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“I’mfine,”Ichirp with a tight smile, digging my fingernails into my palms and hoping he won’t notice the sweat glistening on my forehead.
“Youhaven’t taken lunch yet, have you?Goget a drink at the gas station and cool off.”Hewaves away my protests. “Goon.Sallywill still be here when you get back.”
“You’rea bitch,Sally,”Imutter, shoving her body into the corner and fishing her head out from under a rack of coats.Richardis watching, soIturn toward the convenience store down the block even thoughIcan’t afford to waste money on a drink.Fatbrown grasshoppers scatter from under my feet asItrudge through the relentless heat.Shavingmy head would probably cool me off by five or ten degrees, butIthinkBeckwould die of grief.
Itonly takes me a couple of minutes to use the restroom and gulp down lukewarm water from the nearby drinking fountain.Iwet my palm and wipe the back of my neck, then sit on the sidewalk with my back against a shady wall soIcan deal with the text that came in an hour ago.EversinceIread those nine words,I’vebeen fumbling around and messing up basic tasks like a fool.Partof me hopesIhallucinated it and it won’t be there.
Nosuch luck.Onemessage fromThePainInYourAss, the contact nameBeckgave himself a year ago.Nowit feels like a double entendre.
ScoutandRomanare going to bed early tonight.
Ishiver, even though the air is sweltering.Myfingers feel clumsy asIpick out a hesitating response.Weonly talked about this three days ago.Isit too soon?
Ittakes him ages to answer asIbounce my leg nervously and pick pebbles out of the crack in the concrete.Ijump when my phone buzzes.Whatare you waiting for, baby?
Closingmy eyes,Irest my head back against the rough brick wall.I’mwaiting to feel ready,Iguess.AndI’mfeeling less ready every day.Whatif our idea backfires?Whatif the sex sucks?Whatif he sees my body and changes his mind?Thiswhole thing was supposed to clear my head of hangups, but inventing bigger and better hangups is my ultimate skill in life.
Thephone starts playing the brassy opening notes of my ringtone–“HighHighHopes” byPanic!AtTheDisco.Isnatch it up. “Can’ttalk.Ihave to be back at work in like ninety seconds.”
Beckignores me. “Youknow what a safe word is, right?”
“Yeah…”Myalready queasy stomach clenches.Thisfeels so realIcan’t breathe.Youdon’t need a safeword when you’re fantasizing alone at night.
“Pickone,” he orders.
AsIscramble to my feet and start making the return trip,Ican’t tell ifI’mlightheaded from this conversation or from the heat rippling off the asphalt. “Ineed to go.”
“Thenpick one while you walk.”
I’venever tested who’s more stubborn,Beckor myself, because the heat death of the universe would come before either of us gave in.ButtodayI’mtoo flustered and off-kilter to put up a fight. “Papaya,”Iblurt, grabbing the first word in my head.
Icanhearthe snarky look on his face. “Um, okay.”
“Don’tbe a dick,”Isnap. “Haveyou ever eaten papaya?”
“Dude, what do you think?”
“Andneither haveI.Safewordsare supposed to be things you’d never talk about otherwise, so it’s a flawless choice.”
Hishoarse chuckle fills my ear. “Whateverfloats your boat,Dal.”
“Fine, so what was the point of that?”
Hehesitates for a second, andIcatch a hint of the same nerves boiling in my chest. “Ithink we should do it tonight.Nomore freaking ourselves out.Butif you really, truly can’t, just text mepapaya.Deal?”
Nomatter how hardItry,Ican’t seem to answer him directly. “I’mat the shop.I’lltalk to you later.I–”Pausingwith my hand on the door,Iconsider the words waiting on the tip of my tongue.Societytells us to save them for a dramatic, rainy night when the star-struck couple fixes all their problems and runs into each other’s arms.Itcomes at the end of every romantic story, not the beginning.Butfuck it.It’sbeen true for two years, regardless of what label we put on ourselves. “Ilove you.”
“Loveyou too,” he rumbles happily.
OnceImanage to getSallyin her fucking clothes,Ispend the afternoon ringing up customers, making inventory sheets, and tidying displays while turning over the shape of the wordpapayaon my tongue.Ieven type it into my phone.ButIdon’t send it, and as the sun sinks into twilight outside the shop andIhelpRichardlock up, arousal claims my body until my boxers are shamefully wet andIcan’t bring myself to meet my boss’s eyes.
WhenIdrive home,ScoutandRomeare already in their room with the sound of an action movie blasting through the wall.Beck’sdoor is shut, soIrap on the stained wood.I’mthe only person in this house who knocks.Mymom taught me perfect manners, and her voice in my head is the only part of herIhaven’t lost yet.
Hegrunts, soIpush the door open and duck inside, closing it behind me.Beckis sprawled shirtless on the bed, watching sneaker review videos on his phone. “Hey.”
Ican’t take my eyes off the swell and dip of his muscles under the intricate artistry of his tattoos.Followingmy stare, he smirks and stretches his arms over his head. “C’mere.Idon’t bite.”
Iperch my ass on the edge of the bed. “WhatifIwant you to?”Thatwas meant to be a joke, but it sure doesn’t sound like one.
