by Frey Ortega
“When I’m alone, sure,” I said. “But when my friends are over, I try to keep it where I’m just almost about to complain about how hot it is.”
He smiled down at me. “So, hypothetically, if I was ever to sleep over, we’d be curled up in a blanket if we were in bed together?”
I smiled at that. “While the thermostat was cracked at the lowest possible setting without causing ice chips to form and a blanket wrapped around the both of us.” I sighed wistfully at the thought. Then again, my idea of the perfect date was set closer to the North Pole than one might have thought.
“Hey, that’s new,” Joe said.
“What is?” I asked.
Joe shot a big smile at me and I knew I was a goner. “You didn’t dry heave at the thought of us sleeping together again. Or just being in the same room as each other.”
I shrugged. “I just had a date with you. I figure I can at least stay with you for at least an hour.”
“But an entire night isn’t just an hour,” Joe reminded me.
“No, no it is not,” I ceded. “But if I can last an hour or two, who says I can’t last a whole night with you?”
He smiled at me. “That’s dirty. I don’t think I could last a whole night, personally,” he said.
I laughed.
There was just this…ease, like he said, between the two of us that I was starting to feel more and more with every passing minute. Everything awkward that I felt about our situation was less about him and more about my issues with myself. In fact, the more he smiled, and laughed, and made little jokes—and not even at my expense, really—the more I felt like this could work. This was a good thing.
For me, and maybe for the both of us.
“I highly doubt you wouldn’t be able to last the whole night,” I said. “Weren’t you trained for that?”
“I’m not an endurance athlete. Maybe if you asked a guy who ran marathons from one end of Europe to the other,” he said. “I’m just a guy who tackles other guys for a living. See, I can be self-deprecating too.”
“Hey, skill is skill,” I replied. “We all have our own different talents.”
“Yours just happens to be with your mouth,” he answered back, grinning.
I quirked an eyebrow at him.
“Well, you tell stories, right?” He said after a moment of letting me bask in that…comment.
“Ugh.” I rolled my eyes, and he laughed. I chuckled along with him. “I didn’t think you would make such a terrible pun.”
“Puns are awesome,” Joe said matter-of-factly. “You’ll see.”
“Oh, I’m well aware,” I replied as coolly as I could. “I just didn’t think you’d make such a corny joke on our first date.”
“I’m just establishing how well we fit together. Is that so wrong, given how I’ve basically been very upfront with you this entire time about how much I like you?” he asked. “Is straightforwardness a bad thing?”
“I certainly appreciate it, and yet I’m also horribly bewildered and flustered by it,” I said.
“I figured that was gonna happen,” he said. “Am I also right in assuming that if I’d left things to subtext, you might not get what I’m trying to say?”
“Right,” I replied. “Social cues…are not my forte, to say the least.”
“Well, that’s obvious,” he quipped. I turned to look at him and he was giving me that mischievous smirk again.
“It’s true, though. Half of the time, I just continue talking and talking and I end up saying something that shouldn’t be said in public in front of mixed company. Social cues are not my forte,” I repeated. “But for some reason, you’re okay with that.”
“Hey, I’m an open book. And I kind of like that you ramble on. It’s cute.”
“Are you sure your definition of cute is the same as mine?” I asked. “I still can’t believe all of this is happening, really. I don’t think I ever will.”
He leaned forward suddenly, and it took me by surprise to feel his lips against mine.
Joe kissed me.
He actually kissed me.
I swear I could see my heart beating out of my chest.
His lips felt soft, but firm against me. It was only a split second, but it made me take a deep breath and lose my train of thought.
All I could think about was doing that again.
Joe grinned at me and leaned back.
“Maybe you should look at it from my point of view,” Joe said, as though nothing had happened. “When I was playing pro football, all of the guys surrounding me were either deep in the closet, a little homophobic—if not a lot—and were all just looking for fun. You know the type. They just want a roll in the hay and then maybe an encore a couple of times the next few days.”
I cleared my throat and tried to calm myself down. My heart suddenly ached and I suddenly wanted to be close to him. It was like my body was looking for some sort of subconscious signal from him that he wanted me, and the kiss worked in that way.
But then I remembered we were having a conversation, and a big part of me, fucked over by the social mores my parents and grandparents instilled in me, made me remember I had something I needed to focus my attention on.
It would be impolite not to reply.
“You know the type, right?” Joe repeated, almost as if he could figure out the way my mind was working. It was both creepy and hot at the same time.
Oh, I definitely knew the type. Not that I had experienced what he was talking about, but it was more a knowledge of them from high school—and then college—and then with my friends telling me about how sex-starved some of the people deep, deep in the closet actually were.
The inability to come out must have people trying to look for reprieve in other things. But I wouldn’t say I was an expert at that, or anything.
I nodded, but didn’t say anything. Joe continued.
“So, being with you is like a breath of fresh air. You know how when it comes to dating, some people are for keeps, and some people seem to just want to play around?”
Again, I nodded. I didn’t quite understand what he meant by that, but he seemed to be on a roll, and I didn’t want to disrupt his train of thought.
