I shrug a shoulder. Where even to begin? Or, more appropriately, what to say and what to leave out. “It will be. I think.”
“Well, I know you’ve been more scarce than usual the last few days,” she says. “And…I don’t know what, exactly. Preoccupied when I have heard from you.”
“Mm.”
“Mm?” She gives me an encouraging smile.
I groan, rubbing my face with my hand. “Don’t worry, I’m still clean.”
“Should I be worried that you’re struggling?” Emily asks.
“No, no. I’m not near that, thank God. No. It’s…well, it’s going to sound silly.”
She chuckles. “Try me.”
“I…” How to explain Ben? Words don’t do him justice. “There’s…”
“It’s okay. Whatever it is.”
“Oh no, it isn’t. I violated the ban. Well, not that I quite dated anyone, mind—”
She looks startled. Emily’s well-versed on my dating ban. “Go on.”
“There’s a man. Ben.” I try again. Second time lucky? Let’s find out. “Who I was…having sex with. Except…it feels like more than that. And it can’t be.”
Emily’s expression softens. “I think that sounds lovely, if you’ve found someone that you want to see more than once.”
Panic rises. “You missed the whole part about the ban and how this can’t be. What the hell did I do?”
“Whatdidyou do?”
“Well, he started it,” I say accusingly, like that’ll absolve me of all responsibility in our brief union since I wasn’t the instigator. “You said I found someone but actually he found me, just in the café. Working. Like I do. Repeat customer.”
She laughs.
“It’s not funny.”
“I’m not laughing at you, lovely. I just think there must be something special about him to catch your attention for more than a night,” she says. “I’m curious to know more.”
I hop up to pace my room’s creaky hardwood floor. “He’s a musician. A proper one. He’s funny and filthy and beautiful. A dream, if I’m honest. I swear my subconscious mind’s made him up and he can’t be real.”
“He sounds wonderful.”
“Don’t get excited,” I warn darkly. Em’s positively buoyant at the prospect of an unexpected spike in my shuttered romantic life. “I just basically told him to fuck off after a few days of sex. Fantastic sex. That I’m too busy to see him. Because of—well, everything.” I wave my hands around, very much unlike a man in control. “You know—you and Carys, uni, work, the band—”
“You didn’t.” She stares.
I don’t know if she’s more startled that I admitted to being with someone over multiple days, or that I told him to fuck off. In any case, she’s looking at me—rightfully—as though I’ve entirely lost my mind. Which, clearly, I have.
“Of course I did. How could I not? You know the situation, Em.”
“You deserve to have a life too.” She pauses, considering. “You know I date. Do you judge me for that?”
“Of course not.”
“Then?”
“It’s different,” I protest. How can she not see that?
