They FaceTimed, too, several times a week, and in some ways that was both better and worse. Both in the same ways, and for the same reasons: seeing him made everything she was feelingmore. Like, despite being a thousand miles apart, she knew that he raked his right hand through his hair whenever he needed a second to think. There was a pattern to it: He said, “Uh ...” then raked his hair back—he wore a big silver ring on his right middle finger—then answered whatever question she’d asked. If she’d asked him for an opinion, he did all that and said, “I guess,” before he started his answer.
Small things, inconsequential, but in her mind, in her heart, it was a piece of the truth of him, something she’d come to know through their growing intimacy. It felt important.
They flirted, lightly, often. Honestly, their whole conversation history, phone, FaceTime, and text, felt like flirting. Lyra got fluttery with every ping of her phone. She really liked him, and he hadn’t given her any reason for caution, beyond living a thousand miles away. She felt safe with him, and for that, she’d been a great deal more open with him than she normally would be with a guy she was interested in. The distance had allowed them to build up a friendship without the complication of sex, and that was important, too. If they ever had a chance to really get together, they’d be friends first, and maybe they could stay friends if the other stuff didn’t work out.
Except she’d now shoved sex into the middle of their friendship.
Or had sex always been there, and she’d simply finally acknowledged that elephant in the chat room?
That depended, she supposed, on what she said next.
So what should she say?
What do you want it to be?he’d asked. He was like that, careful and considerate, letting her set the pace. When he was here, he’d asked before he kissed her, too. He was an outlaw, but his mama had raised a good boy.
So what did she want it to be?
Her fingers shaking, she textedAn invitation.
His avatar popped up immediately; he still had his phone in his hands, waiting. Now the dots appeared, and she took her turn to wait.
I really like you, Ly.
Don’t want to fuck that up
When Lyra felt a crash of disappointment at a text that was clearly drawing the boundary back in, she understood how much she’d wanted the flirting to become something more. Which was dumb, because there wasn’t that much more it could be, with half the country between them. But one major benefit of texting was that he couldn’t see her real reaction, so she could front cheerfulness without challenge.
As she prepared to do just that, the dots popped up again. So she waited.
Want to ask something,
but please don’t be pissed.
Don’t mean it as pressure
Okay. I really like
you too btw
In light of what he’d said, it felt important to say it back. She got back a grinning emoji, and then more dots.
Thoughts about sexting?
Lyra gasped. Brutus, lying on the floor beside her bed, lifted his big dorky head and gave her a look. When he was satisfied there were no baddies that required eating, he resumed his nap.
Sexting? She had no idea what she thought about sexting, because she’d never done it. Now, she tried to understand how the idea made her feel. Awkward. Blushy. And maybe a little excited.
Don’t stress about it.
Shouldn’t have asked.
Sorry
She’d left him in limbo too long, apparently. Seeking to ease his doubts, she texted something quickly, thinking as she went.
Don’t be sorry! It’s just I’ve never
done it, so I don’t know what I