is to be left alone. That’s why you like to work late. It isn’t because you’re a night owl. It’s the time of day when you don’t have to interact with other people.”
It takes me a minute to digest what she’s said. “I’m an introvert,” I finally repeat.
“It’s not an insult. We’re all introverts here, for the most part. That’s one reason this camp works so well. We understand it isn’t personal when somebody wants to go hide in their room for a couple hours to recharge.”
Growing up, I wasn’t allowed to have ‘down time.’ If my parents were entertaining, the kids were expected to be charming and engaging until the last guest left for the evening. I took those habits straight to college with me, through law school, and into adulthood, not once questioning whether the behavior aligned with my actual needs.
