Page 115 of Personal Foul

Muscles lax and barely able to support me, I lean down and kiss her, collapsing onto the bed and rolling to pull her with me without losing our connection. I need to pull out soon, but I’m not ready to let go of this sense of oneness. Not yet.

She’s on top of me, her heart pounding in time with mine, her head tucked under my chin. I trail my fingers over her arm and down her back. I’ve missed this.

“I missed this,” she says, uncannily echoing my thoughts.

“I was just thinking the same thing.” Words press at my lips, wanting to escape. But if I tell her I love her, will she say it back? Will I be able to take it if she doesn’t?

She sighs, deep and contented. “I can’t believe I thought giving this up was the right choice.”

I chuckle wryly. “What were you thinking?”

Lifting just enough to shake her head, she props her chin on her hand. “Obviously I wasn’t thinking clearly. I missed you, though. So much.”

Her eyes hold mine, her gaze clear and open.Now’s the time. It’s gut instinct, pure and simple, the same kind that’s steered me right so many times before. “I love you,” I tell her softly.

Brown eyes wide, they bounce back and forth between mine, gauging my sincerity. Then a smile pulls at her lips. “I love you too.”

* * *

Dylan: Mom and Dad didn’t win after all.

Victoria: What? What? What does that mean?

Dylan: Charity and I are back together.

Victoria: Yay!

Victoria: [gif of Elaine, Jerry, and George dancing in excitement]

Victoria: How? When? What happened? The PG version, please.

Before I can respond, my phone rings. Unfortunately, it’s not my sister’s name and picture lighting up the screen. It’s my mom’s office phone.

Typical. It’s late Friday night, and she’s still at work.

“Dylan, I got your email, and I’m afraid I don’t understand,” she says by way of greeting when I answer.

Sighing, I glance at the door between the bedroom and bathroom. Charity’s in the shower after another round of mind-blowing makeup sex. My mom is seriously ruining my afterglow.

“I’m doing well, Mom. Thanks so much for asking.”

Her frustrated sigh communicates volumes. It’s her,I don’t have time for your cute gamessigh. “I received an email from you,” she says like she’s speaking to opposing counsel and not her son, “explaining the state of your current romantic entanglements. I double-checked the time stamp, which shows it’s from tonight. But I don’t understand how this can be. Was this saved in your drafts folder, and you sent it by accident?”

For someone who dislikes when others play games, she sure loves to pull theI’m confusedone out of her bag of tricks an awful lot. It’s her way of seeming reasonable and putting the other person on the defensive. It was awesome when she was going to bat for me with the school administration about a teacher marking me absent for no reason too many times. It’s not so great now that I’m on the receiving end of it.

Standing, I move to the living room, closing the bedroom door quietly behind me. I know Charity said that she didn’t care about my parents’ disapproval if I didn’t, but I can’t imagine overhearing this conversation will be pleasant for her or positive for our recently renewed relationship.

“No, Mother, it wasn’t saved in drafts and sent by accident tonight. I typed it and sent it a few minutes ago because I want you in the loop. Charity and I are back together. We love each other. You and Dad will simply have to figure out a way to handle that reality.”

Those simple words—we love each other—give me the backbone to do this. If I weren’t confident that Charity meant it—she’s always been a terrible liar, at least with me, so I know when she’s only telling me what she thinks I want to hear, and when she says she loves me, she’s one hundred percent sincere—I wouldn’t bother with all of this. If I were less confident, I would’ve waited some amount of time before informing my parents.

But I am confident. And this way, they’ll have as much time as possible to get out in front of this.

Mom’s silence isn’t encouraging, though. That’s another tactic. Don’t speak. Let the other person overexplain so you can poke holes in their argument.

I’m not sure what the counterargument to “we’re in love” is, and I’m not really interested in finding out.

“If you need to give a story to the press, tell them we’re old high school friends who’ve recently reconnected. Make it a good sob story where she’s devastated by her family’s misdeeds, and she’s been leaning on our family for support during this difficult time. Spin it right, and you can make her look basically orphaned and you the beneficent family who’s taken her in.”

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