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A sheepish expression crosses Deacon’s face. “Yeah, I really shouldn’t have done that. I totally sent some mixed messages, didn’t I?”
I shrug. “Yeah, but I’m not complaining.”
He lets out a soft chuckle, and then sighs. “I should probably go. I guess I’ll see you around school.”
“Or you could stay for a bit?” I suggest, suddenly realizing I really don’t want him to leave, even if fucking’s not on the table anymore.
He lets out a sigh, a weary expression crossing his face. “Tanner—”
“Not to f—have sex,” I clarify. “Just… stay. Hang out for a bit.”
His brows shoot up. “You want to…hang out?”
Fucking hell, now I sound like the nerdy teenager asking the quarterback if they want to “study.” And I can’t blame him for doubting my motives; I’ve made it abundantly clear, over and over, that there’s only one thing I want from him.
But apparently that’s not actually the case. Right now, I seriously just want to stay in his presence. Maybe it’s because he’s such a nice, genuine guy and I feel…safe with him. Or maybe it’s because he’s completely removed from the rest of my world. Maybe it’s both.
“I’d like for you to stay,” I say with less hesitation. “I enjoy your company. Even when our clothes are on.”
He eyes me skeptically. “I’m not going to fuck you.”
I hold my hands up. “I already said sex was off the table.” I wouldn’t mind if it was on top of the table, but I’m not going to say that out loud and send him packing.
He hesitates for a long moment, then finally nods. “Alright then. What do you want to do?”
Despite my efforts to behave, my brows shoot up suggestively, prompting Deacon to roll his eyes.
“Tanner…” he says in warning.
“Okay, okay—why don’t you just decide,” I suggest.
His eyes sparkle with curiosity. “You could tell me about your…um…stress relief system? I’ve got to admit, I’ve been fucking dying of curiosity since last week.”
Huh. Well that definitely isn’t where I thought tonight would be going. The only other person who knows about this coping mechanism of mine is my therapist, Dr Cho. I’m not sure why I even mentioned it to Deacon last week; I think maybe instinctively I knew I could trust him.
“Okay…have a seat on the sofa,” I tell him. “I’m going to need a drink for this—you want something?”
“I’d better stick with water. I’ve got a—”
“Big day tomorrow,” I finish, remembering his text earlier. “Of course.”
“Big weekend, actually. My sister’s wedding,” he explains. “I have to drive to Long Island straight after school, then it’ll be non-stop all weekend.”
“Sounds like fun, though,” I comment as I bring his water and a glass of merlot to the sofa. I’m finding myself strangely curious about his life. “Big family?”
He shrugs. “I guess so. I’m one of five.”
I let out a soft chuckle. “Yeah, that’s more than plenty. Your parents must have a lot of patience.”
Even with the large age gap between Jazz and Izzy, it’s still hard to keep up with my three kids at times; I couldn’t imagine having another two on top of that.
“We’re supposed to be talking about you,” he reminds me. “My turn for questions now.”
I sigh with resignation and lean back against the sofa, shifting around a little so I’m facing Deacon. “Alright then, fire away.”
“How did you know?” he asks, staring at me with a curious expression.
“Hmm?”
