A few weeks and several dates later, Noah and I are inseparable. If we aren’t texting each other, we’re calling each other. If I’m home, he’s there with me, and most winter nights we fall asleep on my couch in each other’s arms with the fireplace crackling and popping in the background.
I always feel him sneak out from underneath me in the wee hours of the morning, kissing me softly before he leaves for work. Each night, Noah swears he’s going home early at least once that week, but night after night he always fails miserably. Trying to let each other go seems far too difficult when we are both so eager to soak up every second together we can.
Deliriously smitten, I’m obsessed with finding out everything I can, mentally and physically, about the man slowly stealing my heart whenever we’re together. I have never felt this way about a guy before in my life. In an attempt to not break my heart, and being entirely new to this kind of feeling, I decide it’s best to only show as much emotion as Noah does towards me. Guarded, I fear showing too much too soon, but have also let myself let go of the fear that consumed me a few weeks back.
Just because I feel this way about him doesn’t mean I have to give up anything. If he feels the same way I do, and if he is falling for me as much as I am for him, he will understand my dreams and won’t want me to give up on them, right? The risk is just knowing where we stand.
Gwen moved in with me around the middle of December after bombarding me with the news of her sudden relocation during our brief night out at Gatsby’s a month ago. Because she would rather die than live with her mother, and I did happen to have a spare bedroom, the choice seemed obvious. Although her move did put a damper on me and Noah’s late-night couch sessions. Since I never venture anywhere near Rex’s, not wanting to bump into any of his latest conquests or hear their late-night escapades, Noah took to spending the nights in my room, which makes holding out on sex that much harder.
I still have not given him the green light to go all the way, and if I’m being honest with myself, I’m not quite sure why. I’ve never been labeled a slut, and I’m also not a prude.
“I’m telling you, the man is gay,” Gwen exclaims one Saturday night over a bottle of wine.
Typically, by now I would be curled around the tall, dark, handsome man that has quickly begun to feel like my other half, but since Gwen’s move, we haven’t had much girl time, so we called off our plans tonight.
“Stop it already,” I giggle, well into my third glass, and having no intention of slowing down.
We had talked about getting food after glass one, but two more glasses, and neither of us has made a move for the door or the phone, which could prove to be a very bad idea soon if we don’t come to our senses.
“Well, then give it to me. Tell me why you know without a doubt that the man isn’t just using you as his beard?” she says, winking at me with a wide smile as she takes another gulp—not sip—of wine.
“He has very skilled hands.” I laugh into my glass.
“Hands?!” she exclaims. “That’s it? Hands? Geez, Ev, that is something you can do on your own.”
Rolling my eyes, my smile widens.
“His mouth is better, though.” I wink.
Slapping my knee, her eyes widen. “I knew it, you little vixen. You’ve been holding out on me,” she says.
Giggling, I wait until she’s settled back in her seat. “And when he uses them both at the same time, hot damn,” I say, fanning myself and laying my head back against the chair.
“Well hell,” she confesses with a look of shock. “He might not bat for the other team after all.”
I smile knowingly and let silence settle over us. As much as I find myself more and more obsessed with the man every day that we are together, and as much as I have given up on the idea that falling for him means giving up me, I still have this feeling deep in the pit of my stomach that I fight with.
I’m not scared or anything—at least I don’t think I am. It’s more the unwillingness to hand over my life, to surrender to him and accept that this might be it. Even if I won’t surrender all plans and dreams to a man I have just met, I know a future typically means building a new set of plans and dreams together. The focus I tried to gain when I first met him is beginning to blur. A world without Noah is a world I’m not sure I want to live in.
But am I ready to build new dreams and somehow fight to keep my own?
The ill feeling in the pit of my insides builds every time I think about it all. It holds me back from jumping over that edge. From allowing myself to feel completely the way that I imagine other people feel.
What if there is so much more that I’d be giving up by giving in? What if I find myself slowly compromising each day, each month, each year for him? What if in the end I’m left with a shell of what I used to be?
Gwen gives me a questioning look, sensing something is up with the long silence. “What is it?”
“I’m not sure,” I admit honestly. “I mean, I should be on cloud nine. I should be so excited and want to shout it from the top of my lungs. I should be giving in and doing things like going all the way, not holding back, and yet …”
“And yet …” she echoes.
Shrugging my shoulders, and shaking my head, I force a smile. “Nothing,” I lie. “I’ll figure it out. Or, it will figure me out. Besides, there is always more to life than love and romance right?” I ask, more making a statement than questioning the validity of what I had just said.
“Damn straight, lady,” she exclaims, clanking my glass with her own. “It only burns you in the end anyway.”
She gets up and makes her way back to the kitchen to grab some more wine, and I am left with my thoughts. Deciding best to push them down where they came from, I straighten myself up a little taller on the couch and raise my glass to my lips and take a sip.
“Burns you in the end …” I say aloud, echoing her this time.
