Yup. Freakingthe fuckout.
“Stephen and I were together for four years.”
Well shit. That snaps me back to reality ‘cause, damn.
“Being with him was the only relationship I’ve ever been in, and he’s the only one I— I haven’t—” he lets out a nervous breath as his eyes flick up to check my expression.
Oh shit, is he telling me what I think he’s telling me?
“I hadn’t really, you know, been with anyone else before we were together? And I haven’t been since—since he died. Not…really.”
Yeah, he is.Oh, sunshine—
I thought I’d seen nervous, sweet, heart-on-his-ugly-sweater-sleeve Jesse before. I was dead wrong though, ‘cause I’m seeing him now.
And holy fuck, but I think he’s about to break my heart.
Then another selfish-ass thought comes crashing into my head, and I can’t let go of the thing. I’m not gonna try and pretend like I get how Jesse feels about sex, but— “But you wanted to? Withme?”
And what does that mean, considering how he’s just admitted that he’s never fucked anyone except for Stephen?
“Tristan,” he levels his gaze on me, all serious and no-nonsense, and for a moment, my adrenaline spikes and all I can think about is that I need to get the fuck away because he’spissed. He’s so fucking pissed I just asked him that shit—
“Istillwant to,” he whispers, “withyou.”
Oh.
Not pissed—
“I want to be with you like that more than I’ve ever wanted anyone before.” He reaches up and runs a hand through his already adorably mussed up, never-styled hair.
“This is what I have to explain because it’s so fucked up and it’s fucking me up.” He shakes his head. “I sound like an asshole for saying it—Jesus, Ifeellike an asshole because I loved him so much, but things with Stephen were never like that. At least, not for me.
“He was my best friend before anything ever happened between us, and until it did, I’d never thought twice about him as anything more than a friend. We got drunk one night and kissed, and when I realized the next day that, even though it hadn’t meant anything to me, it meant so much to him, I just couldn’t let him down.
“I know how bad it sounds, especially that I stayed withhim for so long, and we’d made all sorts of plans, but we were happy, and a big part of me wondered if the affectionate, comfortable sort of love the two of us had really was it. That maybe passionate,I need you right nowchemistry was just made up in books and movies, and that what we had should be enough for me.”
In a total Jesse move, he looks down, shuffling his feet in their skin-crawlingly mismatched socks against the worn carpet.
“Tris, Iwant youthe way I’d talked myself into believing wasn’t real. From that first day I saw you, I haven’t been able to get you out of my head for a single minute.”
He looks up, his face flaming sunset and totally adorably hopeful and uncertain, and those crazy-ass butterflies feel like they’re about to rip me apart from the inside out.
Suddenly, I’m scared to fucking death that maybe those butterflies might be about more than how he’s legitimately just told me that he wants me more than he’s ever wanted anyone else. That maybe they’re related to that stupid-ass part of me that I’m fighting harder and harder to shut down that can’t stop hoping that maybe it’s not only my body he hasn’t been able to get out of his head but…me.
“I’ve felt so horribly guilty ever since Stephen died, Tris. Guilty that he’s dead and I’m alive, guilty that I didn’t give him everything he deserved because I didn’t love him like I should have. Guilty that I wasn’t brave enough to just tell him from the beginning that we weren’t right together and that he deserved someone who wasinlove with him.
“And then tonight, kissing you and thinking we were going to have sex— I wanted all of it more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.” His voice drops to a hoarse, miserablewhisper. “So much more than I ever wanted anything with Stephen. And when I realized it was actually going to happen, I literally felt for a second like the guilt of that was going to kill me, and I just…couldn’t.
“Tristan,” he pulls back from me, shaking his head again. His forehead’s all scrunched up and the look in his eyes is so serious I’m actually afraid of what he’s about to say next. For once though, it’s not because I think it means I’ve fucked up.
“Tris, I don’t want to give up on this,” he waves his hand between us, and the butterflies in my stomach are back in full force. “Could you— Will you be patient with me? Can we slow things down? Like, a lot? It’s okay if not— I totally understand if— I just— I can’t— I need some time—”
“Shh, sunshine,” I cut across him. His hair is warm and soft when my hands tangle in it, and the quiet sigh that he lets out when I lean in against him, close enough that our chests bump together and I have to tip my face up to see his is fuckingeverything. “We can go as slow as you need to, whatever that looks like.”
I know I should be freaking the fuck out. The territory we’re venturing into feelswaybeyond anything I should be letting myself anywhere near. It feels fuckingreal, and I know I should want nothing to do with it.
So why has that selfish, panicked part of my brain that had, just a moment ago, been screaming for me to run, suddenly gone silent?
