Page 71 of Level Up
I see the three dots bounce as he starts to type something else, but I mash the video call button before he can finish it. I can’t do this over text. I need to talk to him.
“Hi—” he says when he picks up, after a matter of seconds, still adjusting the headphones over his ears. He stops when he sees me, probably concerned that my eyes are leaking. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I reply with a sad laugh, wiping the last bit of dampness from my eyelashes. “Level thirteen just gets me, you know?”
“Maybe it was a bad suggestion. Sorry.”
“No, it’s my favourite, too.” I offer a small smile, but I don’t know what else to say. I take a breath and tuck my legs up onto the chair before continuing. “I’m sorry for…hiding for two days.”
He smiles back a little. “So, youwerehiding, then.”
“I was really embarrassed, okay?”
“Malcolm really doesn’t care?—”
“Not because of him, because ofyou,” I tell him, hugging my knees to my chest. “I mean, it’s because ofme, but you’re the one I’m worried I made a fool of myself in front of?—”
“You didn’t,” he says more seriously.
“I basicallymauledyou.”
“I think you’re remembering it differently than I am.” He laughs. “But either way, just to be perfectly clear about this:I was into it. And it seemed like you were also?—”
“I was,” I say quietly.
“Then what’s the problem, exactly?”
The problem is I don’t do this. I’m bad at this. At sex stuffand talking about sex stuff. At anything that isn’t video games, really. But I don’t know how to tell him this, so I just shrug.
“Look, it’s cool if you’re not interested,” he continues. “And I want to keep hanging out like we have been, no matter what, but… Do you maybe want to go out with me? Like a date?”
I stare at the screen, wide-eyed. “Um.”
“We don’t have to do—I mean, if you don’t usually like…physical stuff, that’s fine,” he adds quickly. “Whatever you’re comfortable with. I just…like you.”
Helikesme. He wants todateme. He wants to dophysical stuffwith me, but he’s fine if I don’t want to.
Holy heck, I think I want to.
“I don’t know,” I say quietly, nearly a whisper.
“Okay…” He looks like he’s disappointed but trying to hide it.
“No, I mean, I don’t know if I—” I swallow nervously. “Maybe I would like that stuff. With you.”
“Okay…” he says again, though the corner of his mouth lifts in a half-smile.
“Did you have something in mind, then?” I ask, and his eyebrows go up. I laugh a little, shaking my head. “Where to go on our date, smartass.”
He shrugs. “Green Bean?”
The suggestion is for me, I can tell. To make me comfortable. And part of me thinks I should suggest something else. Something more interesting, something more conveniently located for him. Already I’m worrying about how to be a good girlfriend—it’s not a label I thought I’d have to worry about again, and I’m already jumping the gun.
But instead, I nod. “Sounds good.”
If I’m going on a date for the first time in years, maybe comfortable is best.
What a weird fucking game (affectionate)
