Page 42 of The Goat in the Bedroom
Gryff's words hung in the air while I tried to figure out what exactly he thought he knew, because I had no idea where anything was heading. My dating life was a disaster, I'd just weaponized seafood against a perfectly nice man, and I was three strawberry margaritas deep into what was shaping up to be an existential crisis about my inability to function like a normal human around men.
“Where what's heading?” I asked, looking up at him from my spot on Flynn and Tempest's couch.
“Nothing,” he said quickly, but Flynn made a choking sound that suggested otherwise.
Tempest gave them both a death stare and then turned back to me with the softest, sweetest smile on her face. “Artie, can I ask you something?”
“Sure?” She was basically the relationship expert since she wrote about happy ever afters every day.
“What exactly makes you so uncomfortable with people you're dating?” The question didn't come out as judgy or accusatory or anything. She was sincere and clearly wanted to help me.
I took another sip of my margarita, considering. “I don't know. I just... freeze up. Or worse, I turn into this awkward person who's nothing like me.”
“Is it anyone you date or specific to men or women?
“Anyone I'm dating. Or trying to date. Or thinking about maybe dating.” I groaned and flopped back against the cushions. “Basically any human being who might potentially see me naked.”
“Interesting,” Tempest said in that way that meant she was filing information away. “What kind of person do you feel most comfortable with?”
“Well, with... Gryff, but that's different?—“
Tempest and Flynn exchanged a look that I figured was another assumption about our friendship being more, but they knew better, so that must just be the strawberry margaritas talking.
“Why is it different?” Tempest asked innocently.
“Because he's my best friend. There's no pressure. I don't have to perform or be something I'm not.” I gestured vaguely at Gryff, who seemed to be having some kind of silent twin telepathy conversation with his brother. Sometimes I wondered if they really could talk in each other's heads. “He's seen me at my absolute worst and he's still here.”
“So you trust him,” Tempest said.
“Completely.”
“You know,” she said, settling back in her chair with the air of someone about to dispense wisdom, “in my books, when characters have intimacy issues, I have them, let's say, practice. With someone safe.”
I sat up slightly. “Like therapy?”
“Not quite, more like... trust exercises. Getting experience doing the thing they think they can't do, but with someone who won't judge them. Someone they're completely comfortable with.”
Flynn started coughing violently. Tempest passed him his water without looking at him.
“Trust exercises,” I repeated, the margaritas making the idea seem less insane than it probably was. “That's... actually not a terrible idea.”
“Terrible,” Flynn wheezed.
“No, it's brilliant,” Tempest corrected, shooting him a look. “Think about it. You need to learn to be comfortable with male attention without the pressure of it being a real date. What better way than practicing with someone you trust?”
I looked at Gryff, who had gone very still. “But who would—“ The answer was obvious. “Oh.”
“It doesn't have to be weird,” Tempest continued, her voice taking on that encouraging tone she used when she was trying to convince someone of something. “Simple things. Eye contact exercises. Learning to be present in your body. Practicing asking for what you need. The key,” she added, “is picking someone you completely trust. Completely. Someone you know won't cross boundaries or make things complicated.”
One of the boys made another strangled sound.
I turned to Gryff, suddenly nervous. “Wait, but only if... I mean, we're good, right? Like, you don't see me... that way?”
His face did something complicated before settling into what looked like resignation. “What way?”
“You know. Romantically. Sexually.” I waved my hand between us. “We've been friends for six years and nothing's ever been weird between us.”
“Right,” he said, his voice sounding strange. “Never. Nothing weird.”
