“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I just wasn’t prepared for that. Yeah, take ‘em off.”
“If tonight’s not a good night,” he starts.
“No, no, no,” I tell him. “It is. I’m just a little excited right now, I guess. I wouldn’t worry about it.”
“You’re sure?” he asks.
“I’m sure,” I tell him.
“Okay,” he says, but the word’s no sooner out of his mouth than I’m bent forward with my face in the bed, trying to catch my breath. “You know,” he says, “it’s kind of hard to stay in the mood when someone’s laughing at you.”
“I know,” I heave, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It’s just now that I’m trying not to laugh, it’s making me laugh more. It’s not you, I promise.”
“Maybe tonight isn’t such a good night,” he tells me.
I might try to stop him if I could rein in my hysterics. I know exactly why I’m laughing: this whole thing, fantasy or not, is just so uncomfortable that there’s nothing else for me to do. I’m sure if I were to just stick it out, I might end up having a nice time, but it’s pretty clear that we’re past the event horizon.
“Call me sometime when things are a little more settled,” he says. “Have a good night.”
“I’m so sorry,” I tell him. “I really am. I hope you don’t think I was laughing at you. I really wasn’t.”
“Thanks,” he says, and after getting dressed more quickly than anyone I’ve ever seen, he’s out of the bedroom.
I contain myself long enough to walk him out the rest of the way, but as soon as the door’s closed behind him, I’m on the floor with my back to the door, curled up and laughing.
It’s not a mystery. I know exactly what I want and what I need. I can only hope that he’s still awake right now. It’s after 2 o’clock in the morning.
* * *
So it’s after 4 now, and I can’t sleep.
I called Dane, but he didn’t answer. He’s probably asleep, but I can’t help feeling that he just didn’t want to take the call.
As odd as it may sound, I’m actually wishing I could go back to embarrassing the crap out of myself in front of a guy who I would have made posters of and dreamed about only a few months ago.
I left Dane a message. It wasn’t much, but it should communicate my meaning.
“Hey, Dane, this is Leila. I’m sorry about the way I left, and well, for a lot of things, but I really do miss you and wanted to let you know that I’m done ignoring your calls. Anyway, I hope you’re having a good night. Bye.”
Not over the top, but enough. Except I’m the one who left and I’m the one who blinked first. I know that shouldn’t matter, but I feel like I’ve just been toying with him.
I haven’t been toying with him. I honestly thought that me moving and him staying there meant there was no hope for us as a couple, but if he’s feeling half of what I’m still feeling toward him—I don’t know, it’s got to be worth the risk.
I fall asleep and have some of the strangest dreams I’ve ever had. When I wake up, my head is spinning.
It’s still dark and my phone is ringing.
I reach over to the nightstand and answer.
“Hello?”
“Shit, did I wake you?”
I sit straight up in bed. “Dane?”
“Leila,” he says. “I got your message.”
“Yeah, sorry about that,” I tell him. “I know it was late, and I was kind of drunk.”