Page 62 of The Problem with Perfect

I take in a deep breath and let it all out. “I’m just overwhelmed. There was a lot of emotion when I slept with Connor, and he was someone I thought I was in love with. There are going to be some feelings about hooking up with a guy who sees it as just another way to pass the time.”

Rusty’s face flinches when I say it, but I don’t take it back.

“I mean, I knew that going in, you know? It’s not new information. I just need some time to process.”

He nods, but he looks more sullen and withdrawn. Ultimately, I don’t focus on that, though. Right now, I need to focus on my own mind and my own thoughts and feelings. What just happened was a big deal to me, and I highly doubt it matters at all to Rusty.

I grab my keys off the kitchen counter and give him a small wave then walk out the door, heading home where I can crawl into my bed and cover my face with a pillow.

I have some serious thinking to do.

* * *

Later that evening, I’m lying sprawled out on the dock behind our house, staring up at the sky, when I feel the vibration of footsteps moving toward me.

I glance over my shoulder, spotting a familiar figure coming my way, and I let out a sigh, feeling equal parts embarrassed and grateful: embarrassed because I shouldn’t have run out of Rusty’s like that earlier, grateful because he’s clearly not a man who lets things go unaddressed for long.

“Your mom said you were out here,” he says, his feet a few inches from my head as he looks down at me. “I don’t know what I was imagining when you said you lie on the dock to think, but I didn’t realize you meant you actually lie on the dock to think.”

My lips tilt up. “I typically mean exactly what I say.”

“I’m realizing that.”

Rusty dips down and sits then lies flat, our bodies in opposite directions but our heads side by side.

“You get your tire fixed?” I ask.

He nods. “Jackson helped me.”

I sigh. “I can’t believe he walked in on us.”

“I’m sorry that happened.”

“It’s not your fault,” I reply. “You couldn’t have known he would come home. I mean, doesn’t he practically live at Abby and Briar’s?”

He snorts. “I like to pretend I don’t know where he sleeps at night, but yeah, I’m pretty sure he stays most nights with Abby.”

“See? Not your fault.”

“No, not the Jackson part, but I shouldn’t have instigated things in the first place.”

I hum. “Well, we were equal instigators, so you can’t take all the blame for that, either.”

Rusty sighs, and we lapse into an easy silence, both of us just lying there, thinking. I’m not sure what’s on his mind, but mine returns to what I was considering before he arrived. The intimate moments I shared with Rusty earlier were incredible. I mean, I’ve not had a lot of sexual experience, but I can definitely say my time on the couch with him was lightyears away from my awkward fumbling with Connor last summer.

Maybe the real issue is just that I’ve always placed so much importance on sex, putting too much pressure on it to be this perfect thing when it’s seeming more and more like that might rarely be the case. Instead of shielding myself from men and sexuality, maybe I just need to experience more of it. Maybe that would…dilute what happened with Connor, and a guy like Rusty who has all the experience and skill and isn’t at risk for developing feelings might be the perfect guy to help me expand my sexual horizons, so to speak.

I don’t even know how to pose that kind of question, so I decide to start with something less daunting.

“Can I ask you something?”

Rusty turns his head and looks at me briefly before returning his eyes to the sky. “Sure.”

“You’ve had sex with a lot of women, right? I mean, we’ve established it’s not thousands, but it’s a lot.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, sure. Why?”

“Well, is it better that way? Having sex with a lot of people versus just a few?”

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