He’s a scorpio moon
So here’s the thing.
A tiny, tiny thing. I haven’t told Lizzie that I may have slept with Will. Multiple times.
Let me rephrase.
I have a motherfucking enormous thing sitting directly on my chest and chewing through several important organs because I haven’t told my sister that I’m sleeping with the guy who liked her first.
And I like it. Fuck.
I like his scent. I like his eyes. I fucking adore his hazel eyes. I like sitting too close to him even when there are six perfectly usable feet of sofa available. Sue me.
And worst of all, I like the way he says Maddy. Not like crazy Maddy. Like soft Maddy.
So it was impossible not to sit close to him so I can hear it clearer in my ear. All my hair stands up like when a spider senses a threat. Except, the threat is own thoughts.
I am half wanting to put a fucking wall between us or move country so I never have to see him again. Half kissing him senseless. Which is fucking unacceptable.
So I bury both hands in my hair and pull. If I physically remove enough strands, perhaps the thoughts will leave through my scalp.
“Is that a new head massage?” Jenny has been lying across the end of my bed for the past ten minutes editing photographs for the rowers we’re putting forward to clients.
“No.” I release my hair.
“It looks therapeutic.”
“The thing is, everything about him is so fucking intense.”
Okay.
That has absolutely nothing to do with the photos we are supposed to be selecting for a client deck.
She does not look up. “You hate intense men.”
“I like fun men. What is wrong with me, Jenny?”
“Explain.”
“Will looks calm all the time. That’s the problem.” I sit cross-legged beside her, becoming increasingly annoyed by my own argument. “He walks around like nothing has ever surprised him in his life.”
Jenny moves to the next photograph.
“Basketball? Calm. Someone starts a fight? Calm. Nate nearly sets fire to the toaster? Somehow calmer.”
Jenny moves to another photograph. “And?”
I throw a pillow at her legs. Damn it. I hate when she knows me well enough to identify the missing half of my own sentence.
“I mean, then suddenly he’ll look at me like—” I stop.
Jenny finally looks up. “Like?”
I immediately regret beginning the sentence. “Like I’ve been missing for ten years.”
Her eyebrows rise.
“And then he kisses me like I’m his fucking oxygen supply and somebody has just returned breathing privileges.”
Jenny stares at me.
I stare back. “That sounded less insane in my head.”
“No, actually.” She points at me with the edge of her laptop. “Scorpio Moon.”
“What?”
“Scorpio Moon.”
“How the fuck do you know?”
“I don’t. I’m diagnosing him.”
“You cannot diagnose somebody’s moon sign.”
“You diagnose people professionally all the time.”
“I study psychology.”
“And I have TikTok.” She announces flatly.
I consider this. Valid. Unfortunately, I have learned several useful things from TikTok myself.
“Mhm.” I think about Will’s face when he kisses me.
Scorpio Moon. Well. That would explain the fucking eye contact. Not when we kiss. When we talk.
Oh God. We’re not insane. Did I just say we?
“Find out what time he was born.” Jenny tells me, deadpan.
I snort. “Absolutely not.”
“Why?”
“I cannot ask a man I am secretly fucking what time he was born.”
“You let him put his—”
“Jenny.” I stop her using nothing except volume.
She grins. “Birth time is where you draw the intimacy boundary?”
“Obviously.” I throw a cushion at her. “Because asking a guy for his exact birth time after secretly sleeping with him for three weeks has the energy of someone preparing either a wedding chart or a murder.”
Jenny shrugs. “So what? Your destiny can be dangerous with a touch of romantic.”
Fair point.
I laugh aloud so hard she actually jumps. “You’re insane.”
“I’m not the one thinking about a basketball player’s lunar placement instead of discussing her feelings.”
My laugh dies immediately. Rude. But what can I say? Jenny is half French so she simply returns to her laptop.
“Why are you keeping this secret anyway?” Jenny asks me.
Because I cannot be sleeping with Will Mercer. But it sounds as insane as the oxygen line, I settle for something softer. “Because he doesn’t want anything serious.”
