Page 15 of Double Dared
He laughed louder. “I wish.”
My arched eyebrows made him blush a little. He wished?
“Yeah, I mean, wouldn’t that be cool? There’s something fundamentally broken in me that prevents me from having relationships, even with the girls I chase and spend weeks and months trying to impress. Sometimes I just think it would be so much easier if I could date my buddies and play video games and have beer together.”
“Sounds a lot like you’re putting the blame on the girls,” I said.
He winced. “It does, doesn’t it? That’s not how I meant it. I’m just not easy to bend and shape and fit well with someone who isn’t like me.”
I nodded my agreement. “You’re picky, is what you are.”
I sighed. “I go for girls who very much know who they are and what they want. It just turns out that a lot of the time, what they want is not someone like me.”
“What are you like, Taylor?”
“Ask me something easier,” he said, making melaugh. “How does it work for you? Is it an even split, or do you have a preference?”
He didn’t mean to be silly about it. He genuinely wanted to know, that much I was sure of. So I gave it serious thought. “There isn’t a split at all. It’s entirely irrelevant. Each genre has something that attracts me, and it’s not something I can compare.”
“I guess I’ve had enough alcohol for this. Can I ask you something personal?” he asked.
I shot him a deadpan look, but I’d also had enough to dive into this conversation with a perfect stranger who could boogie. “Neither is better at it.”
“Really?” he asked, clearly skeptical. “I always thought a guy might know more about what another guy likes.”
I folded my lips and tried not to smile. This was not what I would want to encourage. Then again… “Ah, well, if you really want to know, it’s the other way around. When I’m with a girl, it’s not at all that she doesn’t know whatIwant. It’s that I overthink it, then worry that I don’t know what she wants. With a man, it’s different, because I know exactly what it feels like when I do something to him. And I’m certain that he feels good.”
Taylor’s eyes widened a little in fascination as I spoke. Everything, to the very last detail, that passed between us tonight resembled so eerily an actual date, all to the very fact that we were alone, performing for an empty auditorium, asking personal questions,dancing together, and discussing sex as if we were carefully trying to see if we might make it work.
And it sucked. It sucked that I felt it rooted so deep within me, this pulse of assurance that whispered,yes, it’ll work, just reach out, he’s right there. Because of course, I misunderstood the most fundamental friendliness for flirting and attraction.
“I never thought about it like that,” Taylor said. “It makes perfect sense. Maybe that’s why I never…” He laughed suddenly. “Well, not never. I’m told I’m pretty good. But I never felt so confident, you know?”
“You? Lacking confidence? Impossible.”
“I know,” he said, waving a hand.Duh. “But I lack it when it matters. As you said, maybe I overthink things, and then it feels more like trying to do a task well than taking a deep dive into the vast blue sea.”
I liked the way he described it. I could feel the imagery sink into my head. Leaping off a cliff, flying, and executing a flawless dive into the depths that hugged you all over and held you and loved you for exactly what you were.
He emptied his glass and danced a little to Bowie’s “Space Oddity.”
I wanted to offer him more. I wanted to see him sway to the song until dawn, then stumble and swing over to the sofa, and crash there with a self-conscious smile gleaming in his eyes, humming about Major Tom. “I think I got a little drunk.”
“I think so, too,” I would say. “Take your shoes off. I’ll bring you a pillow.” And I would go to the bedroomwhile his shoes rolled somewhere on the floor behind me, and I would walk to the closet to dig up a spare pillow and blanket, but he would follow me, pass through, and crash on my bed, and I couldn’t do a damn thing about it but lie down on the other side of it and wait until my breathing and his synchronized.
“I should get going,” Taylor said. “Tonight was fun.”
I nodded. “Don’t forget to bring that book you own tomorrow.”
He touched his brow with two fingers.
I saw him to the door, then watched him descend the stairs with quick feet and the ease of someone who was still far, far too sober to slumber in my apartment, and it was a relief. It was a relief to have him out of here, to have the reminder of all the impossible things hanging over my head.
As if Emma would ever truly be jealous of someone being interested in me.
As if Taylor had a passing understanding that all he had done tonight looked like flirting to someone who was single and heartbroken and alone.
As if…
