Page 34 of Exes That Puck
I take a moment to think, and I’m relieved he’s following my lead. I need to set some serious boundaries because this has the potential to go back to exactly how it was six months ago, and I don’t want that. Mentally, I’m ready to set some looser boundaries because I can’t not want him.
“We are not together,” I start, counting on my fingers. “No sleepovers. One-line texts only of where and when. No paragraphs, no post-fight essays.”
He nods. “Got it.”
“No jealousy questions. No ambushing me before class or work.”
He nods again. “Understood.”
“Condoms. Always.”
His cheeks flush slightly, but he nods. “Always.”
“And stop means stop. No debate, no negotiation.”
“Stop means stop,” he repeats, politely. “Of course.”
I study his face, looking for any sign that he’s just agreeing to agree. But his expression is serious, focused. Like he’s committing these to memory.
“Can you repeat them back to me?” I ask.
He looks at me, and I swear his pupils dilate. “We’re not back together. Condoms always. No means no. No sleepovers, no texting, no ambushing. No jealously.”
I feel giddy, hearing him and watching his shoulders become less tense. I hold back my smile and say, “I’m off tomorrow at ten-fifteen.”
He adds, “My place. Side door. No sleepover. I’ll take you home after.”
The fact that he voices the boundary first makes me feel safer somehow. Like he’s not just tolerating the rules but embracing them.
“Okay.”
We sit in the charged silence, both of us processing what just happened. Finally, he clears his throat.
“Has it been five minutes?” he asks.
I nod. “Probably. We kissed for three of those minutes.” I blush.
He swallows, and I watch his Adam’s apple bob. “Can I kiss you goodnight?”
The question catches me off guard. Such a simple thing to ask permission for, but it feels significant. Consent given freely instead of assumed or taken.
I nod, almost embarrassed. “Yes.”
His lips press against mine, and I lose myself in him. I’ve missed this so much, and if he could be less possessive, controlling, and jealous, I would do this a thousand times a day. His hands stay on my face, no roaming or grabbing. When it ends, I feel like I’m floating.
“Keep the hoodie for now,” he says as I reach for the door handle. “Or bring it tomorrow. Whatever you want.”
I slip out of the truck and back into the cold night air. Inside the bar, I rejoin my friends with a story about a long bathroom line that nobody really believes but nobody challenges either.
Lola leans in and whispers, “Nice hoodie.”
My eyes snap to hers, telling her to say no more. We both laugh, and really I’m only giggly because I’m giddy about what Zeke,and I just agreed to. We’re not getting back together but we’re still going to have fun, and that’s all I want.
My phone buzzes as everyone continues on with the conversation.
Zeke: 10:15. My place. Side door.
I don’t reply. I don’t need to. We set the rule of one-line logistics only. No confirmation required.
