But joke’s on him, because even I don’t know what I’m doing.
For the first time in a long time, I don’t bother setting the alarm on my phone. Dolly Parton’s “9 to 5” stays silent, and instead I wake up to sunshine streaming through the French doors, despite the thin white curtains covering the windows. All I have to do is flip over onto my side and I can see the rippling water of the cove outside. I hop out of bed for a quick second to push open the curtains before burrowing back under the soft quilt.
I didn’t sleep in the hoodie, although I sure as fuck thought about it. And I may or may not have brought it to bed with me. It may or may not be tucked under my pillow.
I may or may not be losing my actual damn mind right now.
I don’t know what’s happened to me over the past several months, but I’ve never mooned around over a man before. Okay, maybe “mooning” is a strong word for it, but there’s definitely something stirringaround inside my brain—and my heart—that’s unfamiliar and unsettling. I’ve never done relationships, never once felt the need for a guy for more than a night or two. I have the best friends in the entire world. I’ve always had a job I was good at. And I never had trouble getting off when I wanted to—with either a willing participant or a battery-operated friend. Why would I ever want that to change?
Enter Jack Thomas with his perfect house and charming smile and undeniably pure heart, and all of a sudden there are things happening inside my body I just don’t know what to do with. The lust is there, which is all well and good. But I can’t just ask my roommate if he wants to bone, because then what happens after?
Or, what happens if he says no?
And, like, I’m not sure I want to just bang him and be done. Which is the strangest feeling of all. Sometimes when I lie alone in bed, I think about Jack’s lying next to me. Not pre- or postcoital, just lying there. With me. Sometimes my head is resting on his chest, his hands running through my hair. Sometimes my fingers trace little flower patterns on his stomach. Sometimes we talk. And sometimes we just enjoy the connection between us.
I should want to make these feelings stop, to turn them off like the tap when the bathtub is about to overflow. But I don’t actuallywantto do that, I just feel like I should.
I stretch out on the bed, moving my limbs into a wide star, reaching my fingers and toes as far into the corners of the mattress as they will go.
Then I burrow my head into my pillow, sucking in one last whiff of eau de hoodie, before I pull myself out of bed and head downstairs. Thehouse is quiet, and I don’t spot Jack when I reach the kitchen, in need of coffee as always.
Jack is nowhere to be found, but there’s an iced vanilla latte and a paper bag sitting on the counter with a note.
Had to run into town to talk to some people, but I won’t be long. Make yourself at home, text me if you need anything. —Jack
And see? This right here? This next-level boyfriend shit?
Yeah. Not helping.
Still, I gulp down half the latte in one sip, pulling a croissant from the bag and devouring it. While I eat, I text Harley and Gemma, making sure they are on their way out to their deliveries even though I know they’d never let me down because they’re kind and giving and selfless, unlike their BFF.
Harley texts me back a string of photos, one of each of her assigned arrangements, held up in front of the address it was delivered to. Gemma sends back a selfie where she’s caught herself mid–eye roll.
ME:I love you guys the most. Harley, a little bit more, but Gem, you’re pretty up there. Drinks and dinner on me as soon as I get back!
HARLEY:How’s everything going?
ME:Good. This house is insane. Like the brownstone but bigger and with waterfront views.
GEMMA:Did you guys bang yet?
ME:Seriously? We’re not banging.
GEMMA:But you want to.
GEMMA:Don’t bother lying because we know. So just admit it. You want to bang Jack.
I don’t respond for a minute, taking a long sip of my coffee and then chewing on my lip before finally working up the courage to type the actual words.
ME:Okay, fine. I want to bang Jack.
The text thread explodes with GIFs. Happy dancing ones from Harley, lewd ones from Gemma.
ME:BUT.
ME:I’m not going to. I don’t want to mess this up.
GEMMA:“This” being your living situation?
