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Chapter Eleven

Sarah

I hear Dallas come in and decide it’s time to tell him we have plans for the evening.

“I think you’re legally obligated to watch The Hobbit with me tonight.”

“I think I’m not.”

I look up from the kitchen table, where I’ve been working on some homework for one of my classes. It’s been a week of working at Sammy’s, of being with Dallas, I’m feeling like my nervous system might actually be settling down.

Nothing has been weird since that incident with Colt, when Dallas was acting like my angry older brother.

I’m not sure Dallas knows how ludicrous it is that he thinks he has to worry I might get taken in by some wolf in sheep’s clothing. No one could be more cynical about men than I am, and genuinely no one could be less likely to fall for something they don’t want to fall for .

Whether or not I want to fall for it is a question that I’ve been wrestling with ever since that day. Colt is interested in me. Physically. Dallas knows him, which means that he’s… safe. In spite of how Dallas reacted.

And I really want to cast this ring into the fire.

So to speak. The fact that I’ve never had a romantic or sexual relationship is getting uncomfortable.

I probably have a couple more years before it gets super weird.

But given I’m not attending a Christian college, it’s already a little odd.

And here’s one thing I know from experience, when you’re already weird, and you let things go on without correcting them, you only begin to get more brittle and set in those ways.

You end up saying things like: I’ve never really had a family dinner.

It makes everyone uncomfortable. The last thing I need is to bring all of my own issues into a sexual encounter I have to admit that I’m a laughably old virgin who also has pretty severe trauma around touch.

Those are things I don’t want to explain.

There are details I don’t want to get into.

Somebody like Colt is maybe kind of ideal, honestly.

He doesn’t seem to possess enough interest in who I am as a person to become a problem.

Maybe that’s mean. He’s perfectly nice, but I get the impression that what Allison said about him is true. He’s here for a good time, not a long time, and there’s just enough of a connection with him. Just enough. It feels almost reasonable.

But that’s a whole tangle for another time. It’s my birthday that has me thinking all of this, in addition to Colt being flirtatious. I’ve seen him a few times when he’s been passing by the store, and I don’t think he’s passing by accidentally.

So yeah. I can see an opportunity there.

But I’m also still weird and fearful and completely unsure of what I want, or even more worrisome, I don’t really want it.

I’ve never wanted it. And I feel like I need to in order to get on the path to being a functional human being.

To actually banish my trauma once and for all. Maybe Colt’s penis is my Mount Doom.

I frown.

“What’s wrong?”

I didn’t realize that I was broadcasting my thoughts. “Nothing,” I lie.

“Fine. I’ll watch The Hobbit with you if you’re going to pout like that. I can’t bear it.”

Well. There. My response to something totally unrelated got me my way. Fine by me.

“It is my birthday week,” I say. “And I think you should have to do it for that reason alone.”

“Okay,” he says. “I think that’s fair enough. Though, I think you can agree that you’ve made me watch an awful lot of this.”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

I bat my eyes at him, because I feel like being ridiculous, and even though he can’t read my mind, I want to move my thoughts further and further away from where they were. Because I don’t want him to have any inkling of what I’m thinking about.

“Popcorn, please,” I say.

He sighs and looks long-suffering as he immediately moves to make my request a reality.

I owe him dinner. I’m not the best cook, but I think I should make him something. I got my first paycheck last week, and I’ve been hoarding it. But now that I know all my bills are paid, I should go grocery shopping, do something to support him. Given how much he’s supported me .

I definitely owe him many bags of popcorn.

He puts it in the microwave, and I make my way over to the couch, abandoning homework.

I’ll have to finish that paper by tomorrow, but that’s fine.

It’s interesting because I was always resentful of homework when I was in school, but now that I’m working so hard to be at school, to make my way toward my goal, I feel a lot different about it.

It’s a privilege to have it, honestly, so even if sometimes I don’t love it, I’m just glad that I’m able to do college.

It’s cold in the room, so I decide to go to my bedroom and steal a blanket, which I then wrap around myself as I curl up on the couch.

Dallas walks in front of the couch, looks at me, and flings the bag of popcorn onto me.

“Hey,” I say, scrambling to unwrap my hands from the blanket. “That’s mean.”

“I’m actually very nice.”

“Yeah. So nice.”

“I’ll even put the movie on for you.”

“Thank you,” I say.

He smiles, and I feel like happiness washes through my entire body. It’s such a weird feeling, not one I’ve ever felt before.

Maybe it’s being settled. Because that’s definitely new.

When we were kids, I had started to take for granted that he was my safe place, but even then, we were moving around.

I guess it’s only been not quite two weeks, and it’s a little bit dramatic, I’ve also certainly been in places longer, but it hasn’t felt like this .

Like home, like family. Like long dinners and silly kids’ games. Like safety, Comfort, and ease.

And all of that with my wonderful friend, who is the most beautiful man in the entire world, and it makes me feel proud just to look at him. Makes it feel like my heart is going to burst through my chest. Makes me feel like maybe everything is going to be okay and anything is possible.

So yeah. I guess what I feel is happiness.

Even with the popcorn bag thrown on me. Anyway, I don’t mind, because then I tear into the bag and begin to eat far more than my share, which has been our MO with popcorn.

“I was thinking, on your actual birthday, maybe we can get a few people together that you’ve met here to come to the saloon.”

