Page 124 of Unloved

I shake my head. “No. She gave me his last name because theyweregoing to get married—I think? It’s kinda fuzzy.”

Our pasta is cold now, half eaten and fully forgotten. And I feel like a used towel, wrung out and dried up.

She turns on our favorite internet show, letting it autoplay as I rest my head on her shoulder and she rests hers on mine. Her curlstickle my neck and cheek, the smell of her shampoo and perfume intoxicating and fresh.

I turn my head slowly until I can press my lips against her neck. Once, twice, and then I press my nose in to inhale her skin.

Flopping back away from her, I take her in—flushed cheeks, pupils wide, breath shallow.

I think the sight of her beneath me, being inside of her, would change me forever. She is so perfect, smart and gentle and kind. That same desperate need to please is like a living thing inside of me, begging me to push her back, put my head between her thighs until she feels good and happy—relaxed, sated.

I want that.

But there is something unsettling about sex now, especially with Ro. The need to please her in the way I know best warring with my need for her friendship. Her respect—and never have those things gone hand in hand for me.

So I grin and jump up from the floor.

“I should go.”

“Do you want to stay tonight?”

I’ve slept next to her enough times to know my answer is a resounding yes, but I shouldn’t. It doesn’t matter—I’m nodding before I can talk myself into leaving.

She pops up beside me, stumbling a little in her excitement. It’s thrilling and humbling all at once.

“I just need to shower.”

Why does it feel like she asked me to get naked?

My throat goes dry. “Okay.”

“You can come in, though.”The room? The shower? Her?

“Sure.” I nod stupidly, following her into the dim lamplit room. It’s an instant hit of dopamine; the entire room isher. Same sage-green patchwork bedding and floral sheets. Same fairy lights and sewing machine in the middle of a project on her desk. Her perfect wall calendarmeticulously filled out with—I stop to stare at it, hand drifting up to touch it. Ro’s been to every home game we’ve played, and now I know why.

My finger grazes the black writing—all my games are written out on their respective dates.

“Oh,” she says. She blushes, realizing what I’m staring at. “Yeah, I just… I don’t wanna miss one, ya know? So I marked them all down.”

I can’t swallow, throat tight.

“I’ll be right back,” she says before swiftly turning on her heel and disappearing into the bathroom.

My thoughts are racing, warring with one another. Like a mental game of pulling petals off a flower:she likes me, she likes me not…

Ro marked my games on a calendar. She made me a tie, embroidered with stars and my number. She asked me about my mom. She asked me to stay the night.

Don’t do this to yourself, I think, clenching my fists at my sides.You’ve been wrong before.

Carmen’s voice echoes in my ears before I can stop it. “It was fun, Freddy. Don’t be ridiculous, you’re—that’s not what I need.”

Ro is different. I have to believe that. Ro wouldn’t play with my feelings like so many have before. She’sreal.

Barging into the bathroom doesn’t seem right, but I can’t stop myself. Steam billows around me as I cover my eyes and blurt out, “Do you like me?”

“Matty? What are you doing?”

“Do you like me? Do you have feelings for me?”

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