“You’re fuckingshaking, Linden. Something’snotfine with you. You don’t have to tell me what it is, but I sure as shit won’t lie back while you go down on me in this state.”
There’s a beat of silence, my words still echoing in the space between us. Linden stares at me with wide eyes. Everything after that happens almost too fast: he tears himself from my grip, jumps to his feet, and darts out of the room. I can hear him running down the stairs by the time I get moving.
“Linden! Wait!” I call after him.
He’s already out the door and down the porch steps, car keys in hand, when I finally manage to catch up with him and grab him by the back of his shirt.
“Let go! Let me go, Micah!” he yells, and for a moment I’m afraid the neighbors will hear him and call the cops on us. A guy my size dragging a much smaller person back into a house is never a favorable look.
“You have to calm down first, Lind,” I plead, eyes darting up and down the street. “I’ll let you go once you’ve calmed down! I mean, you’re out here in fucking socks, man!”
He struggles for another moment against my grip, giving me a good shove in the process. But to my surprise, he stomps back up the porch stairs as soon as I let go, releasing a frustrated growl, followed by a bang when his keys hit the sideboard. I follow him slowly, unsure whether to give him space or offer company.
“Is this my fault? Did I do something wrong? Trigger you in some way?” I ask quietly as I close the door behind me. Lindendoesn’t wait for me—he’s already disappeared into the kitchen, banging around in the cupboards. The next second, I hear running water.
“It’s not you. How could it be you? It’s me. It’salwaysme! Me and my goddamn broken…ugh!”
For a moment, I stay in the hallway, afraid I’ll make him run again if I follow too fast. After a few more seconds, I creep closer, as I’d do with a skittish animal, hands held out at my waist.
“What do you mean?” I ask carefully as I round our dining table. It’s overflowing with books again, most of them for school, but I also spot two of Olli’s romance novels stacked in a neat little pile. How many of these does he own? It’s like he has an inexhaustible well in his room that spreads around the house.
“I mean,” Linden grits out through his teeth. His voice is trembling again—this time with open frustration. I find him leaning against the kitchen counter, clutching a glass of water with both hands. “That I’m fucking broken or something. A loser who can’t even get through his first blowjob at twenty-fucking-two!”
I blink at that, taken aback.
“You’re not a—” I start, then break off when the meaning of his words registers with me. “Wait, what do you mean by ‘first blowjob’? I thought you were experienced! Youoffered—”
Linden lifts his gaze from the glass in his hands to meet mine. There’s no anger in them, just turmoil and desperation. “I neversaidI was experienced.”
“Oh, really? Well, maybe you didn’t sayexperience,but you made me believe—” I argue, but he raises one hand to stop me.
“I know, and I’m sorry for that. But I had to, Micah.”
Linden, June 16th
Isink into the couch, tucking one leg under me and pulling the other up to hug against my chest. It's much more comfortable than sitting at the kitchen table—though my discomfort largely stemmed from having to lay everything out for Micah, from Colin's ultimatum to my fruitless attempts on the apps, right up to my plan blossoming when he told us about his own trouble with Mia.
According to what everyone says, talking about my problemsshouldhave made me feel better, but I’m queasy with worry that Micah's going to hate me.
“Let me see if I got this right,” Micah mutters. He’s pacing up and down in front of the couch. “You matched with this Colin guy online, and you two hit it off. You meet him for a first date, but he figures out you’re a virgin and doesn’t like it.”
I nod and watch Micah walk along the window to my left.
“And when I told you about Mia’s idea”—Micah turns around to march back—“you thought‘hey, why not just lie aboutmy experienceand see if my roommate is down to fuck’.”
I cringe, drawing up my shoulders. It does sound like an asshole move when he says it like that.
“I mean, what the hell? That’s fucked up! Why would you even do that for anyone? Didn’t you ever get the peer pressure talk?”
I huff out a noise that’s half indignant and half amused. “Uhm, pot, kettle? I mean, I don’t get a meeting with someone important out of it, but it’s not that different from what you planned to do? With your athlete guy?”
Micah stops his pacing to look at me, mouth opening.
I meet his gaze head-on.
Huffing softly, he closes his mouth again and drops onto the other end of the couch. He stretches his long legs out, his arms reaching up to cross behind his head. His chest expands as he takes a deep breath.
“Okay, fair.” Turning his head, he looks at me again. It’s harder to keep eye contact like this because his bulging bicep is half in the way.
