I toss my shirt in the general vicinity of the hamper, change into shorts, and flop onto the comforter. My feet cross, and I rest my hand behind my head while I smirk down at my phone. The Bluetooth speaker in the shower is hooked up to my playlist, so I shuffle through songs I know will make her laugh.
As suspected, she’s smiling when she returns with damp, glistening skin and wearing one of my t-shirts that damn near covers her knees.
“Why is there a beer in your shower?” she asks after turning off the lights and dropping next to me on the bed with a sigh. “And the music selection? 2004 called. They want their angst back.”
I scoff. “If you don’t fuck with my emo phase, then we have absolutely no business being friends.”
“So, this is the end.”
I chuckle and set my phone on the nightstand. “Sounds like it. It’s been real.”
Mesa mirrors my laughter, looking up at the ceiling as I settle in to get more comfortable next to her. Getting under the covers would be a good step in that direction, but I stubbornly remain on top of them.
We’re silent for a while. I’m tempted to let the quiet stretch on and let her steady breaths lull me to sleep, but I’ve been quieting my wild thoughts for a full day now. They’re begging to spill out.
“Are you gonna miss this when you’re married, knocked up, and living in the suburbs in two years?” I ask somewhat jokingly.
I could lie to myself and say that the question came out of nowhere. The truth is that I know exactly where it came from, and it’s a place of fear. She hasn’t brought up last night or acted awkward around me. That’s what she wanted, so part of me is happy about it. But it also reminds me that I am not as unaffected by what happened between us as I hoped I’d be.
Instead of scratching my itch, helping her out, and going back to being friends when it was all said and done . . . I crave more of her. Not just more sexual stuff.Her.
Asking her if she’ll miss me when she’s moved on one day is a self-inflicted reality check—a reminder that we’re friends. It’s shitty of me to break her trust by pushing my luck and getting closer to her.
Never thought I’d worry about losing a girl. Especially in this case, because it’s not just a potentially romantic relationship I’d be missing. It’s my friend. Maybe even the closest one I’ve ever had. It’s her.
My Mesa.
And the thought of someone else taking that away is such a fucking drag. I know it’ll happen, but I still don’t like it. Nofuture boyfriend of hers would ever be okay with what we have. They wouldn’t understand, just like the rest of my friends don’t.
She turns on her side to face me, calm and slow. I see her in my peripheral, but with my hands behind my head, I keep my eyes pointed up toward the slats of stained wood that make up the ceiling.
“Yes,” she answers.
Fuck. It’s immature of me, but I hate the honest answer from her. I secretly wanted denial. Confirmation that she’ll never find herself in that hypothetical situation. An answer like that would be a lot easier to digest.
I know that’s dumb, and trying to understand myself is exhausting. But when my friends are all married off, including Mesa, I’m all I’ll have.
“But I would never move to the suburbs,” she clarifies. “Do you want to get married someday? Have children?”
I think hard about her question, my brows pulling together. “I wouldn’t know the first thing about living out my days with a wife and kids.”
“That’s not a no,” she says, calling out my vague stance on the subject.
“It’s not a yes.”
“Okay,” she whispers.
“What? You’re not going to reason with me? Tell me what I’ll be missing?”
It’s what I expect. I’ve recited a version of the same reply plenty of times.
I already ripped out the back seat of my Bronco—no room for car seats. And I’m not cut out for a serious relationship with one woman for the rest of my life. It’s out of my depth.
“Nope,” she says confidently. “No man should ever have to be talked into something like that.”
“Agree. I mean, there’s low-level appeal there, I guess. I’m not bashing the idea or anything. But it’s not the life for me. I’m just trying to make it out alive as it is.”
“But what good is making it out alive if you have nothing to live for?”
