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“Hey, she’s perfectly sized.” His mock offense gives way to a smug smile. “Can’t handle big, Walker?” He’s wearing the navy suit from the fitting. His hair is pushed back, and he’s freshly shaved. He looks, objectively, very handsome.

I roll my eyes dramatically at him before looking back at the truck. “It’s just that I was expecting something smaller.”

“Yeah?” He opens the passenger door for me. “Why’s that?”

“I don’t know, the name.” I gather the skirt in one hand and attempt the step. “But this is huge. Are you overcompensating?”

He snorts. “You’ve seen me in my underwear. You tell me.”

I squeal. “You had your boxers on; that is not the same as⁠—”

“Not what you’re thinking about right now though, is it?”

It is absolutely not what I am thinking about right now.

Nope, says the extremely honest part of my brain. He is definitely not overcompensating. Does not need to be.

I get myself into the passenger seat and pull the door shut behind me.

* * *

Denver is about two hours away in light traffic, which it isn’t, so we’re looking at closer to three. Cal drives the way I’d expect him to—relaxed, one hand on the wheel, like Sheila is an extension of him. Why is it so sexy when a man drives a car well? We stop at a gas station, and when we realize we’re going to have to go straight into the gala without any time to stop, I tell Cal I need twenty minutes to finish my makeup in the bathroom.

Jake’s text comes through while I’m applying my blush. It comes as a surprise; I haven’t thought about him in a while.

Jake

hey stranger. you home for spring break? was thinking we could meet at my parents place for the usual as they’re away. good to see you either way

I read it twice. It’s a nice message. Jake has never pressured me. He is the least pressuring human being I have ever known, which is the entire reason I chose him, back when I was nineteen and had just built the rule that sex could be a fun release and needed someone to test it on who would never, under any circumstances, make me feel remotely close to attached.

The usual. It makes it sound like a coffee order. I’ll take one of the usual! Oh? No, not a cappuccino. Just a forty-minute drive from my grandma’s to Jake’s, where he’ll hand me a beer, then approximately three minutes of small talk because we have nothing in common, and, to top it off, a comfortable fuck before I drive back to my grandma’s and sleep in my bed and feel precisely nothing except a stillness, which has always felt good.

But I don’t think I can do it anymore. Feel nothing and be calm. I think my brain chemistry has changed, and I have to admit that I want more.

I pick the phone back up.

I consider typing the usual sounds good. I think about how easy it would be.

But I don’t want that. I don’t want him.

Who do you want?

Irrelevant. This is about me, and maybe I want more than what I’ve been letting myself have.

I type it before I can build a reason not to.

Me: Jake. I’m not going to come home for the usual this time. And I don’t think I should next time either (or any future time). You’ve been so good to me. You were exactly what I needed for a long time and I don’t regret a second of it. But I think I’m ready to move on.

I send it.

I put the phone down. The phone buzzes.

Jake: No worries, have a nice break.

I reel back; it’s anticlimactic. What did I expect him to do?

It feels good to have let him go, and I return to Cal with a smile on my face.