Chapter 12 #2
Except with Simon, who always made space for me. Who’d drop everything to be around me whenever I so much as hinted I wanted that.
I tried so hard not to take advantage, but I’d never figured out how to be less unbearably needy. Especially when it came to him, because his ribcage was my first choice of permanent home.
“Maybe?” I eventually responded after a slightly too long pause, looking up again.
Simon’s lips twitched into a kinder smile than I deserved.
“I’m not saying it was reasonable,” he said, eyes glittering. He was teasing me.
Which probably meant we were okay? Maybe?
“No one’s ever accused me of being reasonable,” I said, the tension in my gut starting to uncoil.
Simon laughed. I let my eyes fall closed for just a second so the sound could wash over me. I loved hearing him laugh.
“That’s part of your charm,” he said. “I’m sorry I snapped at you.”
I shook my head. “I deserved it.”
“You didn’t,” Simon said. “To be clear, I didn’t deserve you snapping at me, either. Neither of us deserved any of that. So. I’m sorry for my part in it.”
“You don’t need—”
“I do,” Simon interrupted me. “I do need to apologize. We both do. We’ve done that now. We can forget about it,” he said. “I know how stressful being around your family is for you. I know how stressful it is for me. Think we could agree that whatever happens in Montauk stays in Montauk?”
“We’re in Amagansett,” I said before I could stop myself. I wasn’t trying to be a smartass, I just couldn’t help it.
“The Hamptons, then,” Simon said, smiling wryly at me. “Seriously. This place is cursed. We get through this weekend and then we forget all of it. Everything that happens here, whatever that is. Okay?”
I nodded. I wasn’t sure I could forget, but I appreciated what Simon was offering. Things could go back to the way they had been before we came here when we got home. It’d be as though we’d never pretended to be dating.
It’d be as though I’d never known what it was like to be Simon’s boyfriend. Maybe I wouldn’t even have to ache with missing it. Or at least, wouldn’t have to worry about things being awkward.
“Okay,” I agreed, letting out a breath I hadn’t intended to hold.
“You’re forgiven, by the way, because I know you’ll worry later that I didn’t explicitly say so. Am I?”
Forgiven.
“Obviously,” I said. “I… not for… I mean, you didn’t do anything wrong—”
“I don’t need to be forgiven for helping Delilah or agreeing to be Corey’s best man,” Simon clarified. “But I do need it for not taking you seriously when you were upset. I should have. Even if I didn’t think it was justified, you were still upset.”
How was he so perfect?
I was so lucky to ever have met him. Wanting anything else than the privilege of knowing someone like Simon—of calling him my friend, and knowing that was true—was unbelievably greedy of me.
It didn’t stop me, but I knew it was asking too much. I’d always known.
“You’re forgiven,” I said, looking down at the glasses case again. “Hold still for me.”
Simon obeyed, facing me with his hands by his sides. Trusting me.
I pried the case open—the rust on the hinge made it stick—and took his familiar, thick-rimmed glasses out carefully by the bridge. I’d never really handled Simon’s glasses before—passed them to him a dozen times, maybe, but never held them in my hands like this.
The plastic wasn’t quite warm to the touch, but it wasn’t cold, either, like a metal frame would have been. The frames were almost soft, and they were lighter than they looked. Something about that felt right.
My stomach flipped as I stepped forward, holding the glasses by the arms so I could guide them over his ears without running the risk of poking his eye out in the process.
In all the years I’d known him, I’d never put his glasses on for him. Never let my fingers brush the shell of his ear, or tucked a strand of hair behind it to keep it out of the way as I settled them in place.
I’d stepped closer to him than I realized, only a few inches of space between us.
Close enough to feel the heat rolling off his body.
To see the thin gold ring around his pupils that diffused into darker brown at the edges of his irises.
He smelled of good cologne again, warm and spicy and masculine, but that wasn’t what really caught my attention.
“Missed these,” I murmured. His eyes looked right again.
Simon raised an eyebrow, one corner of his lips twitching.
I shrugged. “You didn’t look like you without them,” I said. “The glow up’s fun, but…”
But it’s not my Simon, I didn’t say. You don’t own me was still bouncing around in the back of my head. I’d just been forgiven, I didn’t want to screw up again immediately.
“Used to them, I guess,” I said instead, my voice coming out softer than I meant. My fingers were still touching Simon’s neck, and we were close enough that I could feel his breath on my face.
