Page 87 of Pierced

“I hope it wasn’t presumptuous,” he says, drawing in a deep breath.

“Jesus Christ, Pierce,” I say.

“See,” he says. “There is such a thing as too rich.”

It would be ridiculous of me to unbutton one more button on my underbuttoned white button-down blouse right now, but that’s what I feel like doing. I’m flushed all over with… I don’t know. Not desire, because Myrtle Rothschild does not get hot over gifts. Not even one like this.

But… something else. Gratitude isn’t the right word either. I don’t want to thank him with a boob shot, for fuck’s sake.

But I am hot for him right now. And I do want to thank him for being… thoughtful. And for being my friend. And invested in me the way he is. And something else too. But I’m not quite sure what that is.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” I stammer. “But… thank you.” It’s so not enough. These words are not enough words to make him understand what I’m feeling right now.

He pours me a glass, hands it to me, and then holds up his own bottle of Perrier. His beverage of choice. And so very Pierce. I touch my glass to his bottle and he says, “To something new. I think what we had is gone. And I truly, truly regret that. It’s all my fault and I’m so, so sorry. But we’re not done yet. We can’t be done yet.”

I take a sip. And he sips his water. And then we just stare at each other. Eye to eye. Soul-searching, I think.

“Can I ask you a question?” I ask.

“Of course.”

“Why don’t you drink?”

“Partially just because of Paulette.” He has always tended to call his mother by her first name. He shrugs. “And partially because of control.”

“Control?” He nods. “How so?”

“I don’t like being out of it.”

“That’s funny.”

“Isn’t it just?”

We both take another sip of our preferred drinks.

“When I came to Colorado I met a man.” I don’t even understand how that came out of my mouth, but it did. And now, just half a second later, I want to take it back.

He must see the panic in my expression, because he takes my hand and leads me over to the sofa in front of the fireplace. “Let’s sit down. I know we’re been driving and you might be anxious to go outside and shop—”

Shop? I almost laugh. Because shopping is the farthest thing from my mind right now.

“—but let’s just relax and have a nice conversation. Sound good?”

I nod, then sit down like I’m on autopilot. I hold my glass in my lap with both hands, staring down at it.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he says. “But if you do, you should know it won’t matter. Not that it won’t matter. Everything you say matters. But that it won’t change the way I feel about you.”

I look up at him. “How do you feel about me?”

“Honestly, I have no idea. No,” he says, putting a hand up. “That’s not true. I do know one thing. I… like you. Like that. You know. I like you like that.”

I smile, feeling better than I have in months as I look back down at my glass. “It was just a really weird time.”

“What was weird about it?”

“Well,’ I say, looking up at him again. “I was weird. I wanted to be someone else. I didn’t want to be the shy, quiet, librarian’s daughter anymore. And I didn’t quite know how to go about that, but I met this man one night in a bar. I didn’t realize it was a kink bar. It was up in Boulder and all the girls in my English Lit class were talking about going there. But… they were not my friends. I just overheard, ya know?”

He nods at me.