Page 72 of Blitz

“He didn’t do anything.”

“He upset you.”

“I upset myself.” Maybe calling my brother for reassurance was a bad idea. I can’t recall a single time he’s actually been helpful to me in the last twenty years. “He won’t have sex with me.”

I can hear Micah gag. “Gross, Mase.”

“Well, that’s my problem. I was freaking out and said something I shouldn’t have, and he’s taking sex off the table.”

“So you mean he’s actually listening to you and trying to make you feel better?” Micah scoffs. “Yeah, I can see how you might freak out about that.”

“Mic…”

“No, no, this gets better,” he says. “Because having sex is upsetting you, he takes sex off the table, and now you’re upset?”

“Well, when you put it like that…”

“Just because you’ve had shitty luck with assholes in the past doesn’t mean he’s like those guys,” Micah says. “He’s a decent guy. Take him at his word. He loves you and respects your boundaries. Stop freaking out and let the poor bastard love you.”

I clear my throat. “You’re kind of the worst.”

He laughs. “You love me, bitch.”

“You’re okay.”

We talk a bit about Dad and the babies—there are so many babies. Every time I turn around, his wife is pregnant again. Mom and the step-siblings are fighting again—surprise, surprise, they’re bratty preteens, I’m not sure what else she was expecting.

It’s good to catch up with my brother. For so many years, he’s been my rock, my constant. At all of the crucial moments in my life, either he or Tucker has been there for me, if not both of them. They get along so well together.

They used to. I don’t know if they will now. He’s changed. He’s more stoic, more reserved. Micah’s never met a party he didn’t like. They’ve both grown over the years.

My phone vibrates with a text. Tucker is on his way over for our date—we’re going to have dinner at the ASC again, just the two of us, then come back to my place for a movie. If everything goes according to plan, there might be some casual making out—horizontally, in my bed. Maybe even naked.

I can respect that he doesn’t want to have sex. As much as I want to get laid, I don’t think I’m ready for the emotional overload that comes with sex with him. I want easy, casual, no strings attached sex with the man that I love. That shouldn’t be contradictory. It should be easy for us to navigate after what we’ve accomplished together.

And he’s not built for that. Our relationship isn’t built for that.

So we’ll wait. We’ll get more comfortable with one another. I’ll get over this weird hangup I seem to have developed overnight, and we’ll get back to how it used to be. I love him. I’m in love with him. I want to be with him. It’s only natural that we have sex. Right? Right. Him taking it off the table can’t last long.

Tucker greets me at the door with a chaste kiss. He hands me a small bouquet of sunflowers—my favorite flowers. He remembered.

“Come on in,” I tell him, beckoning him inside. He chews the inside of his cheek as he steps over the threshold.

“You look great, Princess,” he says, and I beam. I’m only wearing leggings and a boxy Newton Track and Field t-shirt, the same clothes I’ve been wearing all day.

“Thanks, babe.” I put the flowers in a cup of water and set them on the kitchen counter. Now all of my roommates will know that I have the type of boyfriend who brings me flowers. Tonight I’ll take them up to my room, where I can admire them for the next week or so. “You ready to go?”

He catches my hand at the door and draws me in for a kiss that leaves me gasping. “Yeah, now I am.” He swats me lightly on the ass and grabs my coat off the hook. He holds it open for me to step into. “How was your day?”

Hand in hand, we make small talk on the way to the ASC. He holds the door open for me and then retakes my hand. We swipe through and make our way through the dining hall lines. He opts for turkey meatloaf. I have my sights set on the tilapia.

We eat dinner and talk about our day. We have a paper due next week for our sociology class; we make plans to hit the library together on Wednesday before my track practice and after his football meeting. It might be the only time we get together this week. Thursday night he has a video chat scheduled with Jamal, who’s never been my biggest fan, and then Friday afternoon my brother will arrive. We’ll have to make the most of our limited time together.

Tucker takes my hand in his and slowly runs his thumb over my knuckles.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he says, with a secret little smile curving his gorgeous mouth. He squeezes my fingers. “I’m glad we’re doing this. I wish I could take you on a real date, the way you deserve.”