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8
MIA
April 2nd
“Do you care?”
Sebastian doesn’t lift his head from my tits. Even though we finished a couple minutes ago, we’re still entwined; his cock halfway inside me, his mouth on my sensitive breasts. I scratch my nails through his hair, whimpering when he sucks on a nipple.
“Care about what?” he says.
I swallow down a rush of embarrassment. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, after all—it’s a part of me that I can’t change, and don’t want to change in the first place. No matter what my family thinks about it.
“That I’m bisexual.”
He does look up then. “Why would I care about that?”
I pull away. We’re in my room—Penny is with Cooper, again; they went to the Rangers game with his parents—and my body protests leaving the cocoon of warmth, of him. I wrap my arms around my legs, resting my chin on my knees.
I told myself that this wouldn’t affect me. It’s a fair question to ask the guy I’ve been sleeping with, exclusively, for months now. “People assume so many negative things about me because of it. My parents—they barely understand. I try not to talk about it with them.”
He sits up too, as unselfconscious about his body as always. The silver medallion necklace that he told me belonged to his father glints in the moonlight, accentuated by the dark lines of the tattoo over his heart. “It’s part of you. Part of what makes you Mia. I like you, Mia. Every part.”
“But people—”
“People are biphobic assholes,” he interrupts. He reaches out, brushing his knuckles over my cheek. “I don’t care about a bunch of stereotypes that don’t mean a thing anyway. All I care about is that you like me.”
I choke out a little laugh. “I do like you.”
“Then go to dinner with me.”
I freeze. The words sink in slowly. He must sense the way my body just seized up, because his hand drops away, putting a little distance between us.
“Vesuvio’s,” he says. He laughs slightly as he scrubs at the back of his head. His hair has gotten shaggier. Even though he’s a baseball player, he reminds me of a surfer. Golden through and through. “We can go out for a proper date, finally.”
Vesuvio’s is Moorbridge’s nicest restaurant. When my parents dropped me off at McKee my first semester, we went to a celebratory dinner there. I figured the next time I’d go, it would be for my graduation dinner. My dad might even have a reservation already. To go there on a date, though? With Sebastian, of all people?
It would be so easy to give in. But to do that would mean putting a label on this thing, and it would lead to expectations that I won’t be able to meet.
I swallow, casting around for something else to focus on. Anything but his bottomless green eyes. “I can’t.”
“Can’t?”
“Not… not yet.”
He stares. I wonder if maybe he’s going to leave, if I drove him away ahead of schedule, but then he shakes his head slightly and says, “Okay. We’ll wait a little longer.”
He kisses me, and I kiss him back.
And I feel a strange unraveling in my heart.
9
MIA
When evening rolls around,I end up at Red’s. I have my fake ID in my wallet, but most of the time I don’t get carded; this is the sort of place that plays on the fact it’s a college bar.
I desperately need a drink. That’s the first objective of the evening.