Jenny’s head jerks up. “Bullshit.”
That is fast. I’m taken back a little.
She narrows her eyes intensively. “Did he tell you that?”
“Yes.” I hesitate with a word. A pause. “Okay. Not specifically. The guy is horny. We have great sex. No reason to stop and no reason to make it bigger than it is.” I fold my arms. “And he’s like—” The word refuses to come out of my mouth. “A player.”
“Was.” Jenny studies me for several uncomfortable seconds. “You sent him a motivational message because he looked sad.”
“I am kind.”
“You know what his favourite ice cream is.”
“I am a great housemate.”
“You’re invested.”
“I am observant.”
“You’re fucked.”
Thanks Jenny. I am well fucking aware.
Why do I like it that he kisses me like I’m air? When his tongue slips into mine and I answer him with the same eagerness I have only seen on movies?
I like his hand landing automatically at my waist when nobody else is looking. I like climbing into his bed after a shower and hearing that rough voice near my ear ask, Why do you even put clothes on?
“Okay.” I admit to Jenny. “I am fucking terrified.”
There. I’ve said it. Nobody has died. Yet.
“He liked Lizzie. The footballer… what’s his name again? Anyways, he told me. And I don’t even know if Will wants anything serious. He’s like… slept with half of Princeton.”
“Oh yeah I heard. Some girl said she saw him fucking someone in a party bathroom without locking the door. Like cliché. Can you find a place that is less cliché please?”
“Why do people pass on these kind of intel?” I look horrified. This is not the time to bring this up.“JENNY!!! That’s the past. It was ages ago.”
“Exactly.” She declares. “We established that. You’re defending the guy’s ass very fast. And he liked Lizzie?”
“Yup.” I fold.
“Did he declare his undying love under a full moon with a promise to move the world for her?” Jenny puts the laptop aside.
“What?” I glare at her. “I don’t know that.”
Jenny shrugs lightly. “Then that’s not your sister’s ex and just a guy who briefly has eyes.”
Fine. Will Mercer has eyes for the dazzling Elizabeth Fairfax. I can understand that.
“Lizzie is still my sister.” I clarify at one.
“So?”
Okay. Jenny’s unhinged, which explains why she’s my friend and why I tell her stuff. But still.
“It’s WEIRD! Jenny, I thought you know dating.”
“Okay. Let me see if I understand this properly. You’re fucking Will. You like fucking Will. He liked Lizzie before he knew you existed. But now he likes fucking you.”
I groan and fall backwards onto the bed.
“I absolutely do not know dating. But I understand chronology.” Jenny points at me.
“Did you miss the part where he sleeps with half of Princeton?” My eyes fly open.
“But we already established the player phase is the past. You said that. You can’t go back to that point.”
Fuck me. Yeah I already defended his ass. And it was probably a quarter of Princeton. Half was more like my brother Collins.
This is as confusing as the conversation I have in my own head.
Asking Jenny a question about a pitch we’re doing? She delivers five professional points on commercial strategy and client positioning so smooth that I’m pretty sure even my father would hire her on the spot.
Asking Jenny about relationships? She gives me lingerie, lunar placement and so?. Worthless.
Whatever. I need to sort this out before my head explodes.
I pull out my phone and before my brain can stop my fingers, I open Lizzie’s messages.
Maddy: heard through the vine that Will liked u?
Jenny says something about the rowers looking slightly too pale in the latest edit.
“Natural lighting. Sun. Oil,” I tell her without looking away from my phone.
“Those are three unrelated solutions.” Jenny returns to her laptop.
Lizzie replies within five minutes and it was the longest five minutes in recorded human history.
Lizzie: maybe.
Lizzie: honestly I was drowning in DJ’s mixed signals at the time
Lizzie: barely knew what was going on
Lizzie: why?
My stomach tightens.
Maddy: just curious
Maddy: so nothing serious?
The typing bubble appears, stops, then appears again.
Lizzie: Mads it’s Will
Lizzie: the only serious thing for that guy is basketball
Oh fuck.