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But we're not madly in love. Not like we're pretending.
Are we friends? Fuck buddies?
Two people who understand each other?
I don't know.
I don't know what he wants when we're dressed.
But I want to find out.
I want to know him. All of him. As much as I can.
I'm not sure if that's love, but it's close. Dangerously close.
Close enough, I'm sure he's going to break my heart.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Indigo
I linger for a few songs, then I follow the smell of coffee into the kitchen.
The scent brings me back to mornings with my dad.
He was a firefighter. He worked for days at a time.
He told me his job was safe, but a part of me worried I'd wake and he'd be gone.
When I woke to the smell of coffee, I knew he was home. I knew he was safe.
I knew he'd take me to the park, tell me stories, teach me guitar.
We'd sit there, in the den, practicing scales until I was exhausted. Then he'd play his favorite albums. Even the ones he promised Mom he wouldn't show me.
He had everything—old standards, British punk, ska, eighties pop, singer-songwriters. I still remember the first time he forgot to mute the stereo during You Oughta Know.
I asked him what it meant to fuck someone.
I was old enough to have an idea of sex, but he still sat me down and talked to me about what it really meant. Told me it was this beautiful thing I'd experience one day. That I should never be ashamed of what I wanted, so long as I was with someone I trusted.
What would he say about my arrangement with Ty?
Would he be terrified I want someone who hurts me? Or proud I'm able to embrace my desires?
I wouldn't tell him. I won't even tell Sienna.
But I wish I could tell someone. I wish someone was proud of me. For something.
The way Dad was when I learned a new riff or wrote a new song or came home with an A on a test.
I wish someone would say good work, Indie. You survived the last two years with style and grace. You kept it together.
I know how hard that was.
I'm proud of you.
Even if you had to put away your passion. Even if you've run from your talent. Even if you aren't ready to face your pain.
"You still take them sunny side up?" Ty sets a perfect white mug of tea on the dining table.
"Yes. Thanks." I wrap my fingers around the mug. Bring it to my lips. Inhale the warm, familiar smell. The mix of fine tea and fancy coffee. Then just the strong black tea.
Mmm. Fig and caramel.
Warmth and strength.
"Do you want help?" I take another sip. "Or are you horrified by the thought of me messing up your perfect space?"
"I want you here," he says.
"I mean—"
"I know what you mean." He sets a pot on the stove. Turns a burner on high. "I lost half my deposit over your lipstick stains."
"Really?"
"And the scuffed hardwood."
"Oh." My chest flushes at the memory. Him fucking me so hard his bed scraped the floor.
"I could have argued normal wear and tear." He half-smiles. "But a few thousand dollars was a small price to pay for the bragging rights."
For him, yeah. "It's an accomplishment."
He nods I know. "I like finding pieces of you. The eye shadow on a counter. The lipstick on a collar. The smell of your shampoo in my shower. It feels like I have something of you."
"You thought about me?"
"Of course."
"But you were… with her."
"It's not as if she thought she was my first." His laugh is soft. "I'm turning thirty-one next month."
"Old man."
"Who can lap you."
My lips curl into a smile. Fuck, this feels so good. So… normal.
I sit. Sip my tea. Watch him crack eggs into the pan, slip bread in the toaster, pull hot sauce from the pantry.
He cooks the way he does everything: with precision and grace.
This could be our life. Our morning routine. Only—"Don't you have work today?"
"Yes."
"It's past work time."
"Is it really?" His voice is teasing. "I didn't realize."
"You're taking off?"
He nods.
I smile. He's taking the day off. For me.
Because he wants to fuck me, probably.
But it's not like I want something else.
"Oh. Good." I take another sip. "What will we do with our time?"
"You're not good at coy."
A laugh spills from my lips. "You can't fuck me all day."
"Is that a dare?"
"If it is?"
"Is it?" He shoots me a look that begs me to say yes.
But I don't.
I do want to fuck him all day. But I want this too. This normal morning together.
Ty fixing breakfast.
He's a good cook. From taking care of his mom, I guess.
I did the same, but I'm terrible. Sienna's the one who can cook.
I watch him work. He showered and dressed while I was in my room. He's in jeans and a white t-shirt.
