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I keep thinking about how I saidPick something beautiful or interesting to drawand he picked me. And then got frustrated with himself because he couldn’t get it the way he wanted it.
I keep thinking about how easy it would be to fall for him, for real. To start off having casual sex, and somehow slide into making love.
Gage is waiting for me to take his hand and stand. His grin is confident, but there’s something almost vulnerable in his eyes.
Slowly I get to my feet, ignoring his outstretched hand. “Gage...I think maybe going back to your bedroom is a bad idea.”
“Fine, let’s do shower sex.”
“Gage.” I cross my arms. “You know what I mean. This was great. More than great.” I swallow. “But we have to keep living together, working together, and fake dating each other for another six months. If we keep sleeping together, that could be...”really wonderful“really messy.”
Gage's jaws tightens. For a second I expect him to fight me on this, the way he’s been fighting me on everything since the first day I walked into his office.
But all he does is scratch his jaw, where the rough prickles of his five o’clock shadow are coming in. “If that’s what you want,” he says casually.
As if he doesn’t care one way or the other.
Why does that hurt so much?
“Right.” I gather my art supplies and the leftover food. “I’m going to clean this up then go to bed. Good night.”
“Good night, Violet.” His voice is low and husky as I head to the kitchen
I know I made the right decision.
But that doesn’t make it any easier to walk away from him.
* * *
On SundayI flee to Brooklyn, taking refuge in Maria’s company. We meet at the Brooklyn Museum and wander through a post-modernist exhibit about the evils of capitalism. Weirdly, I think Gage would like it. None of the art is boring. And there’s a photo of a wide-open sky I think he’d like. It takes up almost the whole wall so that you can’t help but feel free when you stand in front of it.
Don’t think of Gage,I tell myself.
But it doesn’t do any good. It doesn’t matter which exhibit we wander through or what topic Maria brings up. Every other thing we pass seems to make me think of Gage.
“Okay, spit it out,” Maria says as we step outside into the sun and wander over to Prospect Park.
“Spit what out?”
We half-jog through the bicycle lane to avoid getting run over by a middle-aged man in spandex.
“What is it like to live withGage freaking Crawford?” Maria blurts out. “Is he as much of a jerk as he is at work? Or does he secretly watchThe Great British Bake-Offand sing in the shower?”
“Thankfully, I can’t hear anything he does in the shower,” I try to joke. But I’m hit with the memory of Gage suggesting shower sex last night when I tried to put the brakes on...whatever we were doing.
Is it possible to feel turned on and sad at the same time? Because I think that’s how I feel right now.
“Okay, something weird is going on with your face right now,” Maria says as we step into the park. She pulls me over to the nearest bench. “Spill.”
I sigh. “Tom said this thing last night about how Gage doesn’t do relationships, so I shouldn’t get attached. And he’s right. I know he’s right.”
“But...” Maria prompts.
“But I-kind-of-already-had-sex-with-him,” I say in a rush.
“Youwhat?” Maria shrieks, delighted. “Damn, girl. Was it good?”
“God yes,” I sigh, slouching into the bench.
