Chapter 10
TRUST IN ME
ARTEMIS
Tempest, ever the romance author looking for story fodder, leaned forward with that expression she got when she was analyzing relationship dynamics for her next book. “That gives me an idea.”
“Uh-oh. I think I know where this is heading.”
Gryff's words hung in the air while I tried to figure out what exactly he thought he knew, because I had no idea where anything was heading.
My dating life was a disaster, I'd just weaponized seafood against a perfectly nice man, and I was three strawberry margaritas deep into what was shaping up to be an existential crisis about my inability to function like a normal human around men.
“Where what's heading?” I asked, looking up at him from my spot on Flynn and Tempest's couch.
“Nothing,” he said quickly, but Flynn made a choking sound that suggested otherwise.
Tempest gave them both a death stare and then turned back to me with the softest, sweetest smile on her face. “Artie, can I ask you something?”
“Sure?” She was basically the relationship expert since she wrote about happy ever afters every day.
“What exactly makes you so uncomfortable with people you're dating?” The question didn't come out as judgy or accusatory or anything. She was sincere and clearly wanted to help me.
I took another sip of my margarita, considering. “I don't know. I just... freeze up. Or worse, I turn into this awkward person who's nothing like me.”
“Is it anyone you date or specific to men or women?
“Anyone I'm dating. Or trying to date. Or thinking about maybe dating.” I groaned and flopped back against the cushions. “Basically any human being who might potentially see me naked.”
“Interesting,” Tempest said in that way that meant she was filing information away. “What kind of person do you feel most comfortable with?”
“Well, with... Gryff, but that's different—“
Tempest and Flynn exchanged a look that I figured was another assumption about our friendship being more, but they knew better, so that must just be the strawberry margaritas talking.
“Why is it different?” Tempest asked innocently.
“Because he's my best friend. There's no pressure.
I don't have to perform or be something I'm not.” I gestured vaguely at Gryff, who seemed to be having some kind of silent twin telepathy conversation with his brother.
Sometimes I wondered if they really could talk in each other's heads.
“He's seen me at my absolute worst and he's still here.”
“So you trust him,” Tempest said.
“Completely.”
“You know,” she said, settling back in her chair with the air of someone about to dispense wisdom, “in my books, when characters have intimacy issues, I have them, let's say, practice. With someone safe.”
I sat up slightly. “Like therapy?”
“Not quite, more like... trust exercises. Getting experience doing the thing they think they can't do, but with someone who won't judge them. Someone they're completely comfortable with.”
Flynn started coughing violently. Tempest passed him his water without looking at him.
“Trust exercises,” I repeated, the margaritas making the idea seem less insane than it probably was. “That's... actually not a terrible idea.”
“Terrible,” Flynn wheezed.
“No, it's brilliant,” Tempest corrected, shooting him a look. “Think about it. You need to learn to be comfortable with male attention without the pressure of it being a real date. What better way than practicing with someone you trust?”
I looked at Gryff, who had gone very still. “But who would—“ The answer was obvious. “Oh.”
“It doesn't have to be weird,” Tempest continued, her voice taking on that encouraging tone she used when she was trying to convince someone of something.
“Simple things. Eye contact exercises. Learning to be present in your body. Practicing asking for what you need. The key,” she added, “is picking someone you completely trust. Completely.
Someone you know won't cross boundaries or make things complicated.”
One of the boys made another strangled sound.
I turned to Gryff, suddenly nervous. “Wait, but only if... I mean, we're good, right? Like, you don't see me... that way?”
His face did something complicated before settling into what looked like resignation. “What way?”
“You know. Romantically. Sexually.” I waved my hand between us. “We've been friends for six years and nothing's ever been weird between us.”
“Right,” he said, his voice sounding strange. “Never. Nothing weird.”
“And I mean, we're both bi, so if something was going to happen, it would have by now, right?” I laughed, but it came out more nervous than I intended. “Not that we've ever been single at the same time before but neither of us has ever made a move or admitted feelings or anything crazy like that.”
Flynn looked like he was about to spontaneously combust. Gryff seemed to be having trouble breathing. What in the world were they saying to each other in their twin brains? Weirdos.
