Page 36 of The Time It Takes

When would he be ready, with Mason? For sex, or to introduce him to the pack? Maybe I'd better stop thinking about it. It was really none of my business.

Chapter sixteen

Iwas glad we weregetting along again. I'd felt every hour of that tension between us. It shouldn't matter, but it had. It was like a hollow area in my chest. Clearly I shouldn't be so dependent on his friendship, but I was, and it had hurt to be on the outs. And to know I could fix it, if I was just brave enough. But I hadn't fixed it. He had, by cooking me something nice, being so kind—expressing his concerns, then letting it go and just accepting me in all my fuckedupness.

But being close to him again felt so nice that my self-control was at a low tide mark. I hadn't even tried to resist sprawling out next to him on his bed tonight. In fact, I was halfway leaning on his shoulder right now.

I could tell him. Right now. I mean, it would interrupt the movie, but so what? It was turning out to be tepid and brainless. If we talked over it, it wouldn't really matter. If nothing else, we had the privacy of the background noise. Not that I suspected anyone would ever listen at the door. It was just the idea. When I told him, it was for his ears—not everyone's. Not yet, anyway.

I moved away from him enough to crane my neck and look at him assessingly.

He noticed the look. "What?"

"Do you have a minute?"

"Sure." He started to sit up, instantly alert. I motioned for him to relax and stay chill. My hand brushed against his arm, and I gave it a little squeeze. He had powerful arms. They were strong, and they felt like it to the touch. Not that I went out of my way to feel his muscles all the time or anything, but we were together a lot, and he was a big hugger.

I spoke quietly. "I've been trying to figure out something, and I'm in my head about it a lot. It's complicated and I don't really know what's true yet, except there are lots of feelings and shit. Like if I'm right or wrong, you know? Either way, I feel dumb for not already having this figured out."

I took a breath. He was staring at me, his eyes big and dark.

I just had to say it. "I think I might be bi, like you. And it's taken me this long to even think about it."

"Okay," said Arlie, his voice hoarse.

"It sort of makes sense of some things, but it's complicated. I feel dumb for not knowing. I think I was so fucked up from being bullied when I was a kid that I couldn't even think about this until recently."

"That's a lot to deal with," agreed Arlie. "I'm glad you told me. Maybe I'll have some good advice for you." We both thought about that for a moment. "Probably not, though."

"Probably not." I allowed myself a small smile. "My therapist said I should talk with you about it, but I didn't feel ready. Frankly, I still don't feel ready to talk about it a lot. But anyway, you shouldn't be worrying about this."

"I'm glad you're willing to figure it out. If I can help, let me know."

The simple words meant a lot, and I smiled at him, a bit watery. I didn't want to cry. We both turned back to face the screen. We hadn't missed enough to lose the plot—such as it was. We both focused really hard on the screen for a while. After a bit, his arm moved a little, and came around me, sort of a hug, sort of a hold. We stayed like that for a while, and I let myself lean against him again. I felt some of the tension leaving my body, like a sigh, like letting go. Maybe it really would be okay.

He didn't exactly seem shocked. Maybe when you were bi, it was less of a surprise when other people were. Or maybe, like so many other people, he'd had an opinion about me from the beginning—except he'd done a better job of hiding it and not making me feel foolish for not fitting the stereotypical straight mode.