There is nothing overtly sexy about the photo—I doubt she’s even trying—but it’s the hottest thing anyone has ever sent me.
I save it instantly, but wait to respond…after typing out several responses and deleting them.
I want to tell her how good she looks and offer the rest of my closet to her. I also want to ask her if she tossed Dylan’s shirt.
Who keeps their ex’s shirt? After how their breakup went down, I’m surprised she’d have it all these years later.
You could tell her, the voice inside me that I hate creeps out of its dark recess. Holding what I did, what I saw, over my head instead of encouraging me to tell her. The guilt I do feel is held hostage.
My phone buzzes again, it’s a group chat, but it has me going back to my conversation with Sutton.
Knew you’d look good in my clothes.
Sutton
How many other girls have you fed that line to?
Let me count…
Zero
Sutton
I’m honored. Do I get a badge or something?
Or something. Like the truth.
God, why did I tell her I didn’t want things to change? I want things to change. Desperately. And in stolen moments, ones like this, I think they are.
Again, I’m typing and retyping a message before deciding to call her. Sutton answers on the third ring, her voice hazy with sleep.
“If this is to ask for a different type of picture, good luck.”
“It’s not.” I chuckle lightly. “But if you were to offer…”
“Not happening.”
“How was the movie?”
“You know I’ve never been a fan of thrillers. Accidentally punctured my Styrofoam cup, then moved on to squeezing Elliot’s hand to the point of bruising.” There’s a rustling of sheets across the line. “Is this phone call my something?”
“Sort of.” I get quiet, and roll over on my side, staring at the bracelet on my nightstand. I rarely take it off, wearing it except when I sleep or shower. It’s been through countless practices and games.
A long stretch of silence passes between us.
“Are you still there?” Sutton yawns.
“Yeah, sorry.”
There’s another wrestling of sheets and a creak of a headboard as if she’s sitting up. “Can I ask you something?” Maybe she’s finally being bold enough for the both of us. I thought I was, calling her to finally tell her, but the sound of her voice had me chickening out. I wanted to protect her then, and I still want to protect her now.
Without a response, she asks, “You didn’t start the rumor, did you?”
One word. One word that has me hanging off the edge of a cliff.
You’d think with the years I’ve had to ruminate on my decision that I’d have the words to tell her. Rehearsed and memorized. But I don’t.
“No.”
