Page 39 of Not Your Valentine
“Will we share a bed?” The question pops out of my mouth before I can stop it.
“If that’s what you want,” he says. Seriously, intently, but there’s something wild in his eyes that makes it hard for me to breathe.
“Right, okay, I’ll think about it!” I say casually. Breezily.
Well, probably not, but that’s my intention.
He nods, and we each go back to eating our slices of cake, an odd silence between us.
Over the next two nights, my sex dreams reach a critical level. I wake up sweating on Saturday morning, even though the heat in my apartment isn’t up that high. Touching myself takes the edge off, but it doesn’t last.
And that’s when I decide we have to fuck so I can return to my normal self.
I feel like fake dating, combined with my dry spell, has played a trick on my brain, making me consumed with lust for Taylor and also—briefly, foolishly—convincing me that romance was possible.
But if we sleep together, it’ll fix everything, won’t it?
I cling to that hope, telling myself it’s the smart thing to do; this will ensure our friendship remains intact. One sex-filled weekend alone in a cabin…that should get it out of my system. Afterward, surely my misguided romantic thoughts will disappear.
My breath unsteady, I send Taylor a text, telling him that I want to go to the cabin and share a bed.
He responds with a smiley face.
Since he’s busy, I spend Friday and Saturday evening alone in my apartment. Some people might not like spending that much time alone, but I don’t mind. I don’t have to deal with traffic and late buses and crappy weather. Nope, it’s just me and my “fuck off” mug—it literally says “fuck off” in big letters—of hot chocolate with mini marshmallows.
Yes, I like hot chocolate with marshmallows. I’ve never told anyone this embarrassing fact because it seems childish and saccharine.
But the mug makes it slightly better.
Hot chocolate in hand, I watch a heist movie that has me swearing at the TV. I like heist movies, particularly the intricate plans to pull off the robbery, but this movie just contains a ridiculous amount of double-crossing.
Saturday night, I have no sex dreams. Instead, I dream of Taylor and I trying to steal emeralds from an ice cream shop. (It’s a dream, okay? It doesn’t have to make sense.) Then he double crosses me.
I wake up pissed by his betrayal, and after a little coffee and a load of laundry, I meet my family for dim sum at a restaurant in Markham.
“Where’s Taylor?” Mom asks as she pours my tea.
“I told you. He’s seeing his dad.”
I didn’t tell Taylor that my mom had invited him for dim sum because he said he was busy this weekend. Besides, I didn’t want him to come anyway. I was paranoid that my family would notice my lust-addled state when I looked at him, and who knows what they would have said. So, I lied, which I’ve been doing a lot these days.
“Aiyah! You could have invited his father.”
I choke on my tea. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
She narrows her eyes.
“Taylor and I have been together for less than two months.” I set down my teacup. “It’s far too early for our parents to meet.”
“What about his mother?”
“They’re divorced and he doesn’t talk to her much.” I’m not going to share any further details.
Fortunately, Mom doesn’t ask. She seems more preoccupied with other things. “When can we meet his father? Once you’ve been together for three months?”
“At the wedding,” I say sarcastically, then realize my error.
Shirley laughs at my stupidity.
