Page 67 of A Deal with the Devil

“Hmmm, true,” I agree. “And Pop-Tarts. I suppose you’d have to stay.”

There’s silence. I lean my head back and shut my eyes. As much as I love this house, it’s Hayes that’s actually made me happy here. If I were to create a Tinder profile now, I’d seek…him. Mischievous eyes, a willingness to always say the rudest possible thing, a mouth that twitches when he’s trying not to smile. Someone who holds my door without thinking, but is happy to slam it in my face if it will make me laugh.

We only have two weeks left before Jonathan is back full-time. I wonder if it bothers him at all. I wonder if the thought of it makes his heart clench the way it does mine, if it sometimes hurts to breathe when he considers it. Doubtful, when he doesn’t even know I’m leaving for good. He’s never asked where I’ll go when Jonathan returns, and I never volunteered it. I guess there was this small part of me that just wanted to see every possibility played out. That wanted to see how things might be with us if I were able to stay.

“And in your ideal world,” he says, “would Matt be here too?”

I stretch and roll on my side to face him. “I swear you talk more about my ex than I do. Do you want me to set you two up? Is that what this is about?”

“I’m just wondering to what extent you’re over him,” he says. His voice is quieter than it was, less certain. “And don’t reflexively tell me you are. I saw the way you looked at him that night, Tali.”

Has he been thinking, all this time, that I still want Matt back? “I was just shocked. It was the first time I’d seen or talked to him since the breakup, and I felt like such a failure by contrast. It wasn’t about missing him.”

“You must miss him a little,” he argues. “He’s basically the only person you’ve ever been with.”

I think about this. “The things I miss are pretty stupid. I miss having someone to eat with, someone to talk to while I brush my teeth at night. I miss having someone who will listen to the stupid stuff that happens each day, the stories that don’t really have a point.”

“I feel like much of what you say is pointless, if that helps?” he asks, and I kick him. “At least he was so deeply unsatisfying in bed you don’t have to miss that.”

“I never said it was deeply unsatisfying,” I argue. “But I guess it’s nice not to have the pressure.” This grabs his attention. He turns his head to look at me, and his body follows, adjusting his position so he is on his side.

“What pressure?” he asks.

I flip onto my back. “I’d need a lot more alcohol to discuss that comfortably.”

He grabs the bottle of wine and refills my glass.

I take a heavy sip, wishing I’d had more to drink before this discussion began. Or that I hadn’t said anything to lead to it in the first place.

“It bothered him,” I begin haltingly. “It bothered him if I didn’t...finish...which I often didn’t for the reason I mentioned earlier. He took it personally, so I was always kind of worried.”

“Lots of women don’t come through intercourse. Why didn’t he just go down on you?”

The ease with which he suggests it, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, plucks a string in my core. I picture it. I picture Hayes like that...how open and shameless he’d be.

God.

“What?” he asks. “You can’t come that way?”

“I have no idea,” I groan, as I cover my face with my hand, humiliated. “And I can’t believe we’re discussing this. I’ve only slept with two people, and neither of them tried. It doesn’t matter. It probably wouldn’t work anyway.”

“It would work,” he says. His voice is low and raspy. I shiver at the sound of it. “I could make you come in two minutes flat.”

My gut clenches. I picture him sliding down between my legs, pushing my thighs apart. The rasp of his scruff against my skin, that first flick of his tongue… Stop thinking this way. There will be other men in the future. It just can’t be him. It’ll ruin everything.

Hayes is perfectly still beside me, silent. I’m about to brave looking at him, but I’m scared of what I might see.

And then his hand circles my wrist. “Tali,” he says quietly, pulling my hand away from my face. “Let me.” The look on his face is almost pleading, but there’s desire too.

His smell is everywhere—ocean and soap and fresh air, making it impossible to think.

I stare at him, my tongue darting out to tap my lip as I hesitate. I know what he’s asking, and I know it’s a terrible idea. “I don’t want to mess up—”

“It won’t,” he says. “It won’t, I swear. You don’t have to touch me. Just let me do this. Let me be the first.”

I’ve never heard him like this before. I’ve never seen him act like he really wants something, and wants it badly. I’m shocked by how compelling it is.

I don’t think I’m capable of turning him down when he asks like that.