Yayoi’s sigh crackles in my car’s speakers. “He told him to move on. That’s all.”
I turn onto the street leading to Ashton’s condo. “Good advice. Is that why he’s got a date with some other woman tomorrow?”
Yayoi remains quiet for a moment. “Aren’t you heading to a date with some other man?”
I remain quiet because what can I say? I’m the monster who drove Asher away, the idiot who’s destroying our entire group.
Her soft voice breaks my silence. “Do you want to talk about it? What happened?”
“I don’t know.” I park on the street. “We were having a good time, and then some girl came on to him, and I got jealous. I won’t even pretend I wasn’t jealous. And then he—he said some things. And then we were kissing. And then—”
Memories surge through me. The salty, woodsy taste of his skin. The graze of his night stubble against my thigh. The fire in his touch. The diamond-hard connection between us, linking my heart to his.
Beyond words. Beyond thought. Just... him.
“And then?” Yayoi prompts.
I shake myself. “And then a lot of stuff happened, and he told me he was in love with me, and I panicked.”
Her tone sharpens. “He said that?”
“Yeah,” I say, but it’s more a breath of air than an actual word.
“Whoa. That’s heavy.”
“I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t really say anything, and he just shut down.”
She’s silent a few moments, but then, “I mean... I did tell you he’s not fling material.”
“And that I’d destroy him.” My tone has grown bitter, but I can’t change it. Iambitter.DidI destroy him? I’m a monster.
“I didn’t mean it like that, Joss. You know that. He’s just more sentimental than you. That stuff means a lot more to him.”
“Physical stuff?” I’m trying hard not to hearslutin what she’s saying—Iknowshe doesn’t think that—but the self-consciousness is rising.
“Yeah.” She laughs. “He’s more like a girl that way, isn’t he? And you’re more like a guy.”
I guess, in this world, being manly is better than being slutty. Though... men are sort of sluts, so it’s kind of the same thing.
“I don’t subscribe to gender norms,” I say, injecting a false haughtiness into my voice.
We take a moment to laugh at the silly joke, or maybe at my idiocy, and settle into a peaceful quiet.
“Are you going to be okay?” she asks.
“I don’t know. Do you... Do you think I put up a front?”
She hums. “I think you’re guarded. It’s hard to get to know you. But once you let someone in, you’reveryyou. There’s no front, and no apology.”
So there’s some truth to what Cassie said. People can see my walls. Maybe they aren’t protecting me at all. Maybe they’re trapping me.
She yawns. “I think the nausea has passed. I’m going to let you go, okay?”
“All right. Good night.”
“Be safe tonight, okay?”
“I always am.”
