Page 35 of Sex Positive
“No.” His brusqueness silences her. “Please trust me, Rogers. If he knew it was you, he’d try to control you, too.”
Charlie frowns, puzzled by his insistence. “All right.”
“I just—” He pulls his lower lip between his teeth. Charlie reprimands herself when an image flashes through her mind of her doing the same.
Christ, Charlie, he’s being open with you for the first time, and all you’re thinking about is hismouth?
“It seems like I’m always disappointing him, but I don’t know if I actuallywantto meet his expectations. It feels like too much.”
Without thinking, Charlie leans forward and rests her hand on his. “He’s your dad.” She smiles. “Don’t you think he’ll be proud of you no matter what?”
His laugh is brittle. “That’s sweet of you to say, but you don’t know him.”
A chill falls over her, and she draws her hand back. Sitting up straighter in her chair, she pulls the LSAT prep book toward her, searching for the page they were on before his confession.
She has always assumed Wes had everything, assumed his social status at Archwood was the tip of the iceberg of his ideal, easy life. But now her image of him shifts and contorts, giving her a clearer picture of who he really is.
His words tug on something in her chest; she understands the weight of parental expectations and what happens when they’re not met. When the disappointment causes a rift so deep it’s irreparable. When the child has to decide to forge their own path, no matter what the parents’ reactions are.
But she doesn’t tell him this.
Instead, Charlie turns the book toward him again and taps the page. “Then we better get focused. I’ll have you know, I make studyingfun.”
He laughs softly before releasing a sigh. “I can’t study anymore today, Rogers.”
“But you just said—”
“I know.” He meets her eye, his face lined with fatigue. “I don’t want your efforts to go to waste, but I don’t have it in me to do anything else.”
She bites her lower lip. “If you’re sure.”
He stands from the table. “I’m sure. Are you hungry?”
His tone is suddenly much more upbeat, and she blinks at the whiplash.
“I could eat,” she replies.
He begins going through her cupboards.
“Sure,” she deadpans. “Go ahead. By all means, help yourself.”
“You need to run out and grab more Annie’s mac and cheese before the stores stop selling it.” He opens her cupboard wide, revealing a dozen boxes of her favorite food. “You’re running low.”
“It’s delicious,” she points out.
He closes the cupboard and moves on to her fridge. “It’s hardly a meal.”
She scoffs. “What are you talking about? It has carbs, protein,andfat! All three important macronutrients!”
He lifts his head from behind the door, grinning. “I suppose I should be grateful you’re eating at all. You used to have a terrible habit of forgetting to do that.”
He disappears again, and she’s grateful, because her cheeks flare with heat at the reminder that he knows more about her than she’s willing to admit. The knowledge lingers like a fading bruise.
It’s important to take breaks, he told her one evening in the library freshman year after she nearly passed out and then confessed she hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast.
Wes shuts the fridge. “We’re going out.”
She balks. “I have food here!”
