Page 43 of The Love Playbook

So maybe it’s just that she doesn’t want a relationship …

That … makes me sad. Because even though I know she said that she wanted to be my sex coach, for lack of a better term, the fact that we’ve gone on dates, that our relationship has become physical … well. It felt real. To me. It all felt like the real thing. It’s the realest thing I’ve ever experienced anyway.

But apparently that’s all me.

And now I need to figure out how to wrap my head around that.

* * *

I come back before game night is over, but Autumn’s nowhere to be seen. Somehow that’s worse than her still being here, even though I was dreading walking in and finding her.

My walk helped me calm down and clear my head. At least some.

It’s clear she wasn’t trying to hurt my feelings with her comments. She obviously thought we were on the same page that this thing between us is about me gaining experience, not the usual things people have relationships for like companionship and emotional connection.

But does she really not feel any connection? I definitely do. And it seems like she does too when we’re in the moment.

Maybe that’s why she said spacing things out is good, though. Maybe she does feel something and she’s trying to keep it from growing into something more.

And maybe it’s too late for me to insulate myself that way. She has more practice at that than I do. She has more practice at all of it than I do, which is why she offered to help me in the first place.

Once I’d relaxed enough to let my shoulders drop and my jaw unclench, once the knot in my stomach had loosened enough that the thought of food didn’t immediately make me feel like puking, I turned and headed home. I’d braced myself to see Autumn, to be polite and normal and not drag her back to my room and demand that she tell me how she feels now and if her declaration that space is good is because she’s already catching feelings, as she put it.

And then I didn’t need any of that. None of the carefully constructed plans or conversations or ways to avoid conversations I’d come up with.

It’s … a strange letdown. One I can’t shake the rest of the night.

After everyone’s gone and only Eli and I are left tidying up the rest of the inevitable detritus from having a large group of people in our place, he keeps shooting me glances. At first I ignore him. Usually he’ll get around to what he wants to say if I give him space.

But tonight it’s far more annoying than usual. Combined with the way my skin feels too tight, my stomach too hollow, my brain too full of thoughts and feelings and all manner of things I want to think and say and do to and with Autumn, I can’t handle waiting for him to work up the nerve to spit it out.

“What?” I bark at him.

“Whoa, dude. What’s that about?” he asks, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender, a cluster of cups clutched between the fingers of one hand.

Sighing, I stuff the trash in my hand into the bag I’m carrying, set the whole thing down, and square off to face him, arms crossed over my chest. “You’ve been giving me looks all night. Even since before everyone left. You have something to say. Just say it.”

He closes the distance between us and drops the cups into the trash bag at my feet before stepping back again, his hands in his pockets as he surveys me with squinty eyes. One shoulder jerks up in a shrug. “I dunno, man. You’re the one who seems like he might need to get something off his chest.” He pauses, seeming to chew on his words. “Did something happen? With Autumn?”

I let out an aggravated sigh. “No. Yes. Kinda. I don’t know. I just …” I pick up the trash bag and shove a wadded up napkin into it followed by a stray paper plate. Most people are good about picking up after themselves, but there’s always some trash that gets left behind. Too soon, though, it’s all cleaned up. The couch cushions are straightened. The controllers and consoles put back in their spots, the games put away. Everything’s back in its place.

Tying off the trash bag, I set it next to the door to be taken to the dumpster. I’m suddenly too tired to deal with any more bullshit tonight.

“I’m sorry, man,” Eli says quietly.

I turn to face him, shooting him a look to telegraph my confusion. “About?”

He gives an exaggerated shrug. “About whatever happened. I feel like maybe you don’t want to tell me because I discouraged you from doing anything with her in the beginning and you think I’ll say I told you so.” He sticks his hands in his pockets and shifts his shoulders. His body language clearly says hewantsto say he told me so.

“Did she break up with you?” he asks after a long moment of silence has passed.

“No.”

His eyebrows wing up in surprise at my firm negative.

“She didn’t? Then why …?”

Shaking my head, I go into the kitchen. I open the refrigerator door and stare blankly at its contents. I’m not hungry. I don’t want anything. I just need something to do. Something to look at that’s not Eli.

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