I laugh at myself. How silly. I’m the one at home.
I click over to my text thread with Easton. It’s midnight there. I bet he’s still awake. And because I know he’ll tell me the truth, I send him a message before I can talk myself out of it.
Me: Would you have dated someone in high school who didn’t put out?
Easton: I did a few times. Not every relationship got that far.
Me: But did you end things because you weren’t sleeping together?
I stare at my phone for a long time. The bouncing dots that indicate he’s typing appear and then disappear. Shit. I probably sound like an immature child.
Me: You can be honest with me. I won’t judge you.
Easton: If my answer was yes, you fucking SHOULD judge me.
I can practically hear his voice just reading the words. I can see his nostrils flare in disbelief. I miss him.
Me: So . . . why didn’t you answer?
Easton: Because this conversation makes me want to come back to Jackson Harbor and beat the shit out of this boyfriend of yours.
Crap. I clearly didn’t think this through. I’m an asshole who’s going to get my sweet, awkward math nerd boyfriend pounded by an NFL quarterback. Cause of death: irresponsible texting.
Me: I never said I was talking about my boyfriend.
Easton: But weren’t you?
Me: Not exactly.
Easton: What does that even mean?
Me: It means I was asking in general terms, but I’m not saying he’s going to break up with me if we don’t have sex.
Easton: You wouldn’t be asking if you didn’t think it was a possibility.
I throw myself back on my pillows and whimper. I’m making a mess of this. I don’t want to throw Steve under the bus, but I truly do want advice. I could talk to my brothers, but they’re irrational when it comes to me. They’d freak out if they knew I’d let a boy up my shirt, let alone if they knew I was thinking about having sex. I could talk to my girlfriends, but I want a guy’s perspective on it.
Me: I’m afraid he’s going to get sick of waiting.
Easton: Nah. If he loves you, he’ll wait forever.
Me: And if he doesn’t love me?
Easton: Then you shouldn’t have sex with him anyway.
Me: Hypocrite.
Easton: How do you figure?
Me: You’ve NEVER had sex with someone you didn’t love?
Easton: Let me get back to you.
Me: Need time to get the list together?
Easton: Need time to put together my defense.
I’m still laughing when his next text comes through.
Easton: This isn’t about me. It’s about you, and YOU deserve the love, the roses, the fucking fairytale. Don’t settle for less.
I turn off my screen and close my eyes. I clutch the phone to my chest, and I’m smiling as I fall asleep.
Shay
Teagan pulls her door open before I have a chance to knock. “I thought you might come over. Do you want to talk?”
“No. I want to go to the bar and drink until I forget that Easton Connor just walked back into my life and set off a bomb in the middle of it.”
“Okay.” Because she’s the best fucking friend ever, she grabs her purse. “Let’s go.”
I shake my head. “Tried that already, but he was there.”
“So you don’t want to go to the bar?”
“I want to go and him not be there.” I growl. I sound mental. “He had the nerve to kiss me.”
Teagan’s eyes go wide and she does that fish-mouthed trying-to-speak thing for a few beats before shaking off her shock. “Easton Connor kissed you?”
“Yes.” I stomp into her house and toss my purse onto the couch with more force than necessary. Teagan and Carter live together in the little two-story craftsman Carter’s been fixing up for a couple of years. Isaiah, a high school senior and the son of Carter’s late friend, lives with them in the refinished attic. Carter has pretty much gutted the whole house and put it back together one piece at a time. It’s adorable, and when he’s around, I love talking to him about what comes next in this massive makeover. But tonight, I’m glad he’s not here, because the last thing I want is for him to hear me rant about Easton. Easton and his presumptuous bathroom kissing. “Self-centered, egotistical motherfucker,” I mutter.
“Wow. Okay.” Teagan closes the door and joins me in the living room. “So you didn’t want him to kiss you, but he did. What did you do?”
“I went off on him, and then I left because I just . . .” I try to drag a hand through my hair and end up making a mess of my ponytail.
Teagan shakes her head and straightens the blanket on the back of the couch. “You know what? I think I’ll go get us a couple of beers.”
“Do you have anything stronger?”