Page 89 of These Secret Years

“Yeah, I guess.”

“I mean, I know you sometimes get emotional during sex,” he says. “Maybe you’re not the best case study.”

Somehow I think I managed to forget the time I started crying when Sullivan and I were messing around, but the memory crashes into me all at once. A deep flush heats my upper body, creeping up my neck to my face. It was never like that with Blake, even though I felt like I knew him a hundred times better than I know the guy next to me tonight.

But sharing stories and jerking off on FaceTime maybe isn’t all that intimate. Showing Sullivan what I needed—what I craved, though?

I shake the thought away. It was just a bunch of first times. That’s all that was. Of course I was emotional. I thought I’d never get to have sex, and then he came along and showed me everything I’d be giving up for the only career I’ve ever wanted.

Still, I can’t deny I got emotional when it came to him. It was vulnerable, and I was scared. I was also really lonely. I don’t know what I am anymore. The sadness feels more like pissed off, but maybe anger is easier to feel than grief. “There was a lot going on in my head.”

“I know,” he says gently. “Me too. We all have our own shit. You know, it’s annoying how easy you are to talk to.”

I huff. “Why?”

“I don’t know. It’s just irritating.”

“Is it because you want to tell me about who gave you the car, and it’s annoying to have to keep your mouth shut about it?”

“Maybe.”

“Is it gonna piss me off?”

“Probably.”

“Well, I’m already in a shitty mood, so you might as well.”

“Or…maybe I could just do what I came here to do and suck you off instead.”

Chapter Nineteen

SULLIVAN

Ifigure it was worth a try to offer. He’s right. I am so close to telling him everything. Chelsea’s brand of righteous indignation and sense of manipulative vengeance is one thing, but Knight is huge and could snap Adrian in half. If I really wanted to blow up my life, telling someone like Knight who has powerful connections in his own right and the capability of shielding me from the fallout is tempting.

Would he pay my tuition, too? Doubtful. But sex work is one of those industries that has a lot of opportunity for turning a profit, depending on how far I’m willing to go.

But then there’s this other feeling—do I really want to ruin this evening? Perfect weather, good beer, a guy who’s not looking at me like he wants to tear me in two with his dick? I mean, I’d be a fool to fuck with that too much. Then again, all I need to do is look at my phone to remember why he asked me to follow him up here today. “Sorry,” I say. “Bad joke.”

“Was it?”

“Bad? Or a joke?”

“A joke,” Knight says. He’s hunched over, and his head is tilted toward me, so he’s sort of looking up at me through his hair. I claim temporary amnesia for a lot of what happened last summer, but I can’t say I forgot how attractive he is. He’s gorgeous, but now it’s like—amplified. He’s bigger. He’s popular. His edges are sharper in the hottest way possible. I don’t ever feel a pull toward anyone in particular, and the fact that I feel it with him—well, I always wonder if it’s because of that first perfect night. Like anything that reminds me of that night—the woods, even UNO—will always make me stop and appreciate it for a second. I also wonder if it’s because I know I can’t have him. No one can have him. He’s a poster on a wall. A fantasy. The fact that he’s real and sort of sometimes exists in my life is still a head trip.

Like when I found out he actually did live in Sunrise Point. Because everyone has to be from somewhere, right? I don’t know. It’s just weird, and I never know how to feel about it—I never know how to feel about anything when sex is involved. The only thing I refuse to feel is scarred for life. Adrian might have me now, but he doesn’t get my future. No one does. Fuck, I might not even want it when everything’s said and done. Lately it feels like I’m running a race I can’t finish, much less win.

“It’s what you wanted me here for, right?” I ask.

“If I’m honest, yeah. When I texted you, that’s what I wanted. But as I was getting ready for today—I started thinking about it a little differently, I guess.”

“How?”

“Oh, so I have to confess, and you don’t?”

My heart stutters a little. “It’s a confession?”

“It’s not sexy,” he says.