“What if I say no?” I ask.
“Why would you say no?” he returns.
“Remember that talk we had about how I don’t kiss guys who have girlfriends?”
“Then I won’t kiss you,” he answers. “On the mouth, anyway.”
Oh my god.
That’s a more tempting offer than I want it to be, but I can’t shake knowing it would be wrong.
“I can’t do that, Dare,” I text back. “I know last night crossed a line, but I didn’t MEAN to cross it, I just… I got caught up. I can’t make plans to knowingly do something like that.”
“Why not?” he asks.
“Because it’s wrong. You’re not mine. You’re not even single with the possibility of maybe someday being mine. You’re in a relationship with someone else, and I don’t want to be with someone who will cheat on me anyway.”
I type all that, but I don’t push send.
I stare at the message, a knot forming in my stomach as I reread it.
I can’t send that.
It’s the truth, though. A truth I don’t want to even think about.
If he’ll do it to her, he would do it to me.
Not that him being mine is even an option. He’s clearly interested in something on the side with me, but it doesn’t seem like he has any plans to actually leave her.
I’m not going to be that person.
Erasing that text, I try again. “You know what went down with my dad, and how much I don’t respect him and the woman he left us for. I can’t do that to somebody, even Anae.”
“This is not remotely that situation,” he sends back. “I am not married, and the only illness Anae has is narcissism. It’s not fatal.”
“I just… I can’t. I’m sorry.”
“Let me come over. We don’t have to do anything sexual, I just want to talk. You told me about your parents’ divorce, but I never got to tell you about mine. Besides, I owe you $300. I’ll bring it with me tonight.”
My brain tells me it’s a bad idea, but my damned fool heart is on his side. I want him to come over, I just don’t want to be a bad person.
He says it won’t be sexual, though, so maybe it could be okay.
Just because I don’t want to be his mistress doesn’t mean I don’t want to be his friend. Talking about family stuff is hardly romantic, and he does owe me that $300…
“Okay,” I type back. “Mom should be in bed around 10:30. Is that too late?”
“Nope. That’s perfect. I’ll see you then.”
___
It’s 10:35. I’m standing outside my house, waiting for Dare to get here.
I guess I’m panicking a little, too. I’ve never snuck a boy over in the middle of the night before. I put Mom to bed about 20 minutes ago, but she might not be asleep yet.
What if she hears him come in?
I feel guilty, and I know that means he shouldn’t be here.
Just as I’m thinking about texting him and chickening out, his matte black car comes creeping up the road and turns into my driveway.
He’s here.
My heart fills up at the mere sight of his car. I can’t see him through the tinted windows, but as soon as he climbs out in a comfy hoodie and jeans, I want to hug him.
Friends hug, right?
It’s too murky. I tamp down the instinct and offer a friendly smile instead. “Hey.”
He closes the car door and engages the locks before sauntering over to me, a smirk on his handsome face. “Hey back.”
I stop short of hugging him, but I do take his hand. “Keep quiet,” I say softly, easing the door open so we can slip inside.
“Is your mom a light sleeper?” he asks.
“Not really. I just have a guilty conscience and I don’t want to explain you being here.”
He chuckles at my honesty. “Got it.”
“Do you want a drink or anything?” I whisper.
He shakes his head. “I’m good.”
I nod and haul him down the hall toward my bedroom. The light is off, so I switch it on and back up against the door so he can squeeze past. He does, pausing when he gets in front of me to look me in the eye. My heart drops as he lingers way too close to me.
I wasn’t sure how long he would be here, so I decided to go ahead and change into my pajamas so I’d be ready for bed when he leaves. I’m wearing sleep shorts and a tank top with no bra underneath. His gaze rakes over me slowly, letting me know he’s noticing.
I’m embarrassed when my nipples harden just because he’s looking at them.
Mercifully, he moves into the room without mentioning it.
I close the door quickly, then linger there as he walks around my bedroom, wordlessly surveying the space. He looks at the pictures and bottles of nail polish on my dresser. Glances at the small, square table crammed in the corner and the bookshelf hanging over it.