My heart sinks. My arms and legs are heavy. Hell, the entire world is heavy.
It still feels impossible, doing this without her, doing anything without her.
I didn't think about her last night. I didn't think about her when I was with Miles. Maybe that's worth the risk of the complication.
It can't be worse than this. Nothing is worse than how badly this hurts.
I grab my phone.
Meg: Did you mean what you said in the car? About sleeping with me.
Miles: Is that an invitation?
Meg: Just a hypothetical question.
Miles: Hypothetically, I can be at your apartment in twenty minutes flat.
Meg: Would you really come right now? It's the middle of the night.
Miles: That's the usual time for a booty call.
Damn. He makes it sound simple. Is he really that casual about everything? It doesn't seem possible. The guy who sings In Pieces is tormented. He's hurting. He's committed.
The Miles who's texting me is flirting, sure, but that's as far as his investment goes.
Meg: Nevermind. I should go to
bed. Forget I said anything.
Miles: I'll be your first.
Meg: I didn't say I was a virgin.
Miles: You are.
Meg: And you know that how?
Miles: It's cute you're so defensive about it.
Meg: It's not cute.
Miles: Why not admit it?
Meg: What's it matter to you? Trying to hit a quota of "virginities taken"?
Miles: Don't have a fetish for it. But I would like to fuck you, Meg. I'll make sure your first time is good. That it doesn't hurt. That you come. But only if it's what you want.
* * *
All week, my phone is silent. There isn't a peep from Miles. No new texts when I wake up. No new texts when I check my phone at lunch. None during my study break between class and work. None when I get home from a shift at the ER.
His last text sits there, that smooth, confident offer to take my virginity. Like it's no big deal.
To him, it isn't a big deal.
It's not like I've been waiting. It's just that not dating makes it difficult to have sex.
I don't want a boyfriend. I really don't. But I don't want to be a notch in someone's bedpost either.