Page 49 of Blitz

“Is it true?”

“Yeah. It’s true.” There’s a lump in my throat I can’t clear. “Mic, I’m having second thoughts.”

“This is what you wanted. Everything is going according to the plan,” Micah reminds me. “We were texting for a while. It took him forever to confirm it. Kept saying I needed to talk to you. So, I’m talking to you.”

“We’re back together,” I tell him, and that aching pressure on my chest increases exponentially. “We consummated it last night. It’s officially official.”

“Gross, Mase.”

“Well, what sort of details do you want?”

“Does he still have feelings for you? Is he happy?”

“He’s over the moon. Needier than I remember.” Or maybe he’s only needy now because I devastated him so thoroughly. “He’s… good.”

“I can’t believe it took so long,” he says. “I thought for sure you’d have this over and done with by now.”

“Me, too.”

I’ve slept with other people, guys whose names I don’t remember with one hundred percent clarity. I’ve had two other boyfriends. I’ve experimented. I put myself out there. I tried again.

And he just curled up into the fetal position and hid away from the world. I feel bad that what should have been a straightforward breakup devastated him so much. What did he expect was going to happen? We dated all through high school, but we were moving to different cities for a minimum of four years. High school relationships don’t last through college and beyond. We were needlessly tying ourselves down. It was better to set each other free and spread our wings.

I flew. He fell out of the nest. He would still be there if I hadn’t forced him to address his feelings.

I want to be with Tucker. I just want him to be the man I need. And that might not necessarily be the man that he is. I can’t ask him to change for me, and I can’t force him to be someone he’s not. He needs to live his best life.

Even if that means his best life isn’t with me.

I just don’t see how we get past this. He doesn’t party. He doesn’t go out on Saturday nights. He stays at home—and there’s nothing wrong with that. I just don’t want to stay shut in all the time. I want to go out. I want to see my friends and celebrate a fucking awesome track meet and enjoy a birthday party without being made to feel like I’m inferior to want to socialize.

And it’s not that he’s said anything. I don’t think he will. But it’s either spend time with my friends or time with him, and I don’t know which one to choose. I don’t want to be forced to choose.

Fred is lying on the couch when I get home. She gives me a none too subtle once-over.

“Late night?”

“Girl. You don’t even know.” I laugh. I’ve already been home, showered, left, and now I’m coming back. I feel worn down and hungover—and I didn’t even drink last night.

“So the sex—it was good?”

Heat rises to my cheeks. “Yeah, it was… it was perfect.”

“Good. I’m glad. You deserve to be happy. You deserve to get laid.”

I laugh again. “Somehow I see that happening quite a bit. You won’t like it when we’re over here.”

“Oh? Is he loud?”

“No, it’s me. I’m the loud one.”

She waves a hand. “I can barely hear you. Your vibrator is louder than you are.”

“That’s because I’m trying to keep quiet.”

“You should love yourself often and enthusiastically,” Fred says with her German pragmatism.

“I do.”