Page 28 of This Can't Be Goodbye

“Not my finest moment, but now you owe me. Tell me one thing you did as a kid that still mortifies you.”

She waggles her eyebrows. “Besides having a crush on you?”

“You wound me, woman.” I feign heart pain, then head to the kitchen to collect a bottle of red wine and wineglasses.

I return to the living room and have to pause. Naomi is lounging, legs stretched out on my couch, her hair shoved into a messy bun, and the space behind my ribs twinges. I could get used to seeing her in my home.

Shaking off that sentimental thought, I pour us glasses of wine, then sit beside her and gather her legs on my lap. “I’ve given you food and wine and three orgasms. It’s time for compensation.”

Sipping her wine, she rolls her eyes. “Fine. But only because my embarrassing story isn’t as horrible as your bra-masturbation incident.”

“You’re stalling.” And going out of her way to tease me.

She sighs dramatically. “I was, like, thirteen or fourteen, and I overheard some guys at school talking about pearl necklaces. Being the clueless kid I was, I announced to my parents that I wanted a boyfriend so I could get a pearl necklace.”

“As in…” I mime jacking off toward her neck.

She kicks at my lap with her heel. “Can you blame me? I had no experience back then. Sexual terminology like ‘pearl necklace’ was nowhere on my radar. Needless to say, my father sputtered up his water, and my mother proceeded to have a horrifyingly awkward conversation with me.”

I laugh, picturing young Naomi, with her studious expression and quiet disposition, learning about the depraved desires of men. “Must have been eye opening.”

“To say the least.”

I stroke her ankle, loving how she relaxes deeper into my couch. “I guess being an only child, you didn’t have a sibling to educate you. Or pick on you,” I add.

She shakes her head. “Was your sister a bully growing up?”

“Not in an aggressive way. She still likes to tell people about the time we watchedPoltergeistand I refused to watch TV for months afterward, convinced I’d get sucked into the TV like the characters in that movie.”

She laughs while smiling at me. “Seems your family has a thing for sharing embarrassing stories about you.”

“The sad truth,” I grumble.

“It’s nice,” she says wistfully. “Growing up was pretty lonely for me at times. Or maybe it was just quiet.”

“Because you were studying instead of hanging out with friends?”

“My wild teenage years,” she says drily and takes a deeper sip of wine. “I wound up spending more time with adults than kids my age, tagging along at my parents’ dinner parties. I got so out of practice with teens, hanging out with them felt like walking through a minefield.”

“I think I liked that about you.”

She digs her toe into my hip. “You liked that I was an awkward mess in high school?”

I tickle her foot until she yanks it away, mock glaring at me. “You were the only one willing to talk to me about E after he left. Everyone else was skittish, like my gloom was catchy. All they cared about was obsessing over their crushes and the latest fashion. You were more mature, seemed to understand my pain and weren’t afraid to talk about it.”

“That’s not true.”

I frown at her. “I may not remember parts of high school, but I’ll never forget you squeezing my shoulder in the lunchroom, telling me how sorry you were about E’s disappearance.”

“Sure, but talking to you wasn’t selfless maturity.” She slides her toe enticingly up the length of my upper thigh. “I was just as obsessed as the other kids about my crushes, and my crush was on you.”

My heart hiccups. Color blooms on her cheeks.

Her old feelings aren’t news any longer, but the intensity on her face now shines a different light on our past. If I hadn’t been terrified of her rejection back then, I’d have asked her out. She’d actually have said yes, and I’d never have sabotaged her campaign. She wouldn’t have spent seven years hating me. A domino of events that might have changed the course of our lives.

Not that it matters now. There’s no repeating history, and there’s no real future for us.

“I’m sorry your mom isn’t taking your trip well.” Her trip is the last thing I want to talk about, but putting it out there is a reminder. We’re just casual. Whatever we’re doing has a deadline.

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