“Exactly,” Tempest said smoothly. “Which is why this could work. No complications, no mixed signals, just two friends helping each other get better at relationships.”
“You want to help me get better at relationships?” I asked Gryff.
He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them and looked directly at me. “Whatever you need.”
“Really? You'd do that for me?”
“Of course.”
“And it won't be weird? You promise? Because I can't lose you as a friend, Gryff. You're too important to me.”
Something flickered across his face, but he managed a smile. “It won't be weird. We're helping each other, right? I could use some practice asking for what I want in a relationship too. You know that.”
“I certainly know it,” Flynn said with a raise of his hand.
“Trust exercises,” Tempest said brightly. “Start small. Eye contact or staring into each other's eyes. Hand holding and cuddling. Learning to communicate what you need. Building up from there gradually. Communicating what you feel.”
“We could try it,” I said, the idea taking shape in my margarita-soft brain. “Just practice. Safe practice with my safe person.”
“I'm your safe person?” Gryff asked quietly.
“The safest,” I confirmed, reaching over to squeeze his hand. “I trust you more than anyone.”
Flynn stood up abruptly. “I need more ice. For the... drinks. That we're drinking.” He practically fled to the kitchen.
Tempest watched him go with amusement. “He's being weird tonight.”
“When isn't he weird?” Gryff said, but his eyes were still on where my hand touched his.
“So we're really doing this?” I was asking but just wanted to really make sure he wasn't just people pleasing at the moment. I just had to make sure.
“Yes,” he said, the word came out slightly strangled, and I realized he was nervous. And it was sweet. He wanted to do a good job, for me.
“Thank you.” The tension that had been in my shoulders, my spine, and my core all night finally released and I relaxed back into my chair. “I know it's a lot to ask, but I really need help. And you're the only person I trust enough to be this vulnerable with.”
Tempest smiled in a way that seemed oddly satisfied. “I think this is going to be exactly what you both need.”
Twenty minutes later, Gryff and I were making the short walk across the street to our house. The night air was warm and slightly humid, and I was just tipsy enough that everything felt soft around the edges.
“Thank you again,” I said, probably for the fifth time. “I know it's weird to ask your best friend to teach you how to be comfortable with sex, but—“
“It's not weird,” Gryff said quickly. “We're helping each other.”
“Right. Helping each other.” I stumbled slightly on a crack in the sidewalk, and he automatically steadied me with a hand on my lower back. The touch was warm and comforting and exactly the kind of thing I needed to learn to accept from men I was dating.
“See?” I said. “You do stuff like that without even thinking about it. That's what I need to learn to be okay with.”
“Stuff like what?”
“Taking care of me. Little touches. Being... gentle.” We reached our front door, and I fumbled with my keys. “Most guys I've dated weren't gentle or didn't want me to be.”
Gryff took the keys from me and unlocked the door in one smooth motion. Another caretaking gesture I didn't even think he was aware of.
Inside I immediately collapsed on the couch, grabbing my favorite throw pillow, one with a baby goat wearing a flower crown that I'd bought our first week here. Gryff disappeared into the kitchen and returned with two glasses of water, handing me one before sitting on the opposite end of the couch.
“Drink,” he said.
“See? You're doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Taking care of me without me having to ask.” I pulled my legs up under me, getting comfortable. The margaritas were making me more honest than usual. “That's what I need to learn to accept. Or ask for. Or... something.”
“You have trouble asking for what you need? I don't think so. Maybe when we were in high school, but...”
I laughed, but it came out bitter. “But the entire rest of my life. Just not with you.”
“But why? You can have anything or anyone you want, babe.”
Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the safety of being here with Gryff in our house, but suddenly I wanted to tell him everything.
“I've been thinking about it, and I have an idea,” I said. “I don't blame my parents, and I wouldn't change a thing about the way I grew up, except for maybe the way my dad got hurt.”
I really didn't blame them. It was just the way life worked out.
But that also didn't mean it didn't shape the way I thought about myself and the world around me.
“But thirteen different cities, eight different schools, a whole new life every year is part of it.
Every time I'd finally settle in, make friends, find a favorite spot to read or a teacher I connected with, Dad would get a better deal at another team, and off we'd go again.”
Gryff shifted closer on the couch, not saying anything, just listening.