Page 17 of Only You
I can’t pull my gaze off the sincere look on his face. He looks almost distraught. Like the thought of someone using me was too much. I try to ignore the fluttery feeling low in my gut at that thought. It doesn’t mean anything. He’s just a protective guy—always has been.
“Well honestly, I was probably the one doing the using,” I admit because the guy had actually wanted to see me again, apparently. I tried to let him down easily but quickly. I don’t ever see anyone twice.
“Wait...” I can see the wheels turning in his head, and I’m not sure I even want to hear what comes out of his mouth next, based on the look of confusion I see there. “You’re a top?”
Okay, that’s not even a little bit where I thought this was going. I swear there’s never a dull moment with this man. But he’s not being a dick. Not at all. He’s actually trying to understand something. That much I can tell, just by looking at him. It brings me back to the few times we did our homework together.
He would get that same look on his face when he was trying to figure something out. “Um... that’s not what I meant, Tatum.”
“Oh.” He looks even more confused now, and damn him, it’s adorable. How is someone so large and ruggedthatcute and clueless at the same time. “What did you mean?”
“I...” I stop talking though. Everything is kind of confusing right now. He just came back into my life after so long away from him. After yearning to see him again. After needing his friendship so badly and not having it. I realize I don’t want to ruin it. So do I possibly say too much by being real or do Irisk him seeing right through me if I lie and upset him anyway? “I don’t want to get close to anyone, Tatum. So I have certain rules.”
“Rules?” he asks carefully, his head cocked to the side.
“Yeah.” I decide if I want a friendship with him, I want it to be a real one. “I don’t date. So when I want to have sex, I use an app and stay as anonymous as possible. I don’t even know their real names or want to. When we’re finished, I block them and never talk to them again.”
I wait silently as he takes in what I’m saying, my nerves on high. He settles back into the couch and turns his head to the side to look directly at me—and I can’t get a read on him. “So you’re not a top then?”
A startled laugh leaves my mouth, and he grins—way too proud of himself. I shake my head, seeing it for exactly what it was—a way to break the tense mood. “Actually...” I start, and his eyes widen back at me, clearly a little surprised and curious. Which again, I don’t know what to make of that. Tatum is straight. I’m pretty sure he’s as straight as they come, so there’s no way he’s intrigued. “Does that surprise you? You know, stereotypes are not cool, Tatum.” I’m teasing him, though, because I know he doesn’t really have a bad bone in his body. The man is good, through and through.
His expression turns into a glare—but it’s still playful and light. “I know that.” But then he turns a little too serious for my liking, his hand glancing over his chin like he’s thinking it through. “Well, I know that, but...”
“But what?” I try to keep my tone light because I guess I just have a soft spot for the guy, and I don’t think he’s trying to be an ass.
“Never mind,” he says, trying to dismiss it, but I can’t let it go now. My curiosity is too great.
“You can ask.” Softening my tone even more and scooting a little closer to him on the couch. “You can talk to me about anything, Tatum.”
I realize I mean that. As a principal, I’m careful to let students know I’m there to listen to them, while keeping up walls and boundaries. It’s always professional—never talking about myself and listening to them with no judgment. Usually referring them to the school counselor. With friends, I still usually keep up some walls and boundaries. But with Tatum—it’s always been different.
With Tatum, I realize I’ll answer any question, even if it’s about myself. Even if it’s something I usually try to avoid and that terrifies me.
“Even bottoming and topping?” he asks, keeping it light.
I shake my head at him, grinning like a fool. “I suppose we can talk about that if you want. We’re friends, and sex is just that—sex. It’s not a big deal. We can talk about it.”
I almost convince myself, and I’m a little proud of that fact. I’m not a prude by any means. Someone might look at me and see a shy demeanor, but I don’t think sex is something to be ashamed of. I think it’s a part of most people’s lives and it should be talked about.
I have no problem talking to my other friends about sex, so why should Tatum be any different?
He cocks his head to the side, as if thinking about testing the waters. I know him, and I know that’s exactly what he’s about to do so I’m kind of prepared. “So you don’t like to...” I wait. And I’m amused by the slight pink on his sharp cheekbones. “You don’t bottom?”
I snort at that, kind of shocked that he knows the correct terms, honestly. Mr. Straight. But then I realize I’m being a bit judgmental. Just because he’s not gay doesn’t mean he doesn’t like anal. “Do you?”
“What?” His brow furrows, and he looks genuinely confused, and okay—so maybe he doesn’t like anal. At least being penetrated himself. Is this real life? Are we really having this conversation. “I’m straight,” he says cautiously.
“Some straight men love to be pegged, from what I’ve heard.”
“Pegged?” His face is adorably scrunched, like he’s struggling with this subject—not grossed-out—but confused.
“Anal.”
“But I’m straight...” he says slowly. “I’ve only had sex with women.”
“There are things you can buy,” I say, patting him on the shoulder, enjoying the hell out of his cute confusion a little too much.
His mouth pops open a little as he thinks that over, his brow crinkling a little more, and then he seems to relax. “Huh. Never thought about it.”
