Chapter XIII #2
“Delia, James, this is Asher.” I notice the slight tremble in Lucy’s voice as Asher holds out a hand, which Delia shakes kindly and I grip too firmly.
“How long have you two been together?” Delia asks.
“Oh.” Lucy fidgets with her pale-yellow dress a little, but her voice doesn’t shake this time. “This is actually our first date. We met through a mutual friend.”
Asher gives Lucy a funny little look, and everyone clocks it. I watch Lucy’s brow furrow. “Sorry. Should I not have said ‘date’?” she stammers.
“No, no. That’s fine. I just wouldn’t describe Zoe as a friend.”
I look between them. What is happening right now?
“Oh. How would you describe her?”
“She’s one of my partners.”
Lucy
Silence falls.
“Wha—what do you mean, ‘partners’?” I ask, trying my best to keep the tone light.
Asher doesn’t seem embarrassed in the slightest. “I mean romantically. Zoe and I are poly. I’m so sorry, I thought she told you.”
My mind is spinning. Is it possible I’m so self-centered that when a person offers up their own boyfriend to date, I completely miss that massive detail?
I glance at James and am grateful to see he has suddenly found the tops of his shoes very interesting.
But Delia and Rebecca can’t peel their eyes off Asher and me.
“I, um . . . she and I must have miscommunicated,” I mumble.
“So wait,” Rebecca jumps in—like now’s when I need her. “Your partner sets you up with other people?”
“Sure.” Asher seems to have all the nonchalance I was striving for. “We’re always looking out for each other, helping each other find like-minded people we can connect with.”
Rebecca can’t help herself. “How many partners do you have?”
“That’s a pretty personal question.” Asher doesn’t seem offended, but he’s setting a clear boundary, and Rebecca reluctantly backs off.
I feel like the ground has turned to jelly under my feet. Asher turns to me with a lowered voice. “Should we go talk? I guess I assumed since you’re leaving soon—”
“Leaving? Where are you going?” Delia is genuinely disappointed, and I’m grateful to talk about literally any-fucking-thing else.
“Oh, The Hague. I leave in two weeks. Same as James.”
James
Now Delia turns to me. “Wait, what? You’re moving to the Netherlands?”
“No!” I laugh nervously. “No, I’m moving home to Newport. Oregon.” Delia stares at me in disbelief, and my stomach drops. “I told you that. Didn’t I?”
Delia’s face turns to stone before my eyes. I watch as any attraction she felt for me evaporates. “No. You didn’t.”
The scene is so awkward at this point that even Rebecca can’t enjoy it. “Who needs a drink?” she practically yells. Reflexively, everyone reaches for the nearest, hardest alcohol they can find.
“You know what this party needs?” Asher offers, offensively charming. “A really bad karaoke song. Lucy, you want to—?”
Lucy struggles to form any sort of response. But Delia squeezes her hand, then turns to Asher. “I’ll sing with you. But fair warning, I’m really bad.”
“Perfect.”
Delia follows Asher to the karaoke machine with a warm smile at Lucy, and I catch Lucy mouthing the words thank you back.
Rebecca has made herself scarce, I suddenly realize, and Lucy and I are alone. Her eyes meet mine.
I have no idea what the hell to do, and it doesn’t look like she does either.
“I didn’t know you were poly,” I mumble.
She stares at me long enough that I think she might just walk away without responding. Then she smirks. “Neither did I.”
We both chuckle, and the tension breaks, at least for a moment. “I can’t believe you and Delia know each other.”
“She’s actually really cool. She and you—”
“There is no she and I, not after this. Pretty sure that bridge has burned. From both ends.”
Lucy represses a grin, and it feels like she’s glad. I hope she is.
“How’s it going with the restaurant?” she ventures. “Do you think you’ll—”
“Oh yeah!” My voice is too loud, like I’ve forgotten how to talk. “There’s still a lot to figure out, nothing’s certain. But yeah, it’s looking good. Permits, zoning . . .” I want to tell her every last detail, but I limit myself to “I think you solved it. Thank you.”
Lucy’s cheeks color faster than I’ve ever seen. “I hope you don’t have to change the house too much.”
