Page 45 of Total Dreamboat
I find my voice, because I don’t want him to see how emotional I am. “You couldn’t tell by my physical and auditory clues?” I ask.
“You could have been faking to stroke my ego.”
“I don’t fake orgasms, Peregrine .”
“That’s very principled of you, Gertrude . Come here.” He opens his arms to me and I snuggle close against him. I love the way he smells—just the bare scent of his skin.
“I’m going to miss this,” he says into my hair.
I trace one of the tattoos on his arm with my finger. “Me too.”
I know it’s insane to fall for a boy after such a short time—again. I know that the way a person seems on vacation is not representative of who they are in real life. I know that what I’m about to do is reckless.
But I can’t not say it.
It’s the kind of thing that you have to try, or you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.
“What if we didn’t stop?” I ask.
“Don’t worry,” he says. “My plans for you tonight aren’t over.”
I’m not sure if he really didn’t get what I meant, or if he’s trying to ignore it. But I want it too badly to take the hint, if that’s what he’s giving me. I screw up my courage.
“I don’t mean sex,” I say. “I mean what if we kept this going. You know… like long distance.”
He stills under my body.
I can instantly tell I’ve said the wrong thing.
“Hope,” he says softly. “I’m not…”
“Never mind,” I say quickly. “Ignore that.”
He puts his arms around me in a way that seems… sympathetic.
Sympathy is the very last thing I want from him.
“I’m flattered,” he says. “But I thought we said this was a way to say goodbye.”
“We did say that,” I agree tightly.
He sighs. “I like you, Hope,” he says.
The words are so wan he may have said “you’re a nice gal, but I’m not that interested.” I was not expecting him to profess that he’s madly in love with me, but it would perhaps be nice to hear that he still has feelings for me stronger than “like.”
That he hasn’t stopped falling for me.
“The thing is,” he goes on, “I’m not in a place to be in a relationship. Yesterday reminded me that I’m still wobbly. I want to be solid in myself before I try to be solid for someone else.”
I know for the sake of my dignity I shouldn’t argue, but this line of reasoning doesn’t hold water.
“Are any of us ever one hundred percent solid?” I ask.
He sighs. “Maybe not. But I’d like to be closer. I don’t want to live in fear of myself.”
Not living in fear of myself is what I’m trying to do right now.
I want to take a risk—on him.
It’s crushing to know that he doesn’t feel the same way.
Then he says, “And maybe you need to take a break from relationships too.”
I’m startled by this assertion. “What?”
“Well, I was just thinking about what you were saying earlier—about wanting someone else’s more exciting life.”
I recoil from him, genuinely shocked. “I’m not trying to lay claim to yours, if that’s what you’re implying.”
“Oh no, of course not,” he says. “My life is in no way exciting. But you said that you aren’t fulfilled. So maybe this is an opportunity to pursue what you want. You know, write that book. Be happy with yourself before you try to be happy with another person.”
“So, a person doesn’t deserve love if their life isn’t one hundred percent perfect?”
“Hope, you deserve so much love. I just hate to think of you being in a relationship with someone who doesn’t value you just to numb yourself against dissatisfaction.”
Now I’m really pissed off. At him, and at myself for confiding in him.
I did that because I trusted him. Not so he could turn around and use my weaknesses against me.
I roll away from him. “Thanks for the feedback.”
“Hey,” he says, reaching for me. “Don’t go away. I’m not trying to insult you. I just want you to get everything you want.”
“Wow, I appreciate that.”
“You’re angry with me.”
“Well, here’s the thing. A few days ago you accused me of seducing you to get at your money. And now it sounds like you think I’m some lost little girl who wants you to amuse me out of my pitiful life.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You did, actually. And it’s insulting that you can’t give me credit for having genuine feelings for you, just because I’m not living out all my wildest dreams.”
“Hope,” he says softly, “I have genuine feelings for you too. I do.”
I don’t believe him.
I know there’s going to be a “but”—and that the but will reveal the true way he feels.
“But”—bingo—“we live in different countries. I’m not ready for a relationship. And I would hate to string you along thinking I might be the thing that could make you happy.”
“Got it,” I say.
He looks at me, aggrieved. “Please don’t be angry.”
“I’m not angry,” I lie, very obviously. “We have to be up early to pick up our passports. We should go to sleep.”
If he’d simply said he wasn’t ready for a relationship I’d have been sad, but I would have understood. I’d still happily have stayed up all night with him, having sex and talking and relishing our last few hours together.
Now, all I want is to get into my own bed.
Alone.
So I do.
And he doesn’t come after me.