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He huffs out a laugh and nods. “Alright. I’ll be a gentleman about it and take the first hit.” He takes a deep breath and stares deep into my eyes. “I’m not going to deny that I want to do it again. Like I said, I thought it was amazing. And fun.”
Fun. But is it just that? I bite back all the questions I want to throw at him, all the things I want to say. If it were any other guy, I wouldn’t care. I’d prioritize my mental health and time—I’m not gonna go ahead and waste it on another asshole—and make sure to get all the nonsense out of the way. But I’m on unstable ground, risking losing Will altogether.
“Fun. Totally.” Even though I’m putting every ounce of effort I can manage into this, there’s no way of hiding the flatness in my voice.
“You didn’t think it was fun?” He frowns. “I thought you just said?—”
“God. We’re going around in circles,” I say with a groan. “We both said we were fine and we both agreed it was fun. What we keep avoiding is the question of what now. So… What now?”
He takes a beat to think the question over—finally. When he’s done considering it, his answer comes out in a very rational tone. “We’ve agreed it was fun. And we agreed that we’re both okay. And seeing as those two feelings are positive things, I don’t see what the problem would be in repeating said activity. Like… would it be so horrible if we did it again?”
My heart plummets. Does he mean do this casually? Like fuck buddies? “Oh.”
Nowhisface falls. “Unless you don’t want to. Which is also totally okay. I mean, it’s fine if you want to just stick to being friends who do not fuck.” As opposed to just friends who do, I assume?
A sharp stinging behind my eyes begins to build, my throat constricting itself tighter than the grip he had around my waist just moments before. So this is it for us, then? It’s fuck buddies or nothing? Friend zoned all the way?
I want to cry. I want to gently kick him out of my apartment so I can sit in my shower and cry my heart out under steaming hot water. Because I’m an idiot. What did I expect? That he would just fall for me the way I fell for him over a few emails, texts, and video calls? Stupid Bridget. He’s a normal person, and you clearly are not. You’re delusional and ridiculous and will only ever be his friend. People who fall for strangers they meet on the internet usually end up on a TV show while viewers stare at the screen, begging the person to see the countless red flags.
It’s me. I’m that girl. Though, other than the fact that he doesn’t want to see me romantically, hehasno red flags. At least, none that I can see.
I search my brain for a joke, something to relieve the tension. To distract him—and honestly, myself, too—from noticing how much this news affects me to my core. Because I am absolutely devastated. I was just given one of the best nights of my life only to be told I can’t have any more of it. Or rather, I can—so long as I skip the emotional component my heart would need in order to enjoy it.
“I mean, yes, last night was great. But I’m concerned about what it would do to our friendship, you know? I guess we’ve already had this conversation. After the sexting, remember?”
“Bridge, if you think I’m going to cut and run—” He shakes his head, eyes wide with panic. “That’s not me. I told you that?—”
“That you wouldn’t. I know. And I believe that’s how you feel—now.But we’re just getting to know each other. And I thinkthat’swhat we should be prioritizing, right? Making sure we’re good, not letting ourselves get caught up in silly things like being fuck buddies. What if we can’t survive this if we decide to keep it casual? I don’t think it’s worth running the risk of it getting messy and losing this.” I point back and forth between us. My comforter is pulled up almost to my neck, and I know he can’t see an inch of skin, yet I’ve never felt more exposed.
His expression falls, but I’m not surprised. We had good sex last night.Amazingsex. Eleven out of ten, and would not want to recommend because I want to keep him all to myself sex. So I get his disappointment. He’s a guy, after all, and he’s no stranger to keeping things casual, apparently. But I can’t let the people pleaser in me or my feelings for him let me make the stupid mistake of sleeping with him ever again.
“So, what you’re saying is…”
“That we should just be friends. Who do not have sex. Ever again.”
He blinks once. Twice. Another time. “Okay. Heard, chef. Friends it is.” And without another word, he gets out of bed and to his feet, searching for his clothes, buck naked.
“Where are you going?” I can hear the clear panic in my voice, even with the sound of my heart beating a drum in my ears. When he hears my tone and sees the distress in my eyes, Will kneels by my side of the bed. Naked again. And his dick is there and perfect, and his chest is strong and defined, but I said no. And no is no. And I’ll never get to see those parts again once he puts his clothes on.
“Hey, don’t freak out. Everything’s fine.” He smiles when he reaches out to hold my hand, but I know better than to believe it’s fully genuine. He’s disappointed. I want to tell him I am too, but it’s for different reasons. Reasons that will probably end with us never speaking again. Reasons better left unsaid.
“I’m just looking for my clothes, okay? Then maybe I thought we could go to breakfast? I can get you a bagel and we can start with you making uncomfortable jokes about what happened and I can pretend like nothing is awkward until we get lost in conversation—because our conversations are even better than that mind-blowing sex we had last night—sorry, that’s the last time I’ll bring it up—and then everything will be back to normal. Okay?”
Mortified, I realize I’m near tears. “I don’t want to lose you,” I admit.
“Lose me? Bridge, you’re stuck with me for good. No matter what. If the only way I get to be in your life is by being your friend then consider me your BFF, alright? We can even make friendship bracelets for each other and everything.” I snort and wipe my nose with the back of my hand.So ladylike. “I’m not going anywhere.”
That’s what they all say right before they leave.
WILL
He doesn’t know whether it’s because he went from feeling the happiest he’s ever felt in his life to almost the worst, but one thing is for sure: Will has never felt a pain this intense before. This time, he doubts whether he’ll be able to survive it.
17
FUN IS JUST A THREE-LETTER WORD
There are many bakeries outside of this city who claim to have NYC-quality bagels. They promise the same consistency and flavor, the perfect toasty, crunchy first bite when you sink into your still-warm bread. They even go so far as to claim that you’ll feel like you’re right smack in the middle of the City.
