Page 43 of The Goat in the Bedroom
“And I mean, we're both bi, so if something was going to happen, it would have by now, right?” I laughed, but it came out more nervous than I intended. “Not that we've ever been single at the same time before but neither of us has ever made a move or admitted feelings or anything crazy like that.”
Flynn looked like he was about to spontaneously combust. Gryff seemed to be having trouble breathing. What in the world were they saying to each other in their twin brains? Weirdos.
“Exactly,” Tempest said smoothly. “Which is why this could work. No complications, no mixed signals, just two friends helping each other get better at relationships.”
“You want to help me get better at relationships?” I asked Gryff.
He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them and looked directly at me. “Whatever you need.”
“Really? You'd do that for me?”
“Of course.”
“And it won't be weird? You promise? Because I can't lose you as a friend, Gryff. You're too important to me.”
Something flickered across his face, but he managed a smile. “It won't be weird. We're helping each other, right? I could use some practice asking for what I want in a relationship too. You know that.”
“I certainly know it,” Flynn said with a raise of his hand.
“Trust exercises,” Tempest said brightly. “Start small. Eye contact or staring into each other's eyes. Hand holding and cuddling. Learning to communicate what you need. Building up from there gradually. Communicating what you feel.”
“We could try it,” I said, the idea taking shape in my margarita-soft brain. “Just practice. Safe practice with my safe person.”
“I'm your safe person?” Gryff asked quietly.
“The safest,” I confirmed, reaching over to squeeze his hand. “I trust you more than anyone.”
Flynn stood up abruptly. “I need more ice. For the... drinks. That we're drinking.” He practically fled to the kitchen.
Tempest watched him go with amusement. “He's being weird tonight.”
“When isn't he weird?” Gryff said, but his eyes were still on where my hand touched his.
“So we're really doing this?” I was asking but just wanted to really make sure he wasn't just people pleasing at the moment. I just had to make sure.
“Yes,” he said, the word came out slightly strangled, and I realized he was nervous. And it was sweet. He wanted to do a good job, for me.
“Thank you.” The tension that had been in my shoulders, my spine, and my core all night finally released and I relaxed back into my chair. “I know it's a lot to ask, but I really need help. And you're the only person I trust enough to be this vulnerable with.”
Tempest smiled in a way that seemed oddly satisfied. “I think this is going to be exactly what you both need.”
Twenty minutes later, Gryff and I were making the short walk across the street to our house. The night air was warm and slightly humid, and I was just tipsy enough that everything felt soft around the edges.
“Thank you again,” I said, probably for the fifth time. “I know it's weird to ask your best friend to teach you how to be comfortable with sex, but?—“
“It's not weird,” Gryff said quickly. “We're helping each other.”
“Right. Helping each other.” I stumbled slightly on a crack in the sidewalk, and he automatically steadied me with a hand on my lower back. The touch was warm and comforting and exactlythe kind of thing I needed to learn to accept from men I was dating.
“See?” I said. “You do stuff like that without even thinking about it. That's what I need to learn to be okay with.”
“Stuff like what?”
“Taking care of me. Little touches. Being... gentle.” We reached our front door, and I fumbled with my keys. “Most guys I've dated weren't gentle or didn't want me to be.”
Gryff took the keys from me and unlocked the door in one smooth motion. Another caretaking gesture I didn't even think he was aware of.
Inside I immediately collapsed on the couch, grabbing my favorite throw pillow, one with a baby goat wearing a flower crown that I'd bought our first week here. Gryff disappeared into the kitchen and returned with two glasses of water, handing me one before sitting on the opposite end of the couch.
