“Because you know he’ll say no?”
“Because it’s not what either of us wants right now.”
She points at me. “It’s what you want. I can see it in your eyes.”
“Bullshit.”
Except she’s right. If Jett asked me to be his boyfriend, I’d say yes in a heartbeat. But that’s my problem, not his. It’s not his fault my crush has developed into a full-blown attraction.
“Does he know how you feel?” Aria asks.
“No.”
She shakes her head. “You’re fucking hopeless, do you know that? Tell. Him. How. You. Feel.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I just told you. He’s not ready to date.”
“So, what? You’re going to keep letting him treat you like shit until he decides he’s ready to come out of the closet?”
“He’s not treating me like shit. The no-strings thing was my idea.”
“Why?”
How can I explain it to my friends in a way that doesn’t make me seem sad and pathetic?
“Kian.”
“Because it’s all I want,” I lie. “It’s all we want. It’s fine.”
“No. It’s not. You might have fooled him, but you’re not pulling the wool over my eyes or your own.”
I press my lips together and stare at the table.
“What’s your plan?” she asks.
“I don’t have a plan. I enjoy spending time with him. I know it’s going to end at some point. I’m okay with that.”
She shakes her head.
“I am.”
“I can’t believe you’re going to keep running to heel whenever he snaps his fingers.”
“It’s not like that,” I mutter. How many times do I have to say those words? She’s making my fling with Jett sound awful. It’s not. It’s fun and great, and Jett makes me happy, and—my stomach flips—it’s going to end, and I’m going to get hurt. But when it happens, I’ll only have myself to blame.
“You’re acting like a mistress,” she scolds.
I blink. “Excuse me?”
“‘He’ll come out of the closet and choose me’ is the same as ‘he’ll leave his wife for me.’”
“I never said that he’d promised that. He hasn’t. I wouldn’t expect him to.”
“Maybe not, but you want him to, don’t you?”
