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I set the phone back down.I don’t need this. She’s not interested, and I’ve already embarrassed myself tonight.I rolled over again. This time the pillow was warm, though, leaving me tossing again and staring at the still-illuminated screen on my phone. Now she wanted to do this? I groaned, my dick reacting to the idea of dirty texts from RJ, despite knowing I should resist the temptation. I reached for the phone, then set it down. “Dammit,” I muttered into the dark room, sitting up to rest my back against the headboard, the cool air hitting my bare chest.
Lear:Yeah. Make it to Chicago?
RJ:Eventually. Why are you still up?
Even through a text, she sounded accusatory, and I was tempted to set down the phone again.
Lear:Can’t sleep. Did you text me just to lecture me about being awake?
RJ:No.
Lear:“You up?” at 2:30 a.m. usually has a pretty clear meaning.
RJ:I know, but I wanted to tell you something.
I waited, hating how rapt I was when the three dots began blinking, how eager I was to devour whatever she was going to say next.
RJ:It’s not just you.
Lear:What do you mean?
RJ:I think about you, too.
I sat rigid, rereading the text. It wasn’t what I had expected. A few hours earlier it had been what I wanted, but now it felt like she was playing some game. Still, I waited for more dots, like a sucker.
RJ:I think about kissing you... I think about it a lot.
RJ:Kissing you, and other stuff.
My dick was, once again, on full alert.
Lear:Other stuff?
RJ:You were there, you remember the other stuff.
Lear:I remember vividly.
RJ:Yeah. Too vividly.
My thumbs flew over the keyboard, drafting a reply.I wish I could kiss you right now.
RJ:But even though I think about it...
My stomach dipped and I erased the message.
RJ:The thing is, that’s where it needs to stay. I like kissing you and I like the other stuff, but that’s all I can manage.
RJ:That’s a me thing. Not about you at all, but I want to be clear. I don’t want you to get hurt or be disappointed. I can’t give any more than that.
Those words were so RJ—direct, specific, and honest. I should have anticipated them. I slammed a fist against my bed, the gesture ineffectual, my fist making a dent in the soft sheets because I hadn’t anticipated them. My face burned and my erection deflated at her words—for the first time in a long time. The hurt and embarrassment had nothing to do with Sarah or what had happened in California. It was a crushing awareness that I’d made myself the sap again.
Lear:Got it. Enemies with benefits.
RJ:We’re really good at that. Maybe even friends sometimes.
I glanced at the clock again and groaned. I wanted to ask her why this fuck buddy arrangement was all she could do, why she was so resistant to trying anything else or even dipping her toe in the water of something more. I had a wild hair to tell her what happened to me and how I ended up back in North Carolina, but that thought luckily never made it to my fingers. It was a late-night text, not therapy. Feelings hour never led to anything good, anyway, but not caring could serve me well.
Lear:*Really* good.
