He brought it up a few nights later.
We were holed up in the den, the rest of the house quiet, lights turned low. A cheesy Christmas movie flickered on the screen—something with twinkle lights and fake snow—but neither of us was watching. Tru was half-curled into my side, a blanket slung over his legs, his thumb absently tracing the stitching on my jeans.
“I saw Lauren texted you,” he said casually. Too casually.
I stiffened, just a little. “Yeah,” I said. “She’s home for break. Wants to meet up.”
“You going to?”
I turned to him, heart starting to pound. He wasn’t looking at me. His gaze was locked on the TV, but he hadn’t reacted to anything on the screen in ten minutes.
“No,” I said firmly. “I told her I was busy. And I am.”
Tru remained silent, eyes forward. His hand had gone still.
“When I was with her,” I said slowly, “I wanted to be with you. So why would I leave you now to go back to her?”
He let out a breath. “’Cause she puts out?”
I blinked, startled. Then laughed, short and rough. “I wouldn’t know.”
He turned then, brows drawn together. “What doyou mean?”
I rubbed at the back of my neck, feeling my ears flush. “We fooled around, but we never had sex.”
“You serious?”
“Dead serious.”
His frown deepened. “Why not? She wanted to.”
“Yeah,” I said, grimacing. “She did. Pushed for it a lot. But I just... I wasn’t into it. And her parents were crazy strict. Wouldn’t let her use birth control. I seized on that like a lifeline. Told her we couldn’t risk it.”
“You used her parents as an excuse to not have sex,” Tru said slowly, like he was still processing it.
I gave a small, guilty shrug. “I didn’t know how to explain it. Not even to myself. Back then, I thought I was broken or something. Or just... bad at being a boyfriend.”
Tru let out a low sound, half exhale, half laugh. “You really were in denial.”
“Oh, full-blown. I should’ve gotten an award.”
He was quiet for a second, then leaned closer, nudging his head against my shoulder.
“I’m glad it’s going to be me,” he murmured.
My heart snagged. I turned, pressing a kiss to the crown of his hair. “Me too,” I whispered.
He tilted his face up to look at me. “You sure?”
“Tru…” I swallowed. “I’ve never been more sure about anything in my entire life.”
He kissed me then, slow and warm, nothing like the frantic touches we shared in secret. This one was just ours. No rush. No hiding. Just lips brushing softly, breath mixing, his fingers curling around mine like an extension of my hand.
We sat like that for a while. The movie played on in the background, the faint glow flickering across our faces. Somewhere upstairs, someone laughed. A floorboard creaked. But the rest of the world faded.
Here, in the quiet of this room, he wasn’t a dirty secret. He was mine. And I was his.
CHAPTER 32
