Make Me Bad(66)

I’m soothing him, running my hand down his back, helping him come down from the high. I’m kissing his cheek and keeping him close. We stay on that futon wrapped around one another. The silence blares around us. Our hearts beat on, trying to give us back all the oxygen we’ve just burned up with blazing passion.

I want to lean back and meet his eyes and speak the truth.

I love you.

Simply that. I love you and maybe that’s silly. I love you and this was supposed to be a fun adventure, a daring departure from my normal life. I love you and that love comes with no strings and no assumptions, no requirements for you to say it back. Just love, given.

And because this is the year I’m living my life without safety nets, I do exactly that. I say those exact words. I shoot myself right in the foot.

“I’ve fallen into the cliché,” I lament. “My first time and here I am pouring my heart out.” I laugh and move away. “Ignore me.”

“Don’t do that,” he says, grabbing hold of my wrist. “Don’t say those things and then erase them as if they don’t matter.”

I blink, shocked.

“Falling quickly isn’t wrong. My dad fell for my mom the first day they met.”

My heart flutters. “You don’t talk about her much, or about them, really.”

He looks down at me, eyes narrowed. It’s like I’ve just shared a revelation. Did he not realize how closed off he is about her?

I think he’s about to slam the door closed on the subject but instead, he asks simply, “What do you want to know?”

“Everything.”





19





Madison





“I’m not still grinning, am I?”

Eli rolls his eyes. “Yes. Tone it down. I can see every one of your teeth.”

“Really?!”

I could have sworn my face was back to normal.

“Why are you so happy? Just because you and Ben are dating and he’s a wild animal in the sack, now you’re just going to walk around smiling all the time?”

“Maybe.”

Arianna and Kevin make fake gagging sounds, but I don’t care. I’m floating. Permanently. Life continues on below me, but I’m on a cloud, and my happiness is untouchable. It’s glorious.

“We might not be able to be friends anymore,” Eli quips.

I poke him in the ribs and steal one of his chips. Then I adjust Ben’s baseball hat on my head and try very, very hard to seem appropriately happy. It doesn’t work. They all groan and throw chips at me. Joke’s on them though because I’m hungry.

It’s Saturday and we’re all at the park together. Andy and Ben are out tossing a football around. The rest of us are under an oak tree lying on blankets, enjoying the good weather.

Oh, and don’t worry, a few guys showed up with a frisbee a few minutes ago and Ben forced them to go to the other side of the park.

“My hero!” I shouted, making everyone laugh.

Ben and I are still in the beginning stage of our relationship, working out all the kinks, like do we want to have sex eighty times a week or ninety? It’s been a real challenge.

Joking aside, I’ve had to be careful with my time. I don’t want to get so involved with Ben that I neglect my dad and brother. In the last week, I’ve gone to see my dad twice after work. I cooked him dinner and played cards, even helped him with particularly stump-worthy crossword clues. Last night, Colten was there too, and it was a little awkward. I could tell neither of them was quite ready to put the beach incident behind them. They were tiptoeing around it, asking about my apartment and work.

If they’d had it their way, I wouldn’t have brought Ben into the conversation at all, but I had to address it. Ben is here to stay (hopefully!), so my dad and Colten are just going to have to get over it.

I told them, very plainly, that I had no plans to end my relationship with him.

We subsequently ate the rest of dinner in silence.

I wince just thinking about it, which is the reason I have to do something. Life can’t continue like this. I have a plan. I’m going to host a breakfast at my apartment and everyone will be invited: Ben, Colten, and my dad.

In my head, I envision it playing out like a United Nations round-table discussion with the addition of freshly-baked pastries and orange juice. We’re all going to leave our weapons at the door and put on our most diplomatic smiles. Everything will work out and we’ll be singing Kumbaya by the end of it.

This is all well and good, but I don’t work up the courage to actually initiate the breakfast for another month.

I’m scared. Honestly. What if the relationship between Ben and my family is irreparable? What if I have to choose sides? No. I refuse to dwell in those negative thoughts. Instead, I focus on the things I can control, like how to whip up some freaking stellar scrambled eggs. Potentially laced with some kind of feel-good drug.





Saturday—a month into my relationship with Ben—I wake up bright and early in my apartment and get to work fixing a feast using my microwave and recently purchased hotplate, and when that turns out abysmally, I run to the donut shop down the street and order two dozen glazed donuts fresh out of the fryer. My cheap coffee pot doesn’t produce the best cup of joe, so I have Ben stop to grab a carafe from Starbucks.