Chapter 9
Half the crew look like descendants of unicorns, all thanks to Eliza’s glitter and face-paint station. Every department is involved in this evening’s Pride parade on the bustling promenade deck, either marching flags or pushing floats or dancing. There’s not one person in this room who isn’t having fun, and yet I feel a million miles away.
I look up to one of the balconies and watch Oscar survey the room with a smile on his face. We’d always go to Pride back home – the parade was practically on our front doorstep – but he’d only wear a rainbow flag. Even on a day devoted to celebrating his sexuality, he still wanted to blend in. Tonight, however, he has a stripe of bi flag colours on his cheekbone, and I’m so glad he finally wants to flaunt it. He’s worked flat out this week to make sure everything runs smoothly – most weeks are busy, but event weeks are crazy – and hopefully, after tonight, he can relax a little.
I wish I was in the mood to join him and Eliza at the crew party that’s about to start, but after the day I’ve had, I hurry to disappear the second the show is over.
“Gem, can we talk?”
Dread sinks in as I realise Tom’s found me.
“It’s fine,” I throw over my shoulder, because if I look him in the eye, I’ll cry. I thought public embarrassment was bad, but private embarrassment with him, the guy I’ve spent an unhealthy amount of time crushing on, is a million times worse.
The unfortunate side effect of becoming an influencer is that you quickly see the worst side of men. The comments, the DMs, the unsolicited photos. Especially after I was na?ve enough to take part in a campaign for a lingerie brand. Just because I did it for other backbreaking-busted girls like me, it doesn’t mean they were the only ones who saw it. Countless times a day, my inbox requests would run rampant with the dregs of the opposite sex describing the things they wanted to do to me – not with me – in vulgar detail, whether I liked it or not. And I’m not talking about whether I liked getting the messages themselves – I mean within the scenarios they’d dream up. So is it any surprise I’ve never had an interest in sex before, when I know the capacity for hate and disrespect and pain some men are capable of and fantasise about inflicting?
It wasn’t until the opportunity arose to go on a reality TV dating show that I had any interest in trying to find someone. It felt weirdly like the safest option, because we’d be supervised and monitored while we were there, and once in the real world, any wrong step and their life would come crashing down around them – I’d make sure of it. But things didn’t pan out the way I thought they would, and I figured that was it for me. Then I saw how fun sex seemed at Tiegan’s party, how gentle men could be, that men as good as Tom existed, and the part of me I’d long thought was broken began to heal. Until Tom dropped me the second he found out I was untouched.
“No, it’s not,” he shouts over the noise, but his tone is kind.
We’re pressed against the wall by all the moving bodies around us, our tight position made even more claustrophobic by the passengers coming out of one of the lifts right next to me.
“Megan, I didn’t mean to—” He’s right behind me, not deliberately pressing against me, but his hand is gentle on my waist.
I turn my head to talk to him. Remorse is written all over his face. “Please don’t. It doesn’t matter.” I bite my lip to stop it shaking.
I know he wants to make it right. I’m not denying him that because I’m a bitch, but because I really can’t bear to bring the subject up again. Especially not here.
“It matters to me.”
The next thing I know, I’m being pulled into the empty glass lift as the doors close.
“Tom! We’re not allowed in here!”
“You are in an emergency.” He jams his finger against the “close door” button repeatedly, reactivating the doors after we interrupted them, and then he presses the highest number possible.
“It’s quite literally the opposite.”
“We can debate that later, but right now?—”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“That’s fine, but please listen. I didn’t freak out because you’re—because you haven’t had sex yet. I freaked out because you said it didn’t mean anything. I’ve never had sex that meant something, and I want that –more than I want five minutes of fun with you. Or with anyone. I couldn’t get my words out fast enough earlier, and I know that gave you the wrong idea, and I’m so sorry. But that’s what was going through my mind, not anything about your lack of experience. It’s not just sex. Not to me. And if you don’t want it to mean anything, that’s fine, but then I can’t be the guy for you.”
The lift stops earlier than it should and the doors open to a family of five. I step into the back corner, away from Tom, to make room, but he slides up next to me, allowing the family to stand together. The kids are all hyped up from the parade. The parents tell them off for bouncing on the balls of their feet as they ask each other if they saw the drag queens and fight over which one looked best.
Does he mean that? Does he really not care that I’m a virgin? Does he not think there must be something wrong with me? Does he really like me more than that?
The family get out on the top floor, and Tom goes to follow them. I hold him back and press the button for the lowest level. He doesn’t resist, letting the doors shut in silence.
“I only told you what I thought you wanted to hear.”
“And what wouldn’t I have wanted to hear?”
Opening up only gives people the opportunity to use your weaknesses to their advantage, but Tom wearing his heart on his sleeve makes me want to bare mine too.
“That I wanted it to mean something. I wanted to mean something.”
My pulse thumps in my ears as he sits with my confession for only as long as it takes to descend one floor, but it feels like a lifetime.
He takes my hand. “You mean something to me.”
Surely he’s just saying that. There’s a large part of me that doesn’t believe anyone anymore, but a small – though equally significant – part that always believes him. I tighten my fingers around his hand, watching the floors count down. Ten. Nine.
“So that’s settled. If it happens, it means something,” he says resolutely.
“When it happens,” I correct him.
He smirks. “When it happens, it means something.”
Four floors to go. Three.
“And when is it happening?” I ask before we arrive back on the ground floor.
“Not everything needs to be an appointment in your diary.” He smirks. “I’m not going anywhere. We’ve got time.”
The lift settles and the doors open. A bunch of people are waiting to get in, so going back up again to iron out these details isn’t an option.
Tom tries to break away, but I can’t leave his side without knowing when we’re going to get a do-over.
“How about tonight?”
When he turns back to face me, he has the most delicious smile on his lips and a dimple on his cheek I want to kiss. “Sure, I can come over tonight.”
Excitement flurries through my body.
“Give me a chance to get this glitter off, and I’ll meet you at yours.”
“I’ll schedule it in.”