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“And you don’t need a guy to fulfill you. I wish you would remember that.” And I wish that were true.
“I’m clearly an option, and yet you still can’t ask me. I don’t fucking get it. Am I that revolting to you? You would rather go through withdrawals and bang some asshole than sleep with me?”
“I’m not going to use you like I do these other guys,” I murmur. “Goddammit, Lily,” he curses. “I am standing here telling you that I want to have sex with you, and you still can’t accept it. Was it that terrible the first time, is that it?”
“Have you ever thought about us together?” I can hardly breathe. “Together?” “Where I don’t share you with any other man.” All the time. “Yes.”
“If I could be enough to fill you, would you let me?” I look at him. “Yes.” “Then let me try,” he says, his hand cupping my face. “Let me try to be enough for you.”
“I’m dirty,” I refute, hot tears brimming. “You don’t want me.” His face twists in pain. “I don’t think that. Neither should you.” His lips graze my neck and then find my ear. “Lil, I want you to ask me. I need you to.”
I know what he wants now. He wants this to be real. So do I.
“I’m not one of your conquests,” he says in a throaty voice. “I know what you want, and you don’t need to take it. I can give it to you.”
I am lost to his scotch-colored irises. To the way he stares into me. No one has ever looked at me like this. Everything bursts.
“I’ve never pretended, Lil. We’ve been together, even if you thought it was some fucking lie. We just weren’t having sex.” He stares at his glass. “On bad days, I’d touch you more than I should, I admit. Like when Daisy spent the night, but I was hoping you’d finally open your eyes and realize that I was there. You didn’t have to suffer or go be fulfilled by some other guy. I was right in front of you.”
“I understand your addiction, and I’m only bothered by the other guys when I tempt you to that place. I blame myself for making you aroused, hoping that you’ll finish with me. But you never do, and in the end, some lucky bastard gets what I want. I had everything with you, the good and bad parts of a real relationship, except the sex.”
“The worst part was hearing you.” He shakes his head. “You know, I’d stay awake, listening to you, wondering if your cries would turn terrified, wondering if some guy decided to take advantage or hurt you. But I can’t…” He pauses on the words. But I know. “You can’t tell me to stop.”
“How was it for you?” Amazing. “Do you want a rating or something?” I try to lighten the mood. His face sharpens, all hard lines, all ice, all Loren Hale. “I’m open to criticism.” He finishes off his drink. I can’t rate him. He’s literally not quantifiable on any chart. I have never trusted someone to take control and to do it so passionately.
“You’re enough,” I tell him, my voice small, “but I can’t lie to you. I worry that in the future, you won’t be. And then what? I’ve never been committed to one guy, Lo. For you, I’d try, but…what if I fail?”
“No, it’s not. If we’re together for real, I can’t cheat on you. That’s not okay.” I realize I have to try. No matter what, I have to try to make this work and to find everything I need within Lo. I think it’s possible, but it may be hard sometimes.
“I want to love you more than I love this”—he waves his bottle—“and I don’t know how else to do it unless there’s something to lose.”
The stakes have become much greater. If I fail, that means I cheat on him. If he fails, that means he may drive me to cheat. Either way, we’ll be alone and empty.
Three years later and drowning in lies, we’re suddenly prepared to lose everything for the chance at something real.
“We wake up tomorrow and become an actual couple. No pretenses. I stay monogamous to you, and you cut back on the drinking to help me. Are you sure you want to do this? There’s no going back. If we break up…” Everything will change.
“We’re terrible at so many things—remembering important dates, college, making friends—but the one thing we’ve always been halfway decent at is being together. We owe it to ourselves to try.”
The rest of the trip, I no longer question the validity when Lo reaches out for my hand or when he slips his arm around my waist. It’s all one-hundred percent, real affection that I can enjoy without constant confusion.
I can’t cheat on Lo, but sometimes the cannots turn into maybes which become okays. And I’m at a loss of how to control that kind of cascade once it begins.
The world lies to you. They say that you become this independent, self-sufficient creature when you turn eighteen, severing the familial ties once you enter collegiate society. But in our economy, nine times out of ten, you’re financially dependent on them until you join the real workforce.
There’s something vitally wrong with this system, and I don’t have to be fucking good at economics to know it.
“I assure you, having sex is not a chore, especially not with you. As for your problems, well, that’s what being in a relationship is about, Lil. Your problem is now my problem. In fact, it’s almost always been my problem. Now I just get the reward instead of watching some douchebag take it.”
