I pump my fists in the air, “I made a fire!” I look up and catch Joe watching me, his eyes piercing me in a way that makes my breath catch.
“You’re a natural.” He clears his throat. “How did that feel?”
“Honestly, wonderful. I’d like my campfire expert badge now.” I hold out my hand like he has a stash of trophies and patches for justsuch an occasion. Who knows? He had a stack of firewood and a camp chair ready to go, so maybe?
He slips his hand into mine and pulls me to my feet. “I didn’t bring any awards, but how about we sit down and get warm?”
We settle next to each other on the wide camp chair. I’m trying to respect the friendly boundaries we agreed on, which means ignoring my instinct to curl into him. We’ve already pushed the limits of those boundaries, and as much as I want to be close to him, I don’t want to make him uncomfortable. So I kick off my sandals and drag my bare toes through the sand while I watch the firewood pop and crackle. We’re so close to the lake I can smell the water and hear it lapping against the shore, but it’s too dark to see anything except our fire. Joe isn’t making a peep. I wish I could see his face to know what he’s thinking.
After a few minutes of peacefully staring into the fire, I break our silence. “Thanks for picking me up.”
“Of course. Do you want to talk about it?” he asks in a deep, gentle tone that melts me.
“You don’t want to hear about this. It’s so much.” And it’s painfully embarrassing.
“I have all night.” He leans back, draping his arm across the back of the chair the way friends do when friends are trying to drive each other out of their minds.
I exhale long and slow, gathering my thoughts. I explain how we went live on Instagram and people made comments insinuating that Miles took the terrible, awful Undie-gate picture. I leave out the fact that they called me ugly and nasty and all of the other things I can’t bring myself to repeat.
He nods. “What do you think? Do you think he took it?”
“I don’t think so. What does he have to gain by making me look bad? I’m his girlfriend.Washis girlfriend.”Ugh.That verbal faux pasmakes me want to be sick all over again. “It only made him look bad by association.”
“Why would anyone think he took it?”
As painful as it is, I replay their comments in my mind. It’s hard to forget the last one I read. It’s burned into my retinas:All he did was turn off the filters and she delivered his worst content yet.
This doesn’t sit right. I’ve never beenhiscontent. He had glommed onto me from the beginning, when my mother introduced us. Sure, I liked him. But more than anything I liked that my mother approved of him. The beginning of our relationship is a blur of parties and concerts where Miles always wanted to be tagged in everything I posted. I understood that he was building his career and I liked him, so it was mutually beneficial. Symbiotic at best. Parasitic in the end. But I was neverhiscontent. He wasmyparasite. The comments are all so confusing.
“I don’t know. It doesn’t make sense. It’s probably just internet trolls doing their thing.” Allof the internet trolls doing their thing, though? Every one of those comments agreed that it was Miles.My inner voice is skeptical of my outer voice. I sigh. “Either way, it’s good that I ended things with him. No matter who took the picture and posted it, Miles and I weren’t good together.”
“I agree with that. Wholeheartedly,” he says with a squeeze to my shoulder. "What did your mom do?"
I think back on the events of the evening. "Nothing, actually. We usually ignore the trolls, or block them." She only ignored them, though. None of this feels good. Saying it out loud makes me realize exactly how wrong it is, and I haven't even mentioned the verbal abuse I had endured.
Joe folds his arms across his chest with a barely audible, growly, "Hmm." There is an entire diatribe contained in that short, exhaled expression.
"What?" I want him to tell me how awful it is. Tell me it's enough. Tell me to quit everything and stay here with him. I want him to take the choice out of my hands because I’m not strong enough to do what I want to do. And leaving it all to stay with him isexactlywhat I want to do.
"If I had been there I would’ve said something." His voice is like distant thunder.
"I should have said something." But I feel so weak. He's seen enough of my life that my weakness goes without saying.
His arm is back around me again, this time more around my shoulders and less on the chair. Like friends do. His warmth on my bare shoulders feels like heaven. "Let's practice. Say no to me."
The prospect has my heart galloping. "You haven't asked me for anything. But this is a good idea. Let's try it."
He hums, considering. "Okay. Indigo—"Oh, his voice saying my name makes me a puddle."I want your van. Give me your hideous van."
That startles a laugh out of me. "Oh my gosh, no!" I smack his knee. "That one is too easy. Try again. Something good. Suggest something I’ll have a hard time saying no to."
"Let me think." He drops his heavy hand on my shoulder and absentmindedly slides his thumb up and down my arm. "What’s something Indigo Fox can’t say no to?” he asks himself. His thumb on my arm leaves a trail of goosebumps and I tremble. “Okay, I have one. Give me your hand, Indigo.”
I follow his instructions and grab his free hand, wondering what he’s going to ask me. His strong fingers lace with mine and there’s a zing of electricity that gets my heart pumping. He makes a buzzer sound. “You failed that round.”
“That was the thing? I didn’t know you’re doing this like Simon Says! Do over!” I yank my hand back to my lap. “Someone’s feeling cocky tonight,” I tease.
He shrugs and his arm around my shoulders pulls me closer with the action. “All I’m saying is the word ‘no’ didn’t even cross your mind.”
