“How?” he asked skeptically.
Maybe he wasn’t ready to learn more about me. But would anybody outside of an online forum?
I took a deep breath and tried to focus on driving, blinking through the prick of nervous tears. People found my 'headspace' sweet at best, revolting at worst.
But we only had a few weeks left before the end of the season. I might never have to see Harvey again. So far, he’d found all my idiosyncrasies charming. He played in the snow. He gave me a piggyback ride, free cookies, and drawings. He obviously cared about me to some degree. Maybe he would still like me.
“They help me relax,” I said, raising a shoulder in half-apology.
Harvey laughed.
But it wasn’t funny. Not to me.
Pressing his body against the door, he stared at me. “Wait, are you being serious?”
Part of me wanted to backtrack and enjoy the night, dancing around the truth of who I was, watching TV together for at least one more great memory. But I didn’t want to lie. Or goad him into liking me only to break both our hearts if he hated such an integral part of what made me happy.
My throat tightened around the admission: “I like being ‘Little.’ It’s comforting.”
“Oh.” He curled his fists in his lap. “I’m sorry.”
For what, though? Sorry he laughed? Sorry I’m not the girl of his dreams? Sorry we can’t watch TV? He obviously knew what ‘Little’ meant: someone who acted younger than they were, almost like a vulnerable, emotional alter ego. But would he want to date or 'Daddy' anyone like me? Would he still be friendly?
Harvey unbuckled his seatbelt before the car fully stopped moving. “Don’t worry about helping me brush off the car. I should get going.”
Oh no.Peppermint-flavored bile flooded my throat. I parked one spot over from him. “Harvey–”
“It’s late.” He tugged his cap down and avoided my gaze. “We’ve both had a long day. I’ll see you around, okay?” He got out and closed the door, my rickety old car lurching from the impact.
Static pulsed in my chest, pinning me to my seat.
I wasn’t sure if I should explain or leave, be devastated or angry. He didn’t know me. We didn’t owe each other explanations, time, judgments, or treats.
But he liked me. He liked me until he got to know about my blankie.
If I was better behaved, or sexier, or funnier, or more grown-up, maybe…
No. It wasn’t meant to be.
I had to beme.
I did my taxes. I drove. I bought my own groceries. I had responsibilities.
I still did grown-up things, and Harvey could do a lot of them with me. We had so much fun. We could be amazing.
But not if he was uncomfortable with Little things. Age play wasn’t for everybody, even if they weren’t actively participating. And that was fine. I wasn’t a freak. He wasn’t mean. This was about compatibility.
Shuddering through shaky breaths, I curled forward so my hair would cover my face, then pretended to look at my phone as I wiped my wet, stinging eyes. Just a few more seconds and I’d be good enough to drive.
Everything would be fine.
My crush didn't like me. Yeah, it was disappointing. But I didn’t need him. Or my blankie. Or anyone who’d judge me.
Hopefully, he wouldn’t tell anybody about the secrets I kept in the back seat.
Windshield wipers squeaked.
I blinked, willing everything to stop being blurry so I could drive away, leaving Harvey and all my stupid hopes and dreams behind me.