I wanted to kiss him. We’d fought, we were okay, I was so, so relieved, and I wanted, more than anything, to kiss him. Not because we were pretending to be together. Because we were alone.
I leaned forward, painfully slow, wanting to give him all the time in the world to stop me. I didn’t want to make the same—
The squeal of the door swinging open behind me made me jump.
“Don’t let me interrupt,” Corey said cheerfully as he strode toward the urinals. “Although you could pick a more scenic location.”
Simon scoffed.
The moment slipped through my fingers like a handful of beach sand, gone before I could even think to grab hold of it.
“C’mon,” Simon said. “Got something to tell you, anyway.”
“I think we should have make-up sex,” Simon said the moment the bedroom door closed behind us.
I stopped dead halfway through shrugging my blazer off, getting my arms caught in it as I spun on my heel to stare at him. Outside the room, the muffled sounds of everyone in the house filtering into their own rooms ebbed and flowed.
Inside the room, I was fairly sure my heartbeat, currently aiming to break a land speed record, was loud enough for all of them to hear.
“Not for real, obviously,” Simon whispered, taking a step toward me. “But they heard us fight. I don’t want them to think I’m still mad at you. And Corey said…”
I wet my lips. I had an idea what Corey might have said. The same thing I’d thought—that if I was really dating Simon, I’d plaster over an argument with sex. I had no idea how else to solve them.
Except he’d managed to guide us through it. Me through it. Like he always did.
“Well… y’know, that I should expect… and obviously I don’t expect anything because… but, you see what I’m getting at, right?”
I did see. I would have liked to make some indication that I could see, but I was still busy getting over the shock of we should have make-up sex.
“And your mom was so sure I was giving up on you,” Simon continued. “And I want to see the look on her face at breakfast if she thinks she’s overheard… that is, umm, unless you want to call the whole thing quits? I guess it doesn’t matter anymore.”
Right. That was the thing Simon had wanted to tell me earlier, that he’d told me on the way back here. Audrey knew we weren’t really together. She also didn’t care.
I’d since Googled her family’s net worth in the car. After years of assuming we were basically peers, it’d been one hell of a shock to find out we really weren’t. She could laugh off a fortune, especially since she was an only child.
“Corey still believes it,” I said, faster than I should have. I looked away from him as I focused on freeing myself from my jacket. “And Delilah. And mom, like you said. I mean, uh. If you’re okay with… I know you might still be a little—”
“I’m not mad at you.” Simon took a step toward me. “I really don’t want you to think that. I’m still a little in shock from fighting with you, but I’m not mad.”
“Took us over ten years,” I said, risking a glance at him. There really wasn’t anything in his expression that so much as hinted he might even be a little annoyed with me.
“But we’re okay,” Simon said, ducking his head to catch my gaze again. I was glad his eyes were back behind his glasses, honestly. It was easier to meet them that way. “Or at least, I think we’re okay. We are okay, right?”
“We’re okay,” I agreed. I almost couldn’t believe it, but we were.
I didn’t feel like I’d broken something unfixable today.
Normally, after a fight, I felt like the whole relationship was a vase that had been glued back together.
As though I could see the cracks, as though it might start leaking at any moment.
As though it’d never be the same again. As though they liked me less, forever, and there was nothing that could ever be done about it.
Not feeling that way with Simon was so alien an experience to me it nearly didn’t count as relief. I was relieved—or would be, when I got used to the idea—but mostly I still felt lost. I wanted…
Well, I wanted make-up sex, actually, because that was what my body expected after the adrenaline spike of a fight. Only I couldn’t actually have sex with Simon.
Maybe faking it would make me feel better?
I could not tell him any of this. He thought my love life was enough of a disaster as it was.
He wasn’t wrong. I just didn’t want him to know how right he was.
“So,” I continued before Simon could say anything else. “If we’re gonna do this, how should we…?”
Simon shrugged. “I’m not a sex-faking expert.”
We looked at each other, then around the room, then back at each other again.
“Okay, well…” I scanned the room a second time and let myself do something I tried really, really hard not to—think about what it would be like to have sex with Simon. Or at least, what I wanted it to be like.
“You slam me against the door,” I said, striding to it and hitting it with the flat of my palm. It banged and shuddered satisfyingly—realistically, I hoped.