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I spend so much time in a lust-fueled daze that I feel like I’m barely noticing the rest of my life as it passes by. The calls from Edward continue and drift onto voicemail as if they never came through at all. My father still doesn’t call and I forget to mind. My mother chirps away about wedding plans and I make appropriate noises while I begin to slide my fingers into James’s waistband.
The small intimacies build as each day passes, become so natural that it’s hard to remember what’s considered acceptable between two people who aren’t supposed to be together. When he’s holding my hand under the kitchen table at breakfast. When he kisses me in the deep freezer, or at the beach, or when he leaves me at spin class. It’s shocking that we haven’t been caught.
But after the second week, Max corners me. “Okay, one of you needs to admit it.”
“Admit what?” I ask. But I know.
“That,” he says, pointing at my mouth as it twitches in an effort not to smile. “The two of you look like that all day long. When you’re not touching each other and pretending it’s an accident, that is.”
“I can’t imagine what you’re referring to.”
“Seriously?” he scoffs. “I know he’s embarrassed by the age difference, but what’s your excuse?”
His words make my stomach drop. Is James actually embarrassed? Enough that Max doesn’t even question it? “When there’s something to tell I’ll let you know,” I say quietly. While I begin to wonder if there ever will be something to tell. Being the fling James is ashamed to acknowledge doesn’t really feel like the start of a fairy tale.
And maybe that’s why he still hasn’t tried to sleep with me. We do everything else, and we get torturously close, but he always pulls back. If this wasn’t something inconsequential — if I were actually his girlfriend — surely it would have happened by now?
“Max is asking questions,” I tell James. “I feel kind of bad not telling him the truth.”
He runs a hand over his face. “Yeah, I know. He asked me too.”
“He already suspects anyway.”
“We can’t,” James says. “He’s one of my best friends but you know what a big mouth he has. He’d think he was being subtle by spray painting it on the front of the house.”
So I have my answer. James absolutely intends for no one to ever know that this is happening. I was willing to accept that condition when this began. Why can’t I be okay with it now?
**
James cuts our next beach trip short. “For my own sanity,” he groans, “you’ve got to stop wearing bikinis.” So naturally we wind up in his room, and hours later we are still there, being startled awake by the light tapping on his door.
“James?” It’s Ginny, and her knocking gets louder. We are both completely naked, his leg thrown over mine, the duvet on the floor and the sheet up to our waists. “Can I come in?”
“Just a minute!” he shouts, his voice slightly strangled by panic. I’m already jumping out of bed, throwing on my shorts and t-shirt. He hands me my bikini and I run, opening the sliding glass door to his small deck. I’m a full story off the ground here, but if I can climb from his deck to Max’s, I can reach the stairs and get out that way. I’m in the process of climbing when the door opens across from me and I see Martin, our creepy neighbor, standing in the side yard with a big, shit-eating grin on his face. Given that I’m suspended mid-air between two balconies, I really don’t have time to worry about the ramifications.
“Need a hand?” he calls.
I ignore him, landing on Max’s deck with a thud and running to the stairs. Martin’s waiting at the bottom when I get there, still smirking.
“What?” I snap.
“Quite the little soap opera going on over here,” he laughs. “I had no idea.”
“Shut up Martin,” I try to move around him but he blocks me.
“So let me see if I’ve got this right. You’re sleeping with James, and the two of you don’t want anyone to know?”
“This is none of your business.”
“This is juicy gossip,” he argues. “So it’s important that I get my facts straight.”
“Please don’t say anything,” I say, just the tiniest bit of pleading in my voice. “It would really mess things up between me and Ginny.”
“What’s it worth to you?” There’s a lecherous look on his face, a gleam in his eye, that tells me he’s not talking about money or free drinks.
“Nothing,” I say. I start to walk off, and he grabs my arm.
“I want a little taste of what James has been getting,” he says.
