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BRADY: Would you like for me to describe in detail to him what we do when we hang out? I mean, I don't normally kiss and tell, but if you want him to know exactly how kinky we just got, I guess I can make an exception.
ME: NO!
ME: Of course I don't want you to tell him that. He's going to ask you questions, though, about why I was there, and I didn't know how you would respond.
BRADY: We're friends, dove. Friends hang out. Plus, he's in his own head tonight. He hasn't even mentioned bumping into you yet.
Friends.
Right.
Maybe that's all we are to him.
My thumbs hover over my keyboard, ready to type a response, but I don't know what to say to him. Instead of putting myself out there and getting hurt, I toss my phone in my passenger seat and decide to put some distance between us.
Maybe that's what I need right now.
Distance and time to think about what I want. What we are. If I want to keep doing what we're doing.
Things between us have moved at the speed of light. One second, we were standing in the bookstore, two friends and former lab partners chatting, and the next we were in his bed. I was screaming his name as he thrust inside me.
My first real relationship, my senior year of high school, lasted seven months. We dated for six before we finally had sex. And even then, we only had sex twice before we broke up. We cared about each other, but the spark just wasn't there.
Then my freshman year I hooked up with the first guy who asked me out, on our first date. Things were hot and heavy, clothes went missing. I knew having sex wouldn't be a good idea, but I still went back to his room with him. Thankfully when we got there, his roommate was already inside with a girl riding him.
My date's suggestion ... an orgy.
I didn't even spare him a glance as I walked away. A one-night stand, hooking up on the first date... I could deal with those things. Everyone has their moments of weakness where they make stupid decisions. But an orgy was crossing the line in my book. I barely knew the guy, I didn't know his roommate, and from what I could tell, the girl was drunk.
All of that aside, my one date with him was a wakeup call to be more careful. Self aware. To choose better. To get to know someone before jumping into bed with them. And since then, I've been exceptionally picky.
Which is why I've only dated one guy.
And he was an asshole who broke my heart.
Of course he didn't start out that way. Nope. He was the perfect gentleman. Treated me like a princess. Hell, he called me princess. Showered me with affection. Right up until the point he decided I wasn't enough for him.
"Excuse me!"
I never yell. Ever. I'm the peacekeeper. It takes a lot to get me to raise my voice.
"I'm sorry, Mya. I can't help the way I feel."
"And you feel like you've wasted seven months of your life because why again?"
I can't even believe I'm having this conversation right now. Yesterday, things were great. Last night was date night, the one day a week we both committed to spending together since this semester has been busy. We went out for a nice dinner. The conversation flowed easily as it always does. We went back to his place and made love.
And now he's breaking up with me.
"Does it really matter?"
"It does to me."
"Listen, I just don't feel like we have as much in common as I thought. I want things out of life that you don't. And you shouldn't change to make me happy."
You've got to be kidding me right now. Is he really eluding to what I think he is?
"Is this about last night? The fact I wouldn't let you put your dick in my ass?"