“Well, you’re part of the former. There’s the good sex, there’s the companionship, the banter and the amusing conversation. But because you are who you are, you’re probably the type of guy who scares off people who don’t want a commitment.”
“What about me just screams “commitment” anyway? It’d be nice if I could just be…flung, you know, like flings do and are done to them,” I said. Mostly it was me bristling at the idea that I was one thing, but not the other. Why couldn’t I be seen as some kind of sex object?
Why did I want to be seen that way?
Joe chuckled. “Hah, well, don’t get me wrong—you’re plenty fling-able. But I think we both know you wouldn’t really be the type to have one-night stands. You’re the kind of guy who responds to courtship, to being asked out and having a serious, monogamous relationship. And sure, there’s the hot, wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am type of sex with strangers some people do, but you’re not that type, at least I don’t think so.”
“It seems a little bit like you’re stereotyping me,” I said. I raised my eyebrow at him.
“But am I wrong?”
“Well…no,” I admitted. A fling would have probably been good for me in some ways, but I would have obsessed over everything afterward, if not before the proposition was even sent my way. I did concede on what he was saying, but it was almost as if he was saying I wasn’t cute enough to use like some kind of slam-piece, which went totally contrary to what he had been telling me before. “But it hurts to be stereotyped.”
Joe leaned in closer. “I bet you had some preconceived notions about who I was, though. Like maybe being some kind of meathead jock. All brawns, no brains, cute butt?” he joked.
“Well, about one of those three things are true,” I said, pausing for dramatic effect. When he looke
d at me earnestly, I smirked. “Obviously, it’s the cute butt part.”
I gave a little shrug and continued. “I don’t know, though. I guess you’re right, much as I would like you not to be. I don’t know if I scare people away, but on more than one occasion, it’s been made clear to me that I’m not the one-night stand type. One of my friends, Ysa, the researcher, told me it’s because I’m highly conscientious and prone to overanalyzing every insignificant detail of all human interactions I ever meet, and another of my friends simplified it by telling me very clearly that I get way too in my head to ever just be wrapped up in the moment.”
Joe nodded. “I think I got a pretty clear picture of who you were based on our interview,” he said. “I bet you thought our little impromptu shower was a one-time thing. And in spite of the fact that we’re both having a lot of fun, or at least I hope you are, you’re still wondering why we’re here in the first place.”
I nodded my head, too. “Yeah,” I replied. “I didn’t think you were serious about me. I guess I should have known I was the type to be wined and dined instead of screwed and tossed aside.”
Joe scrunched up his face. “That’s a little crass, don’t you think?” he said, but then he gave me a playful little nudge to the side with his elbow. “But you’re right, in a way. I’m not saying you’re too cute and too serious to have sex with. I’m just saying, you’re not the type of guy who another man can approach for just a quick blowjob in the bathroom.”
Hah. Well, wasn’t that exactly what we did before?
“Basically, for us to do something physical, one of us has to be seriously interested,” he explained. “As I’m sure you already know, from the many, many times I’ve told you how great you look tonight and how much I want in your pants.”
“What you’re telling me is—and correct me if I’m wrong—that you think that I wouldn’t be the type for one-night stand because I’m more a serious relationship kind of guy instead of a one-night stand kind of guy.”
Joe nodded resolutely. “Yup.”
“You’re telling me the only guys who’d want to have sex with me are the guys who probably have a deep-seated interest in me in the first place?” I asked.
Again, Joe nodded in agreement. “Basically, Emmett, I’m telling you that you’re not a guy someone just talks to for sex,” he said. I suppose when he could see the incredulousness and consternation in my eyes. “You’re the kind of guy that someone has to play for keeps, because in my honest opinion, you’re not the guy one plays around with. You’re boyfriend-slash-husband material. You’re serious. You’re for life.”
“Now you’re just backtracking,” I said, though I had a smile on my face. There was a romanticism to his words that would have made someone more inclined to be romantic melt. “You were getting real close to telling me I was too ugly to fuck there.”
“No, I’m just not good with words, unlike you,” Joe replied. “It took me a while to get to my point, but I got there in the end. And I was definitely not backtracking, by the way.”
I chuckled, but it felt a little hollow. In spite of how sweet it sounded to be told those words, and how good it felt to be kissed the way Joe kissed me—to be told that one was a potential mate for monogamy to someone like Joe—to me, those actions suddenly rang hollow.
Why did it sound, to me, so much like bullshit?
Chapter Twelve
“You’re getting into your own head again.”
“You’re being a dipshit.”
“How did the date end?”
The barrage of questions and comments from my friends made me frown. I was busy tapping away on my desktop and the video call was raking on my nerves.
I knew I was in my own head. I knew I was being a dipshit about this entire thing. I also knew that I really, really liked Joe.
It seemed like he was making an effort. Maybe the words he threw my way only seemed trite because they were colored by my perceptions of the world. I didn’t know when someone was being sincere about being attracted to me, or about being in love. In many ways, I was taught that love, that showing affection, was a weakness—and it wasn’t good to show your weakness to a stranger who could exploit it.
