Page 67 of Hard to Score

And even knowing all this, I have to acknowledge that our time together hasn’t exactly been get to know you. It’s been more along the lines of get to know your body.

So while our chemistry is intensely crazy and I truly like him, right now we’re simply sleeping together.

There’s been nothing more than that.

And I deserve more than that.

“What’s wrong, Brex?” he asks.

“I just have a lot on my mind.”

There’s a shift in the conversation. In the realization that I’m not sitting here waiting for him.

“Okay. Well, I’ll let you go then. I’d love to see you again.”

I hate that those words cause an ache and burn within. A bittersweet one that knows I’ll give in at some point.

“We’ll figure it out.” I fake a smile even though he can’t see it.

It’s a fine line to walk. Not coming off like a bitch—or feeling like I’m being one. I deserve more than being a booty call, being a mousy woman who accepts that this is just sex and never speaks up.

Neither leaves me satisfied completely.

And maybe I just need a few days to figure out if this is what I want.

Then again, I already know the minute I hang up with him, I’ll regret the decision and miss him.

“Hey, Brex? Am I missing something?”

No, it’s what I’m missing that’s the problem.

“What do you mean?” I feign naively.

“You didn’t answer my calls yesterday and now you’re . . . I don’t know what you’re doing.”

Protecting myself.

Guarding my heart.

Taking care of myself for once instead of worrying about everyone else.

Isn’t that enough?

“Look, you’re right I could have texted you, but for what? For you to be embarrassed about being seen with me again?”

He sighs. “Is that what you think? That I’m embarrassed about being with you? Are you out of your mind, Brex? I want to show you off to the fucking world but, this—you and me—is fucking complicated enough without adding in outside pressure.”

I can all but picture him on the other end of the call. His hand running through his hair and the frustration etched in the lines of his gorgeous face.

But I’m suddenly sitting up a little taller as his words hit my ears and I process them. Is he saying what I think he’s saying? Is he wanting more but uncertain how to get there?

But why? How? There are so many things I want to say but all of them lower my guard and I can’t do that yet. I can’t let him in more when I still feel like he’s partially pushing me away with this complicated excuse.

So I focus on that. On the one thing we need to figure out that seems to be standing in the way in his eyes. “Why is it complicated? How? I see only you when we’re together, I don’t understand why it’s not the same for you.”

“We have a history.”

“No. Our families have a history. Our dads do. It has nothing to do with us,” I say thinking back to my dad’s comments. About accusations made by a seventeen-year-old Drew, and I wonder what it is that he thinks happened.