Page 77 of I Knew You
Kallie: Damn straight, he was trying to make you feel good! That’s what real men do! What do you mean by “not his type”? Is he so shallow that he only sticks to one idea of a woman, and that’s it? Didn’t he make out with you a million years ago?
I was letting her words sink in when another message came through from her.
Kallie: I’m gonna go out on a limb and say you’re doing that thing again where you’re assigning people feelings they might not be having. I have a hard time believing he’d give you a pity kiss. But he owes you a conversation about his intentions. Ask him why he did that.
I bit my lip.
Me: What if I can’t handle his honesty?
Kallie: What would you be losing? You never had him to begin with, right? Which I hope you understand is laughable.
Me: Then what do I do?
Kallie: This isn’t Victorian England. Go up there and make him talk to you. And if he tries to play tonsil hockey again, don’t treat him like he’s poison. Use. Him.
Me: I can’t just use him. I’m trying here. I really am.
Kallie: Try harder. I know what he means to you, even if you won’t say it. Whatever happens, you deserve nothing less than perfection.
Kallie: And you should have touched his penis.
I chuckled softly.
Me: He ground it into me on the couch.
Kallie: OMFG! Are you kidding me? Why are you still texting me? Get up there!
I took a deep breath.
Me: I love you.
Kallie: Quit stalling.
The walk up the stairway felt like I was going to my death. Not because Bram was a sentence that couldn’t be undone, but because I knew we’d never be the same once I learned the truth about how he felt about me. Either way, this would change us.
He was in his bedroom, where I’d been staying. The door at the top of the stairs was slightly ajar. I heard him shuffling around inside the room, but I didn’t pull a first-night mishap again. Instead, I knocked on the door.
My heart was beating so hard I thought it might fly out of my chest. I couldn’t wait one more second, and even though it wasn’t proper, I slowly pushed open the door.
Bram was standing by the bed, gloriously shirtless and still wearing his belted jeans. His hands rested low on his hips, and his face was blank as he looked straight at me. I read nothing there—no regret, sadness, delight, or relief.
It reminded me of a colder, less adjusted Bram from fifteen years ago, and I hated it.
“I’m getting a few things and then I’ll be gone,” he said, voice clipped.
My heart sank. He had put up a wall because I wouldn’t let mine fall.
“I’m sorry,” I said, my hand still on the door. “I might have given off some wrong vibes down there.”
He shrugged. “It’s fine.” He looked away. “You don’t have to let me down easy. You’ve always had more control, more poise about you, while I was a bullshitter. And now it seems all I do is wear my heart on my fucking sleeve.” He ran his head over his head and down his neck.
“Let you down easy?” I took a couple of steps into the room.
“Yeah, and I bolted. I’m sorry. I should have had a little bit more understanding.”
My heart sank.
“It wasn’t like that,” I insisted. I looked away as I said the next words, “I just can’t let you have sex with me out of pity.”
