“Come on. It’ll be fun.” Jared traces his name over my back and kisses my bare shoulder. “You said you couldn’t wait to see Win and Peyton.”
“That was before.”
“Before what?”
He chuckles when I say, “Before Jared.”
He runs his tongue across my collarbone, making me shiver. “You were incredible before me, and you’re incredible now.”
“You’re sweet. But I’m not worried about any of that. I just feel awkward with all these people who knew us before we started having sex, and what are we going to tell them?”
“The truth?” he suggests.
“That’s a novel concept,” I joke.
“What feels weird about it?”
“So we’re going to tell them that, yes, we’re screwing, but it’s temporary, so don’t make a big deal when we make out in front of y’all because it won’t last?”
A shadow crosses Jared’s face.
And then it’s gone.
But I recognize the shadow because I’ve been feeling it too.
Fear.
And the reason I don’t call him out on it and try to talk like an actual adult?
I don’t know what to say or how to say it.
I’m a successful businesswoman with a lot of life experience, who’s lived on my own for years. I’ve fought my way into a career that I love. But I do not have experience being in afor-real, actual relationship where I carea lotabout the other person.
I care so much for Jared. When he hurts, I hurt. When he’s happy, I’m happy.
And when I imagine him hurting me, even if it’s unintentional…
I close off.
I can’t imagine it, in some ways.
But I know his fears.
I know his walls.
Because they’re my fears too.
They’re my walls too.
We’re so similar, he and I.
I didn’t have a plethora of men texting me on the daily, but I’m not famous. And I’m not an athlete.
In my own world, though, I can relate. I had no problems getting dates. Or hookups.
But to purposefully and intentionally go into a relationship with the plan for it to last?
That scares the living fuck out of me.
