What If It's Us(65)

It’s . . . a computer game.

“I made you a Sim,” he says shyly. “Look, that’s you.”

And there I am, center screen, tousled dark hair and button-down and a bow tie. It’s actually somewhat creepy how much my avatar resembles me. I know a little bit about this game, mostly because Jessie loves it, but the level of detail catches me off guard. It’s not even just the clothing or the coloring. Sim Arthur has my facial features. I blink. “Why do I have a green diamond floating over my head?”

“Have you never played this?” Ben asks. I shake my head. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Then this is going to be a big night for you.”

I force a grin, but my mind is whirling. So this is it. We’re playing The Sims. This is Ben’s big night. He introduces me to his avatar, who basically looks like Ben in Harry Potter robes, and under normal circumstances I’d be super charmed by this, but all I can think about are those thirty-six condoms burning a hole in my messenger bag. It’s just hard to get excited about losing my Sim virginity when I was sure I was going to lose my actual virginity. But I guess that’s my own fault for coming in with expectations.

But seriously, three and a half hours in his apartment with no parents, and this is how he wants to spend it? This is the only activity he could come up with to do in this bed?

“We have a really pimping house,” he informs me. “Oh, and we live with Dylan.”

“Of course we do.”

I have to admit, our Sim house fucking rules. Ben’s not shy about using cheat codes for money, so we’ve got a huge indoor pool and a sunroom for parties. There’s a dragon sculpture in the foyer and a light-up dance floor in Dylan’s room, and also the entire backyard is an amusement park, with a roller coaster and a carousel and a Tunnel of Love.

“For you and Dylan?” I ask.

“We don’t let Dylan ride it anymore,” Ben says darkly.

Ben walks us upstairs to our bedroom. OUR BEDROOM.

“We share a room?”

“Is that okay? This was actually mine and Dylan’s house, and I kind of . . . moved you into my room.”

He looks nervous, which makes me brave enough to scoot closer to him. “Very okay,” I say, resting my head on his shoulder. “I like being your roommate.”

He hooks his arm around my waist and kisses me softly on the forehead.

And something shifts. We don’t log out of the game, but Ben slides the laptop back onto his pillow. Then—it’s hard to explain, but he pulls me on top of him, and we’re not exactly lying down, but we’re not exactly upright either. He slides his hands beneath my shirt, and the warmth of his palms on my back makes me giddy. I thread my hands into his hair and kiss him without thinking, and The Sims’ music and chatter fades into the background, not nearly as loud as the thud of Ben’s heartbeat.

He draws back, breathing heavily. “Should we take this off?” He presses his thumb against one of my shirt buttons. He looks slightly terrified.

“Do you want me to?”

He nods quickly.

“Okay.” I scoot a few inches sideways, so I’m slightly less on top of him. My heart’s beating so fast it’s practically buzzing. “FYI, it’s hard to unbutton buttons when your hands are shaking,” I say, and even though it’s not a joke, we both laugh. We’re both breathless.

Ben grins up at me, his eyes landing first on my face, then my chest, then the wadded-up button-down in my lap. “Cute undershirt,” he says, catching its hem with his fingers. He meets my eyes, and I nod. And the next thing I know, we’re in our boxers, horizontal.

“This okay?” he says softly, and I nod into the crook of his neck. He traces his fingertips along my back and my shoulders, and then he kisses me fiercely. I can’t get over how warm his skin feels against mine. I run my hands along his stomach, which makes him squirm.

“Should I not—”

“No, you’re good.” He exhales. We stare at each other, smiling.

“So,” I say finally. “Do we want to try . . .”

His eyes widen. “Do you?”

“Maybe. Yeah.”

“Okay. Yeah.” He hugs me closer. And for a moment, we stay just like that—chest to chest, cheek to cheek. And then, slowly, his fingers trail closer to my boxers, slipping under their waistband. “This still okay?”

Holy shit. I laugh breathlessly. “Yup.”

So this is actually happening. It’s happening. It’s happening, and my whole body knows it. His hand slides down another inch. I don’t think I’ll ever not be hard again. His eyes never leave mine. He looks nervous. And he holds me like I’m breakable.

Another inch, and my heart leaps into my throat. Because how is this real? How is this possibly real? How is this the same me that woke up this morning in a bunk bed?

“Still good?” Ben asks softly.

I nod, but I’m strangely close to tears. I’m just—I don’t know. How is this happening? And how does this work? No, seriously, how does this specifically work? Who puts what parts where and in what order and when does the condom go on, and what about lube? I know fucking nothing about lube. And here’s Ben, peering at me sweetly, with those eyes and those freckles, and I guess he probably knows the mechanics, and I should probably warn him how much I’m going to suck at this. Unless he’s already figured it out. God. He probably already thinks this is a mistake, and I’m a mistake, and sex is a mistake, and also what even is sex? It’s so WEIRD. What a weird thing to want to do. Or maybe I’m the one who’s— “You okay?” Ben asks.