13. Girl Problems #2
He moves from his perch on the coffee table to the seat beside me, the cushion dipping under his weight.
My whole body hums with awareness of how close he is.
Of the fact that despite my raw, bleeding confession, he hasn’t yet run.
The rejection might still be coming, but the look in his eyes promises a soft place to land if it does.
Still, I cling to the fragile thread of hope and turn to face him, fingers twitching where they rest on my knee, fighting the urge to reach for him.
“This is difficult for me to talk about.” He takes my hands in his like he can read the thoughts raging in my head. “I’ve never…”
His gaze drops to where our fingers are laced together, a flush spreading across his cheeks beneath his beard. Whatever he’s trying to say refuses to come easily. And even though I know the last thing he needs is my impatience, I can’t help nudging him forward.
“With a man?” I ask gently. “That’s—”
“Or a woman.” His eyes widen as the words rush out, like he can’t believe he said them. “Well. There was one time in high school—shit—that was a fucking disaster.”
It’s a good thing he isn’t looking at me, as my eyebrows shoot up so fast they practically achieve flight. He hasn’t… With… What?
I’m pretty sure I’m short-circuiting over here. There’s no way this incredible, kind, sweet, sexy-as-sin man just told me he hasn’t shared a bed with someone in…ever? It’s unfathomable.
“Is it like a religious thing?”
The corner of his mouth twitches, and a quiet chuckle slips free. “No. Nothing like that.”
Okay. That didn’t clear anything up.
“Can I ask why?” Then quickly add, “Unless it’s too personal.”
“It is personal. But considering I had my tongue in your mouth yesterday, then proceeded to freak the fuck out and run from you, I feel like I owe you an explanation.”
He takes a breath, gathering himself, before finally looking at me again. Those green eyes search my face like he’s bracing for something unpleasant, or maybe checking what he’s about to say is safe with me. I nod, hoping whatever he finds in my expression is enough.
“I told you that Elodie and I dated back in high school?”
“You mentioned it,” I manage through a smile instead of gritted teeth. I don’t like the way that tiny reminder stirs up jealousy. I do my best to shove it down.
“We were together a little over a year. About as serious as two seventeen-year-olds playing at love can be. Our mothers were subtly planning the wedding. Well, they thought they were subtle, at least. That’s how towns like this work.
You marry young, buy a house with a white picket fence, and have a couple of kids.
I didn’t have a problem with it. I wanted that. I’ve always wanted that.
“Elodie was one of my closest friends. I liked kissing her. I liked holding her hand, curling up on the couch to watch movies. We could sit for hours talking about nothing and everything. There was no reason not to build my life around hers.”
He pauses on a sigh, letting go of one of my hands to rub at his temple, like he can physically ease the memory loose.
“As time went on, it became obvious she was ready for more. Everyone around us was having sex. All the guys on the football team talked nonstop about which cheerleader was the hottest and what they wanted to do with them. Bunch of disrespectful pigs, honestly.”
The corner of his mouth lifts, but unease lingers in the green depths of his eyes.
“I tried to look at Elodie the way they looked at other girls…that all-consuming need my friends seemed to be experiencing wasn’t there.
I told myself maybe it was her. Maybe I wasn’t attracted to her like that.
It didn’t make sense. She was—is—beautiful, especially back then.
A perfect ten by every definition. I could see that. I just didn’t want.”
Hearing the man I’m low-key obsessed with talk about his teenage girlfriend should sting, but the pain in his expression dulls the brunt of it.
Owen’s quiet for so long, I worry he’s waiting for some sort of input.
Input, I'm completely inept at providing.
Girl problems are outside my area of expertise. Jay-Z and I are similar in that regard.
“I tried looking at other girls that way. It was no use. I tried looking at boys, too. I prayed to God that I wouldn’t find all that missing attraction there.
I wasn’t sure if I was more afraid of being gay, or—sorry, that came out…
There’s nothing wrong with being gay, Fin.
It was a different time. I was a confused, scared kid. ”
I school my features and squeeze his hand. “It’s okay. I know what you meant.” Being Gen Z, in a progressive state, made discovering my sexuality a relatively non-issue. I’m not ignorant of the fact that Owen’s and my experiences would have been night and day.
“I started to worry something was wrong with me. That my pieces weren’t assembled correctly.
I told myself I could fake it. Just because my body didn’t want the things everyone else wanted didn’t mean I couldn’t pretend.
I was still a teenage boy. I got hard all the time.
I’d wake up most mornings humping my mattress covered in—”
Well, there’s an image.
“—That isn’t the issue.” He blushes so hard, it paints the tips of his ears.
“One night, when her parents were out of town, I couldn’t avoid it anymore.
I tried. I really did. The whole thing made my skin crawl.
The way her hand felt around me, the sounds she made.
Even the rush of my own orgasm. None of it felt… right.
“I cried afterward.” His voice cracks with the misplaced shame he obviously feels at that admission.
“The thought of having to keep doing it—pretending for the rest of my life—I couldn’t.
So I told her the truth. I guess I was hoping she hadn’t liked it either, I don’t know.
She didn’t take it well. Said I was broken.
That I wasn’t a real man. Told me no one would ever stay unless I learned to make sacrifices.
“In the end, she wasn’t wrong. I’ve tried dating since, but every time I think about adding sex to the equation, it lands somewhere between complete disinterest and outright disgust. It’s just not something I’ve ever wanted. Or needed.”
Owen glances toward the window. Early afternoon light slips through the blinds and catches on the moisture gathering in the corner of his eye.
It hits me that this is the first time I’ve ever seen him like this.
So open and vulnerable. I wonder if he’s ever told anyone this before.
Or if Elodie’s dismissal was enough for him to keep this bottled inside.
To shut himself off from finding his person and having the life I know he desperately wants.
Still, I can’t help wonder, “What made her come back around?”
The way she sits and stares at him—fluttering her lashes, lapping at the bread crumbs of his attention—doesn’t exactly match the actions of the woman who clearly had no trouble breaking his heart.
Owen shrugs. “Honestly, couldn’t tell you.
She ignored me the rest of senior year, then took off.
When she finally moved back home, it was like she’d had a personality transplant.
I think she’d been burned one too many times.
Probably seen enough of the world, and its shitty occupants, that it was enough to change her mind. ”
He lets out a long sigh. “Maybe she presumes I’ve changed, I don’t know.”
If I had any money to put on it, I’d bet she realized how much she gave up by letting him go. Men like Owen are one in a trillion. You don’t let someone with a heart and smile like his slip through your fingers. I’m sure she’s regretted it ever since.
“You didn’t want to give her another chance?”