I guess I’ve been fucked up in more ways than one. It’s hard to fall in love, and yet yearn for love. It’s hard to be open about who you are while realizing that openness is a weakness that could be used against you. I suppose I’m what one would call a total nut-job, a fucking basket case—someone who shouldn’t even be in this situation, in the first place.
But here I was.
“Wait, give me a couple of minutes and just listen to what I have to say,” I said.
They all agreed.
I answered their questions as best as I could, and deflected the comments for the meantime. I told them about how good the dinner was, the conversation we had, how nice it felt to be in his arms, how good he made me feel, and the way we ended our date. He’d taken me back home, and kissed me on the cheek—a chaste gesture, if there ever was one—and he told me he wanted to see me again this weekend, if not earlier. I told him I had a lax schedule anyway, and I could work around his because I handled my own time instead of having to be at the office for most of the week.
I also told them about the familiarity between us, the way he felt companionable and sweet, if not a little bit rough around the edges, and then ended with his comments on me being “for keeps”—trying to say them verbatim, of course, but I knew I probably colored the whole comment with my own opinion about what he’d said—and the kiss. Damn, that kiss still made my knees quiver and my body shake. I told them about how it felt, and how it made me feel, and then about how the question that he posed to me had actually pulled me out of the happiness I felt.
Then I ended with an open-ended question, trying to ask my friends for their opinion about this whole thing.
After all, I needed to rely on them now, since this was totally out of my wheelhouse.
“I can’t trust him about what he says, right?” I said. “I mean, there’s just no way he likes me that much?”
“Well, you could be right,” Ysa said after a moment, leaning back away from the screen and adjusting herself on her seat. “I’ll make this short and sweet because I have to head back to work in about twenty minutes. Emmett, dear, I think only you can say for sure if you can trust in what he says.”
I mean, I knew that was true. But was I so…jaded—was that even the right word—that I couldn’t really fathom this happening?
But then I went back to that kiss. And how it felt like the world just stopped for the both of us, or maybe just me. It felt good, but maybe it was because of that moment that I was even second-guessing this. Maybe, if he hadn’t kissed me, I would have heard him speak and been like, “nope, goodbye, that’s bullshit.” But because of that kiss, I felt…conflicted.
Like one part of me understood how bullshit his words could be, if I was jaded, and how much they could actually mean he likes me.
My reverie ceased when one of my friends spoke up.
“Just my two cents, since you asked for it, but it sounds to me like you’re making excuses to find out what’s wrong with him so you can leave before you get too emotionally invested,” Talia said. “He sounds like he’s doing just as good as anyone would be given the situation.”
“Situation? What situation? You’re making this sound like some kind of tragic emergency,” I commented.
“Well, honey, it kind of is,” Talia replied, always the brutally honest one. “The only enemy you have in this situation is yourself. It just sounds like you’re trying to persuade us that something is wrong with him for liking you—well, Emmett, I hate to break it to you, but in this scenario, the only one who has anything wrong with themselves is you.”
I sat there, pausing from typing away at my latest editing work, mouth ajar like some kind of idiot. I looked at Talia on my screen just as the others in our video call—Ysa and Camille, who were both in the middle of work b
ut took the time to join in—seemed to straighten up and started to pay attention to our exchange.
I could feel my emotions flaring up. Defiance bubbled up inside me and I wanted to defend myself from what my friend was saying. But just as I was looking for the words and opening my mouth to speak, Talia continued.
“Emmett, I’m saying these things not to be hurtful but to be honest as your friend in the nicest way I possibly can. The only reason you’re having such a hard time forming a real connection with Joe and actually letting yourself be with him is because you think you’re not worth it. You think he’s playing around with you. You think you’re not worth his time, and you have it in your head that he’s somehow more valuable because of how attractive he is and how much better he is at what he chose to do in life than you. You’re avoiding an emotional risk, and you’re so risk-averse that you’re actually sabotaging yourself. Without a doubt, you’re one of the only people I know who’s taken the idea of self-preservation and rammed it right into feelings of self-worth.”
When Talia paused to get a sip of water, it was Camille, usually the quiet and observant one in our group, to talk next. “And just to butt into what Talia is saying, you’re also so averse to risk that you’d rather let him find someone more worth his time in your eyes than you, because you don’t want to make a stupid decision about falling in love and being emotionally vulnerable. Well, we all make stupid decisions. Life is about making stupid decisions and living with the consequences. Joe sounds like he’s a good guy, according to what you tell us. He’s cocky and imperfect but he’s attracted to you for reasons only he and God know, and you’re sitting here thinking about ways he could be screwing you over. Or worse yet, how you’re screwing him over because you can’t get over the fact that someone like him could be with someone like you, even though in actuality, you’re both just people.”
Finally, it was Ysa who chimed in last, as though I hadn’t gotten a one-two combo from them already. “And if you were actually a worthless person, the way you think you are, do you think we would be talking to you during our lunchbreaks when we could be—I don’t know, I’m just spit-balling here—actually eating to make sure we have enough energy for our long-hour shifts?”