Page 11 of Trustfall

Don’t cancel. Give him a chance. We can rain check Bolognese and Alaska for tomorrow night.

Allie: Are you sure?

Yeah, something came up.

Allie: Something like riding our sexy neighbor’s face?

No! Something else.

Allie: Okay but you’re spilling later.

Maybe…

That taken care of, I glance back up at Ashton as I pocket my phone.

“Okay, we’re good for tonight.”

“Perfect, I’ll pick you up at six. What kind of food do you like? I’ll make a reservation.”

Anything but Mediterranean.

5

EMORY

The trees whizby in a blur of browns and greens as I gaze out the window of Ashton’s BMW. He took me to this quaint little Italian restaurant downtown for our date. It wasn’t too cold, and they had heaters, so we sat outside and people-watched as we ate. Ashton said they had the best wood-fired pizza, so we shared a margarita pie and the most fantastic burrata and peach appetizer. Unlike Allie, I’m simple when it comes to food, but I definitely appreciate good pizza.

Dinner with Ashton was as easy as I'd hoped. We laughed and joked some more about our ridiculous parents. He shared stories about his frat brothers from college, but it wasn't the hardcore secret society kind of fraternity his dad wanted him to join. Instead, Ashton rebelled against his dad for the first time by choosing a lesser-known frat that was basically a group of guys who got together to smoke weed and pull elaborate pranks on each other. His greatest feat was when he filled every shampoo bottle in the house with coleslaw dressing. He could barely finish telling me the story without spitting out his drink again.

Being with Ashton felt comfortable, but my heart didn’t beat faster. I didn’t forget how to speak. There were no butterflies. It was like having dinner with Allie or Nate.

But then, as we left the restaurant, Ashton placed his hand on the small of my back, and suddenly all my dysphoria resurfaced. That one small gesture of intimacy was enough to set me back. I awkwardly pulled away, and fortunately, he didn't say a word. After that, we spent most of the car ride back to my house in silence.

As Ashton pulls into my driveway and puts the car in park, I notice the lights on in Luke’s cottage, and my stomach dips. He hadn’t been home earlier when I came back to get ready for my date. Not that it matters. We’ve barely even spoken to each other since he came back into town.

“Can I say something?” Ashton asks.

“Sure,” I say, a little uneasy.

“I’m so sorry about what happened back at the restaurant. I wasn’t trying to make a move on you or anything. I know you said you’re not looking for a real relationship, and I respect that. I’m just a touchy person. I’ve been told physical touch is my love language, whatever the fuck that means. Anyway, I’m rambling, but I am sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, which obviously I did.”

I smile. “Thanks for understanding. I don't know why, but I feel like I can be honest with you. It did make me a bit uncomfortable. It’s not that I don’t like to be touched, but I have to work up to it. You know?”

“I get it.”

“And—” I’m not sure how to express this next part, but I need to say it. “I also don’t want to give you the wrong impression. You’re right. I’m not looking for a relationship right now, or even to casually date. I just—I need to figure out some things on my own before I jump into a relationship. But I do want to be friends if that’s okay. And I’m happy to go on a fake date anytime to keep your parents at bay. Especially if you’re buying.”

He lets out a low chuckle. “Look at us being all honest, direct, and shit. I’m proud of us. And I would love to be your friend, Emory.”

“That’s good to h—” Before the last word leaves my lips, a loud banging on Ashton's window cuts me off. Ashton hesitates, looking as surprised as I do, before pressing the button to roll the window down. The banging continues until the window slides open, revealing Luke. It’s dark but his face is lit up by my front porch light. He's holding up his fist, frozen in mid-bang.

And he looks furious.

“Luke? What are you doing?”

“I think the better question is, what areyoudoing?” he scoffs.

I’m so caught off guard by his stern tone and the fire in his eyes that it takes me a minute to formulate a response. “I—I just got home from a date. This is Ash?—”

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