I frown, stopping chewing mid-mouthful of popcorn. “I don’t know very many people.” I grimace. “I also don’t really do birthday parties.”

“Well, I think you should. Twenty-one is a big deal.”

“I don’t know about that. I mean, I guess it’s kind of a big deal that I’ve survived this long.”

I do hear myself. I know that what I just said sounds a little bit sad.

I know that. That surviving is different than living.

At least, I know it in theory. But all I’ve ever had are little tastes of living.

Like a shot of flavor on your tongue, a piece of cotton candy that makes a direct hit, a burst of sweetness that’s gone too soon.

“Maybe that will be my twenty-one-year resolution,” I say. “To live.”

“As opposed to?”

I realize that he can’t read my thoughts, which is slightly jarring, because a lot of the time it feels like he can. “Surviving. I guess the two of them are probably different.”

“Yeah,” he says. “I would guess so.”

I think about him. About how he’s chosen to do such a risky job for a living, even while being given a life that is safe, secure .

“Why do you put your survival at risk when you don’t have to?”

He looks at me. “What?”

“Well, I was thinking. Thinking about how you don’t have to do a job like the one that you do. You could die, and for what? We were always at risk when we were kids. Much higher risk than most. But now… You don’t have to be.”

“I don’t really think of it that way. I guess it goes back to what you just said. You have to live. Instead of just survive, and that means thriving instead of thinking about strict survival. I ride because I love it.”

“I think maybe you’re a liar,” I say.

“I don’t…” He looks away. Then he lets out an exasperated breath and sits down on the couch beside me. “Let’s just watch the movie.”

“Why? Because now you’re frustrated with me?”

“I’m not frustrated with you.”

“Well, then you’re frustrated with yourself. You don’t want to think about your issues.”

“I don’t have issues,” he says.

“You really are a liar.”

“I’m not. I just… All right. I do. And I feel really stupid talking about any of them with you, just like I feel dumb talking about them to my dad, even though I did about a week ago. After you and I talked.”

“It’s okay that you didn’t get out unscathed. If anything, it makes me feel a little better.”

“I think it looks ungrateful.”

“It doesn’t. I promise. Well. I don’t promise. But you’re allowed to be complicated.”

“Thanks,” he says.

And then he does hit play on the movie, because obviously he’s a little bit tired of me pushing him .

I don’t really know why I’m doing it. But maybe that’s it.

Maybe he makes me feel a little bit less lonely.

I don’t want them to be totally okay, because I’m not okay.

I’m a broken mess, and if Dallas isn’t a little bit of a broken mess with me, then I don’t really know what I am.

That’s tough. And I feel more than a little bit mad about it.

The familiarity of the movie washes over me, distracts me from my darker musings. But as much as I love this journey through Middle-earth, Dallas is not enjoying it quite as much, and he starts to nod off, his blond head dipping as the movie wears on.

I smile and throw a piece of my blanket over his lap. His head falls back against the back of the couch, and eventually he slumps against me, heavy and far too warm, so I don’t really need my blanket anymore.

He ends up lying down, head in my lap, and I look down at him, studying the lines of his face with my eyes, taking this opportunity to look closely at him.

I lift my hand, my fingers hovering over him. I touch a lock of his hair that’s fallen onto his forehead, and sweep it away. This feels safe. Because it’s Dallas. Because he’s asleep. Because I can look at him, how beautiful he is right now.

Looking at him hurts. My chest, my stomach.

Not in a bad way.

It’s just the way that he is.

I let out a slow, shaky breath. I think about Colt. Will I actually let him touch me? Kiss me?

I look at Dallas’s lips. Thinking about them pressed against my skin makes me shiver with a kind of sensual longing I didn’t know I had the capacity for. I have such an intense, visceral reaction to it, and it isn’t negative .

I don’t know anything about being kissed. Feeling desired. I don’t know anything about mutual wanting.

And my eyes fill with tears as I think maybe I could feel all that someday. Maybe.

I move my hand away from Dallas’s face, and I don’t move away from him.

I just relish it. His body against mine.

I let it be something that feels soothing.

I don’t think about sex. But my heart is still beating fast, and I can feel need gathering at the center of my thighs, because apparently I can be basic.

Apparently, I can be just like other girls.

Apparently, I can feel need and desire, and maybe I’m not such an alien after all.

Maybe I can be normal. Maybe I can live, instead of just survive.

I feel something that I think might be longing. Yearning. I don’t actually want to get better acquainted with that feeling. Because I know what it’s like in other contexts. To want something that you can’t have. To wish that things could be different. I’m caught up in that feeling now.

What if he and I met at school? In this beautiful town. What if I had a family, a functional mom and dad, and we ate dinner around the table every night?

Except he probably still wouldn’t have asked me to be his date to any school dances because he’s too much older than me. Because there’s a reason he was always like a surrogate older brother, and not a potential boyfriend, and that doesn’t even have anything to do with me and my issues.

He was too much older then , it doesn’t feel like it now .

He’s just too important to me. He can’t be my experiment.

Not ever. And I ignore how hollow that makes me feel.

How sad it makes me. Because I have enough.

Enough to live. I don’t need to be greedy.

I have Dallas. As my best friend. My beautiful, wonderful best friend, and that’s enough.

It’s certainly more than I ever expected to have.