Page 24 of Playing it Safe

I can't do that again. I can't let them build a house around someone who isn't staying.

Puck jumps off the counter with a thud and walks to his food bowl, which is empty because I'm a monster. I feed him, listen to the crunch of kibble in the quiet house, and stare at the wall.

My phone buzzes. I flinch, expecting my mother.

It's Briar.

Did you make it home ok?

I don't text back. I call her instead.

"Hey." Her voice is soft. Sleepy in a way that's different from being tired — more like she was already settling in for the night and I'm interrupting something warm. "You good?"

"Yeah." And I am, suddenly. Just from the sound of her voice. The tightness in my chest loosens and I sit on the couch and Puck, who has forgiven me for the food lapse, jumps up and curls against my leg. "You?"

"Mm. Good. Still a little wired, I think." She pauses. “Sorry about the tiny WAG shirt. Did it cut off all the blood to your brain?"

"I took it off the second I walked through the door."

A beat of silence. Then a small sound — not quite a squeak, but close. "So you're just … standing around without a shirt."

“I mean…yeah.”

"Right." Another pause. "That's fine. Totally fine."

I lean my head back against the couch. "By the way, my family has lost their minds. My mother wants to know your astrological sign and when I'm bringing you to Boston for inspection."

Briar laughs. "Inspection?”

"That's what it is. They'll line up at the door. My dad will try to hug you. My mother will buy you holiday gifts.” I try to keep things light and funny so I don’t sound like a stalker. My voice doesn't crack, which is an achievement. "It happened that way with my ex. The family goes all in. It's a lot."

"Is that what's bothering you right now?"

I swallow hard. "I let them get attached last time. When it ended, it wasn't just my breakup. It was everyone's." Puck readjusts against my thigh. "I don't want to put them through that again."

"Cameron." Her voice is steady. "We'll figure it out. That's what the arrangement is for, right? We control the story."

"Right." I rub Puck's ear. "Right."

We're quiet for a moment. I listen to her breathe, and it's the most relaxed I've felt all day.

"Can I tell you something?" she says.

"You can tell me anything."

"I keep thinking about what you said. On the phone the other night." She exhales. "About my body not being the problem."

I sit up straighter. "I meant every word."

"I know you did. That's what's messing with me." She laughs, but it's thin. "Because I've spent years accepting that I'm defective. That it takes me too long. And then you say it's not true, and I want to believe you, but I don't have any ... evidence? I just have his version of events and your opinion."

"It's not an opinion."

"You don't know that. You haven't—" She stops. I hear her swallow. "You don't have data."

My neglected dick twitches in my pants as I think about gathering this type of data with Briar. Christ, those thighs. I swallow, searching for something helpful to say. “Maybe it’s like … drills.”

“What?” She laughs, but it sounds more like uncomfortable titters than actual humor.