“I don’t think I will, actually. At least not at first.” I lean a little closer to her. “I’m kind of looking forward to ripping out the paisley wallpaper.”
As much as I was dreading this encounter, now I don’t want it to end. I want to feel like we used to feel, to talk like we used to talk. But maybe she’s just being polite, secretly itching to get away.
So I rest a hip against the edge of the roof, settling into this location and, I hope, signaling to her that she can either take a lean with me or graciously make her exit.
Immediately, she presses her lower back against the roof’s edge alongside me, our bodies inches apart, both angled toward the party.
The breeze blows her hair onto her cheek, and it takes all my self-control not to brush it behind her ear.
But I have no such strength when it comes to stealing a glance at the hint of cleavage exposed by her dress.
Lucy
Leaning next to him was instinct. My body did it without my brain getting a say.
I feel drawn to him like a magnet. Now that we’re perched next to each other, I feel almost drunk—though I’ve only had a beer and a half.
All the rationalizing I’ve done over the last two weeks is out the window, and the only clear thought I can muster is, He’s looking at my breasts.
Maybe I should unbutton my top button so he’ll look even harder at my breasts.
God, I wish it was his lips and not his eyes on my breasts . . .
I sip my drink, very much stalling as I try to figure out what to say. Is there anything I want to say? I honestly don’t know, but I know I don’t want him to walk away. I’m pretty certain that as soon as one of us leaves this party, that will be it for us. And I’m not ready for that to happen.
“I will admit,” he says, breaking our silence and tilting his head conspiratorially toward me, “I was nervous about seeing you. But I didn’t expect it to go that badly.” Now his eyes are on mine, and god, I’ve missed them.
My heart is racing, but I try not to show it. “You were nervous to see me?”
James turns his head back toward the party and gives an exaggerated shrug. “Nah.” It’s so clearly a lie that we both chuckle. “Were you nervous to see me?” he asks.
My stomach flips. Something in his tone tells me he hasn’t forgotten what we’re capable of when we find ourselves alone. My rational brain clicks online and yells, Alert! Alert! Keep your guard up! But I don’t want to listen. Instead, I mimic his nonchalant response. “Nah.”
I’m pretending to survey the crowd, but I can feel his smile. I have the urge to lean my body against his, to feel his skin pressed to mine. I’m growing more and more certain he wants the same. For this moment, for the night, for as long as possible—I have no idea. And right now, I don’t care.
But no. Fuck. This is exactly what I’ve been trying to avoid for the last two weeks. I hold my sweating drink to my chest, hoping the cold shock will slow me down. “I should really go,” I say.
We’re both looking forward, watching the party, but I can feel his body tense. In my periphery, I see him open his mouth then close it again. I’m dying to know what he’s thinking. “No, you stay. I’ll go,” he says after a moment.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I was planning to leave early anyway. And I’m guessing Delia won’t exactly be eager to hang around.”
So this is it. One of us will leave, and that will be that. I can feel the blood draining from my face. Then my eyes drift over to the karaoke setup. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”
James glances at me, and I nod in the direction I want him to look. Together, we watch Asher and Delia sing “Sex on Fire” by Kings of Leon. Terribly. Asher touches Delia’s arm, and her hand lands on his chest as they stumble giddily through the bridge. The energy between them is undeniable.
Not even a hint of jealousy registers in my brain. “Good for her.”
James nods. “She could do a lot worse.” I turn to him, and he raises his eyebrows in an adorable way, clearly referring to himself.
I start to laugh, and once I do, I can’t stop. It’s like all the pent-up anxiety of seeing him has come to the surface and exploded out of me.
James laughs at my laughter, and soon, we’re both overcome.
It feels fucking great. We laugh so hard that I hunch forward, my hands on my thighs, and I feel his palm press into my shoulder blade as if to balance himself.
I’m so glad I’m already looking away when it happens because my cheeks burn at even this friendly touch.
I let my arm come to rest against his as we both recover, and the last of my resolve evaporates.
“Fuck it,” I say. “Let’s stay.”
James gives me a sideways smile, then he taps his beer can against mine.
As I wipe away tears, I spot Rebecca by the food table, watching us with a devilish grin.