I can’t enjoy his animal-print boxers. I look away, pack up, and check the room for anything left behind.
Then we go, finding our rental car in the parking lot and tossing our bags into the trunk. Neither of us has said a word about the sex we had last night.
I know we can’t happen again. But his silence seems to say he doesn’t consider that on the table. I know that last night can’t happen again, but my heart is a little hurt that he doesn’t say he would . . . if we could.
Instead, we’re moving on with barely a word. Isn’t that kind of what he’s done since Inés broke his heart? Since she deceived him, he’s protected that organ in his chest with flirt, with swagger, with playboy ways.
I won’t judge him, though. It takes two to tango, and I definitely danced with him last night. We did the fucktrot all night long.
What I can do is this—get us back to where we were. Where we need to be.
We crossed a line but that doesn’t mean we can do it again. Sex leads to feelings and feelings lead to problems and problems lead to shows falling apart right as they’re finding their audience.
There will be no more rocking the boat by rocking the bed.
Someone needs to say it. Before he turns the key in the ignition, I clear my throat. “About last night . . .”
His hazel eyes flash with vulnerability and a bit of longing. “Yeah?”
I swallow past a dry patch in my throat. “Well . . . you know.” I wince. I can’t bring myself to say That was a mistake, or We can’t do it again, even if maybe he feels that way.
Perhaps he senses how hard this is for me. He jumps in, his tone a little heavy. “You were going to say it can’t happen again?”
I sigh, both grateful and sad. “Way to read my mind.”
“I didn’t have to read your mind. I could read your face. It’s all over your expression and in your eyes.”
Even if he’s not saying I want you again but have to resist you, I think it’s in his eyes too. I can’t be the only one who wants what I shouldn’t—can’t—have. “You’re thinking it, too, aren’t you? I mean, there’s just so much—”
“—at stake,” he supplies.
I nod, my throat tight again, my chest jittery. “Exactly.” I gesture to the dashboard as if to indicate the world beyond our sex-capade. “Everything is happening for us at last.”
“And we need to focus on that,” he adds, more certain now.
I inhale sharply. “So that’s what we’ll do. The work.”
“Yeah,” he says, nodding. “The show means the world to both of us. Right?”
It sounds like he’s begging me to agree, and I do. I want this show to take off for so many reasons. For my sister, for Nolan, for me.
“The show means the world,” I echo. I can’t let this chance slip away just because I’m into him.
I only wish I felt a little less achy as we change our flight, tackle the city, and check out as many cool, divey eateries as we can with the extra time.
Later that night, exhausted and energized, we board our Super Saver flight back to San Francisco. I buckle in. Nolan does the same. A peacock sits two rows behind us. I try not to laugh, but I crack up anyway.
Nolan nudges me, whispering, “Admit it. You’re thinking of my boxers.”
“Obviously.”
“I guess you know my secret now,” he says, his gaze drifting to his crotch as if his only secret is the style of briefs he wears.
He closes his eyes, and he feels miles away behind those glasses.
I want to know his other secrets too. Every now and then, I want to tell him the truth about my student loan, but I don’t know if I could get the words out without sounding foolish.
Would he tell me his secrets if I told him mine?
Last night, I showed him some of mine. The things I want in bed. That I want to be hurt a little bit, to feel a little pain.
More than that, I showed him how much I want him.
But, as the plane soars into the inky night sky, I box up those wants and set them on a shelf.
10
Well, That Got Awkward Fast
Nolan
* * *
Emerson and I have been a lot of things to each other. When we met, she was the funny, bold, freckled brunette who lived in the freshman dorm next to mine. She knew all the lyrics to Les Mis and liked to eat Cinnamon Life Cereal for a late-night snack, but not the Lucky Charms I loved because the marshmallows in it are made with meat. Which was a gross thing to learn, but it didn’t stop me from scarfing down the cereal.