“You said that.”
“Bears repeating.” A beat of silence. “You really did it. With him.Again.”
I didn’t flinch, but it was a close thing. “Yeah.”
“Jesus, Jesse.” He shook his head like a disappointed parent. “When I suggested you go get laid, I meant like…pressure release. Not ‘pick the most professionally complicated option you can find.’”
“Yeah, well.” I exhaled and focused on my coffee, bitterness wafting up. “Not like I planned it. Just… He was there. We locked eyes. And the rest is history.”
Shane made a noise that landed somewhere between amusement and sympathy. “Just not the kind that I would teach my kids.”
“Best not.” I set my coffee down a little too hard, liquid sloshing. “And I’d like to blame it on blackout adrenaline, temporary insanity, all that. But that’d be a cheap excuse.”
“Not your style,” Shane said, tone much gentler now.
“I’d hope not.”
“So what was it?”
The multimillion-dollar question.
I stared at my hands. “I just… In that moment? It was like the rules didn’t even really matter. Not by comparison. And I’ve never—I mean, I’ve wanted other guys, yeah. Sure. But not like that.”
Shane was quiet for a second, chewing slowly. “Like what?” he asked then, still so very gentle, almost as if I were a shy animal he didn’t want to spook.
“Like… Like we were synced up. Like it was easy, necessary. Instinct.” It sounded ridiculous out loud. I pushed on regardless. “Like he got it. Me. So I took him home. And it was just… God. It was amazing.”
“Amazing,” Shane echoed, head tilting at a slightly disbelieving angle.
“Yeah.” I clasped my coffee, took a sip. “And yes, thank you. I do realize I sound like I’m on some kind of love drug.”
“Are you?”
I glanced up. “On drugs?”
“In love.”
Jesus. I breathed around the sudden spike of electricity in my gut. “I don’t—I mean. I…”
Something twitched around his mouth. “Eloquent and conclusive.”
“Shut up.”
“Just trying to help.”
“I know.” I did, was the thing, and sometimes, that meant hugs and quiet words of reassurance. Other times, it meant a well-placed kick in the ass—like when he’d split from his long-time girlfriend late last year and I’d eventually needed to drag him back out into a world that extended past teaching classes and binge-watching shows on his couch.
He nodded, smiled. “So?”
No. I couldn’t be. It would be the dumbest thing I’d ever done.
“I don’t think so.” I exhaled. “Like, infatuation, maybe. When he left—after—it felt like a gut punch.”
Shane’s bare foot nudged my socked one in silent comfort. “You asked him to stay?”
“Yeah. He said that if he did, we wouldn’t be able to call it a one-time mistake.” Even now, the memory ached a little behind my ribs—watching him get dressed, how he’d thanked me for a really good time when to me, it had meant so much more.
Shane sipped his coffee for a second, studying me. “He’s probably right. But here’s the real question: Did he want to leave, or did he feel that he had to?”