“I know how much sex you have. I know that when you’re not having it, you’re browsing porn. I’m not an idiot, Lil. I’ve been your best friend for years, and I haven’t lost that knowledge now that I’m your boyfriend.”
“This isn’t a Mexican restaurant where you can eat free chips and then leave. The bread costs money.” Oh, the premium bread costs money! Who would have thought?
“I just hate that,” he says, wiping his sweaty brow. “I hate that we’re still treated like children even though we’re in our twenties. I hate that I had to pull out my wallet and buy respect.”
“You’re not supposed to find my past conquests amusing,” I whisper-yell, still blocking my peripheral vision. His lips quirk. “I love all of you.”
“I wish you’d chosen a better name than Stacey. I don’t know any Staceys that I’d ever be friends with.” “That’s name prejudice and immature.”
“Try this one, Lily.” He slides the book to me and points to a big paragraph. Words. Too many words for something involving numbers. Why can’t economics choose between the two? Having both numbers and words in an equation sends a splitting migraine to my skull.
“Library closes in ten minutes. I wasn’t kidding about cramming for the next forty-eight hours. It’s either your place or mine. But I have to warn you, my cat hates girls, and I haven’t cut her nails in a few weeks. So unless you want to be jealously assaulted by Sadie, I suggest your apartment.”
“Calloway,” he says my name with a laugh. “Your daddy is a soda mogul.” “Yeah, but most people—” “I’m not most people, and I make an effort to know names, especially ones that matter.”
“Like I was saying, most rich girls all tend to do the same thing. Find a guy at an Ivy League who will be incredibly successful, marry early, and have their future set without having to do the extra lifting—straight As, stellar recs, full CVs. I’m not judging. If I was a girl, I’d probably be on the same path. Hell, I’ll end up marrying the type.”
could punch him or vomit. Either one seems like an appropriate reaction. I bet he also believes women should only pop out babies. God, Rose would scratch out his eyes if she heard him.
“You do realize you just insulted me?” I finally “out” his rudeness. He rips a croissant in half and smiles. “I apologize,” he says, unapologetically.
I try to imagine what type of girl Connor would seek, but she seems unfathomable—like a hazy picture with only her brain showing.
“Definitely B,” Lo says. “A, C, and D don’t even make sense.” Is he studying or talking about breast sizes?
Wow, Lo doesn’t lie. Does Connor Cobalt have magic truth dust that he sprinkles on people? Or maybe it’s too hard to lie to his brutal honesty.
The tops of my ears warm in a rash-like red, never wishing to hear someone talk about my indigestion—fake or not. And the fact that Connor’s tutoring methods involve cycles between caffeine and antacids is mildly disconcerting.
“You’ll make an A in econ when I piss glitter, but if you feel confident about it, that’s what matters.”
From my sexual interactions with Lo, I’ve come to enjoy this the most—the staring, the locked eyes, the feeling of being connected beyond intertwined limbs. I’ve never had that before. Not with anyone but him.
His father gave him a bottle of fifty-year-old scotch, Decanter or Dalmore or something. Lo tried to explain the value of it to me, but it whizzed right over my head. I couldn’t stop thinking about how perfect and wrong the present is and if his father knew it too.
Lo groans. “You did not invite the ice queen here.” “Hey,” I shoot back. “That’s my sister. She has a good heart.” I pause. “You just have to be liked by her first.” “Or be related to her,” Lo points out. True.
Connor says, “She’s not coming.” Is that disappointment in his voice? “She said she’d rather skin my cat.” He smiles. Like actually smiles at that. Oh my God, were they flirting with each other over the phone?
Being called weird by Connor is like a unicorn calling a horse magical.
“Can we only be invited inside if you understand our costumes?” Connor asks. He cranes his neck to look past the host’s shoulder. “Because I think I spot a Sweeny Todd in there, and I know for a fact you’ve never heard of him.”
Sex is a part of everyone’s life, addicted or not. Drugs aren’t. Alcohol isn’t. You can spend years without both, but most people never become lifelong celibates. Every time I catch a girl tucking a baggy into her bra, eyes glazed and gone, I feel a pang of jealousy. Why can’t I have an addiction that people understand? It’s a vile thought—to wish for an addiction many die with. I’d rather have none at all, but for some reason, I never allow myself that option.
I cried for hours and convinced myself to quit. I told myself I didn’t have a problem. I was just a whore looking for a way to justify my constant sexual thoughts. Sometimes I tried to stop. I trashed my porn and refused my body the luxury of climaxing.
“Just repeat this phrase whenever you feel the urge to jump some other guy’s bones.” His mouth brushes my ear. “Loren Hale fucks better.”
