Page 62 of Playing Pretend

He falls quiet, the judgmental silence equally as hard to endure as his taunts. He doesn’t let go of my shirt, though.

“Good night, Rome.”

He sighs, long and pained. “Why is pleasure such a shameful topic for you?”

Jesus.I flop back onto the bed. “It’s not shameful. It’s…” I don’t know. Awkward. Uncomfortable.

The mattress jolts with his movement, then blinding light sears my eyes from his bedside lamp.

“Holy shit.” I flip onto my stomach, burying my face in my pillow. “Turn it off.”

“I want to discuss this.”

“And I want to die. Can youpleasegrant my wish first?”

He snickers. “Not this time, baby girl. I need answers.”

I groan, pressing my face harder into softness.

“Come on, Pip. Talk to me.” His fingers brush my arm, the contact igniting gooseflesh along my wrist. “Do you think sex is embarrassing?”

“For the love of God, don’t do this to me.” The heat from my cheeks could boil water. I’m in absolute hell.

“What’s so uncomfortable about this conversation?”

I wish I had a simple answer. I don’t.

There have to be a million reasons why I act the way I do when Rome delves into explicit territory. And okay, maybe some of them have to do with shame. My first love was someone I looked up to like a brother, after all.

Rome is family. You don’t crush on siblings, pseudo or not.

And I guess talking about sex with him makes me think about sex with him, which makes me embarrassed, seeing as though he says he can read my mind.

Then there’s the way I compare all my sexual encounters to his. How I pit myself against the unabashed, confident women he shares himself with while I wade in a tepid pool of discomfort.

“I thought we could talk about anything,” he murmurs. “At least, that’s how I’ve always felt with you.”

“Don’t guilt trip me. Not over this,” I mumble into the pillow. “It’s obvious I don’t have the experience you do.”

“What’s my experience got to do with anything?”

I cringe, every muscle in my face contorted in dismay. “Your expertise daunts me. And, if I’m being entirely honest, it also makes me feel dysfunctional.”

“Are you serious?”

I slump onto my back to stare at the ceiling, his focus stalking my periphery. “Everything comes naturally to you. Rett, too. In comparison, you already know how Julian couldn’t make me…”

“Say it,” he demands. “It’s just one word.”

“Orgasm,” I groan.

I sense him smiling, but I don’t look to confirm. “It wasn’t only Julian. I don’t reach that point with anyone. Faking it has become my norm.”

“Did you fake it with me?”

I should say yes. That he’s no different. That today in the pool wasn’t the monumental occasion that my emotions think deserves a ticker-tape parade.

“Piper?” He leans closer, creating a shadow over my face. “Did you fake that shit with me?”

---