“Do what?”
She looks over at me, direct for once. “I’ve always…” Her eyes move across my face, then she swallows whatever she was going to say and turns back to the window.
“Always what?” I ask, frustration creeping into my tone.
“Been more careful than this,” she says quietly, almost to herself.
I turn that over. Does she mean the condom? I ask her to elaborate, but she doesn’t. She just keeps staring out the window, hands fidgeting in her lap.
We drive another thirty miles before a Starbucks sign appears on the overpass, and I pull off without asking. I need a minute. She’s shut down on me again, worse than last night because this time, I thought we were getting somewhere. That we’d got past our constant, simmering hostility. Apparently not. She is genuinely terrible at this—communication, honesty—and it’s starting to piss me off in a way I don’t entirely know what to do with. In the past, I’d have just snapped at her. We’d bicker,toss insults at each other. It’s what we do. What we’ve always done. But I don’t want to go back to that.
I genuinely like Rose. She’s smart and beautiful. Easy-going until she isn’t, passionate about the things she cares about, funny and interesting to talk to when she actually lets herself talk. And the sex—I can’t stop replaying last night on a loop, the way it felt being inside her. But it’s more than that. Our chemistry is unlike anything I’ve ever felt, this pull toward her that doesn’t quit, that has me wanting to reach across the center console just to put my hand on her leg. I’m so overwhelmed by thoughts of her, physically needing her, that I’d forget all the bullshit in our past just to have another taste.
But she can’t be bothered just to tell me what’s wrong.
“Want anything?” I ask tightly, after pulling into the lot.
“I’ll come in with you.”
“Wonderful,” I mutter, and we head inside. She shoulders past me to pay for our coffee before I can get my wallet out. When they call our order, she takes both cups, and I expect her to make for the door, but she drifts toward a table near the window and sets them down and takes a seat. I drop into the chair across from her.
“Last night was fun,” she says cautiously.
“Yeah,” I let out a short laugh. “It was.”
She lifts the cap and blows on the steaming coffee. I brace myself for whatever’s coming. Rejection, possibly. An explanation, hopefully. Finally, she says, “I’m okay with… I mean, I’d like to keep going. With this.” Her eyes come up to make sure I’ve caught her meaning. I keep my face neutral and let her finish. She lets go of her cup, then tears a strip from her napkin and works it between her fingers. “But I saw your phone. The message. The picture of Pearl.”
And just like that, it all clicks into place. Why she ran off last night, why she clammed up in the car. I look at her—reallylook at her—but she’s focused hard on the napkin. I’m kind of flattered it bothered her so much. Confirmation I’m not the only one feeling this twisted over us.
“Were you jealous?” I tease.
“No, fuckwad,” she throws the napkin scrap at me. “But if you’re sleeping with her—”
“Woah,” I hold my hands up. “I’m not sleeping with Pearl. The jealous comment was stupid. I’m sorry.” She’s still looking at me with distrust, but the open hostility seems to be waning. I never thought I’d be this invested in a woman who calls me fuckwad, but I really want her to hear me. “Look—she’s never sent me anything like that before. I didn’t respond, I was going to deal with it in person. She has a boyfriend. I don’t know what that was about.”
“You have no idea what that was about? I can’t tell if you’re gaslighting yourself, or me.”
“That’s not what I’m doing,” I say, and it comes out harsher than I mean it to.
Rose crosses her arms, pushing her tits together, drawing my attention down.Bad lizard brain. I drag my gaze back up to meet her amused glare.
“Look,” I say, “she’s one of my closest friends. But we don’t have a romantic relationship, we’veneverhad sex or fooled around. It’s not like that between us. She’s like a sister to me. I don’t know what that picture was. I’ll figure it out when I see her. I’m not hiding anything from you.” I pause. “I wish you hadn’t seen it. After everything. After the dance…”
She nods slowly. It’s progress.
“Do you believe me?”
“I… Yes. I think I do.”
“Youthink?” I’d really like to get that to a yes. The last thing I want is her to think I’m fucking Pearl. The thought makes me shudder.
“Years of watching Pearl pine over you, and the way you constantly defend her make it a little hard, but… I mean, yeah. If you’re telling me you aren’t sleeping with her, that you never have. I believe you.”
“Pearl doesn’t pine over me,” I argue. That’s ridiculous.
Her eyebrows go up. “Umm, okay.”
“She doesn’t.”
