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“Long distance is hard,” Andi says. “My high school boyfriend moved away for college. He was super normal before. Then all of a sudden he wanted to be on the phone constantly. He wanted me to keep it on speaker at night ‘to hear me breathe’. Really, I think he just was insecure and wanted some kind of proof I wasn’t cheating on him.”
“Yeah,” I say. “It was tough. Eventually, the excuses dried up. I got drafted and we started talking about the future more. There weren’t any more good reasons for us to live apart, and she finally agreed to move here to Frosty Harbor with me. But we both had our own lives at that point. She had music, which was hours of playing and recording stuff at home or traveling for days at a time to go to far-off festivals. I usually couldn’t go with her, and once we were living together, it felt like a bigger deal.”
“Festivals are way too smelly for me. Have you ever been to one? They sell water, beer, and t-shirts. What they really need to sell is deodorant.”
I grin. Something about the way she’s taking everything I’m saying so lightly keeps me going. If she’d just been laying there silent, I think I would stop talking. I’d question why I was sharing any of this. But Andi makes it so damn easy to talk. “I think we both probably knew it wasn’t working. I decided the problem was how neither of us were committing. We just needed to take that final leap, I thought. So I did. I told her we needed to get hitched and maybe think about having a family. I was pretty convinced that’s what I wanted, too. I told her I wanted to earn enough to set us up for life from the league, retire, and settle down here in Frosty Harbor to enjoy a simple life together. Celebrate the holidays, grow old… that kind of shit.”
“Wow,” Andi says. “What did she say?”
“Not much. She just kind of listened that night, and then the next morning she’d packed her essentials and was gone. Didn’t even say ‘bye’. She just left and all I had was a text. ‘Need some time to think’. That’s what she sent.”
“I’m so sorry,” Andi says. She curls in a little closer to me, hugging me tight.
I run my hand through her hair. I haven’t told this shit to anybody. But why? Maybe it’s the deep stabs of embarrassment and stupidity the story stirs up in me. How was I so fucking stupid? How did I not see it all coming from miles away?
Neither of us talk for a while. “I guess I’m like a walking red flag to you, huh?” Andi asks. “With the way things ended between you and Sarah. Then you meet a girl who ditched her wedding last-minute. I can see why you’ve been keeping me at arm’s length.”
Shit. “Andi. It’s not like that. I wasn’t judging what you did. Honestly, I didn’t even connect those dots.”
“Well, I wouldn’t blame you. I’ve kind of worried about my own state of mind. I mean, what kind of person does what I did? Maybe the relationship was doomed. But what kind of person agrees to get married when they aren’t dead certain they want to? Who waits until the morning of the wedding to take a real look inside and ask themselves, ‘is this actually what I want?’” She laughs sadly. “What’s wrong with me?”
Now it’s my turn to give her a little squeeze. “I don’t think anything is wrong with you. Except that you’re related to Jake. He’s an asshole.”
We both laugh at that.
“Why do you think you’ve been bottling this all up?” Andi asks. “I don’t want to dismiss what you went through. But, I was expecting something like a murdered baby or a weird kink, like you needed to be fed cake while you had sex to get off and she finally had enough. By the way,” she whispers as she wiggles her eyebrows. “I’d totally cake bang you, if that’s what you were into.”
I grin. “That’s a good question. I think… After she left, I told myself the mistake I made was admitting what I wanted. She left because I opened up, you know? So I swore I’d learn to keep my mouth shut. No more vulnerability and openness. Honesty, sure. But there’s no reason to just offer up the deep shit.”
“Well,” she says. “It means a lot to me that you’re telling me how you feel. I know you only want this thing between us to be physical, but I want you to know I’m happy you can confide in me, too. I’ve never really felt this comfortable with a guy. Ever,” she adds with a surprised laugh. “It’s too bad we’ve agreed not to like each other. Because I have to admit, I kind of like you, Jesse Prince.”
“I like you a little, too,” I say, lying out of my ass. A little? My feelings for Andi make me feel like some hastily constructed pressure vessel–like something inside me is pushing harder and harder with every word she says, threatening to burst out of me.
And then we’re kissing. Her mouth is soft, warm, and perfect. Her moans are whispers in the dark.
She giggles when I roll on top of her and the bed ripples beneath us, making our bodies undulate with the motion.
“Why is it so hard to resist you?” I ask.
“Why are you trying so hard?” she counters.
“Because you’re dangerous for me.”
“Why?” She gasps, arching her neck as I kiss down her chest and then peel off her plain white shirt. I bury the hard point of her nipple in my mouth, circling it with my tongue.
I lift my face, kissing her chin before I speak. “Because I could get addicted to this. To you. Your body. The way you move beneath me and the way your moans sound in the dark. I could convince myself nothing else matters but this–here with you.”
“You’re not so bad yourself,” she breathes.
I grin. “Not so bad?” I ask with an edge of playfulness in my voice. “So this is just alright for you?” I press my palm between her legs. The thin fabric of her pajama bottoms and panties don’t stop me from feeling the shape of her or the damp warmth. I slide my fingers up and circle her through her clothes. “If it’s not that great, I guess I could stop.”
She grips my wrist like a vice. “Don’t you dare.”
I laugh. “Oh, so it’s maybe better than alright? Tell me how good it is, Andi.”
“Fine. It’s pretty good.”
“Hmm,” I say, keeping my hand on her but not moving it. “Pretty good?”
