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My heart was pounding. My cock was just as hard as it had been in the dream.
“What,” I whispered under my breath, “the hell?”
I dragged myself to the kitchen and set up the coffee maker in a zombie-like haze. The sun was finally starting to peek through the line of pine trees, and I squinted outside. I still just wanted to go back into the dream, but with every passing second of being awake, more of the dream fell away from me. Like reality was swallowing me up again, reminding me what my real life was.
And that all I’d been for the past few weeks was a confused mess.
I leaned up against the windowpane on the back door, looking outside at a squirrel who was hell-bent on trying to jump onto a certain tree branch. I watched it try and try again as my mind ran through everything that had happened between me and Harlan recently.
I had seen it in Harlan’s eyes last night at the dinner party. I’d heard it in his voice, and even heard him directly say it: he didn’t want to do anything with me.
He didn’t want to kiss me more, even though I wanted it like hell. He thought it was a bad idea, and I wasn’t going to argue with him. I was pretty sure I understood why. I was a mess, after all. If I didn’t even know what I wanted, how the hell was he supposed to know?
I’d never kissed another guy before. Not even as a kid. All my life, I’d been focused on all of the things I wasn’t getting right in life, and that had even bled into who I let myself be attracted to. The moment I started to get any feelings of a crush on someone, my mind would scan over it, shutting it down if someone didn’t seem “right” for me. I sure as fuck had never let myself crush on a guy before.
I’d started to think I wasn’t even capable of having a real crush. There was an iceberg of guilt inside me about the simple fact that I still hadn’t found a wife. I hadn’t even let myself consider that I could be… different. Or that maybe I wasn’t exclusively into women.
I hadn’t considered that I could be attracted to men, because as far as I knew, I hadn’t been. But now my mind ran through memory after memory, combing for signs that I may have had the desire buried somewhere deep inside me. For years, I’d told Harlan that I preferred hanging out with him to going on any dates I had lined up.
I’d even joked that I wished I could just date him instead of trying to find a wife. Many times. Many, many times.
The quiet beep of the coffee maker came from the opposite end of the kitchen, jolting me from my thoughts. I headed over and poured a cup for myself, steam rising off the top.
I popped in two ice cubes, stirred, and then took a big swig.
No, I told myself as the caffeine slowly started to wake me from my foggy morning haze.
I wasn’t going to let myself live another year of my life questioning every decision I made. I was tired of feeling like an impostor in my own life. Tired of waiting on other people to tell me I was doing the right thing.
Harlan’s friendship mattered too much to me. I was going to do the right thing, from the start.
I took my coffee back to my bedroom and grabbed my phone from the nightstand. I navigated to Harlan’s text message thread, resolute in my decision. I tapped out a message to him.
>>Sawyer: Mornin’. I was lost in the sauce last night. It was fun as hell.
>>Sawyer: Also, I know you’re going to tell me I have nothing to be sorry for about the thing by the hot tub, but I have to say it anyway. I apologize for coming on too strong, it was a mistake and it won’t happen again.
>>Sawyer: I am still going to make fun of you about the truffle thing forever, though, just so we’re on the same page.
I sent off the texts before I could second guess them. I was reading them over again when my phone started buzzing in my hand.
I gripped it a little harder when I saw that it was a phone call from my mother.
I took another big sip of coffee, letting its pleasant bitterness hit my tongue and give me strength before I picked up the call.
“Hey, Mom. How’s it going?”
“Sawyer,” she said immediately. My mom prided herself on being an efficient woman, and she didn’t usually bother saying hello, diving right into the conversation instead.
“Good, thanks, and you?” I said, trying to lighten the mood.
“Your father has an opportunity for you at the firm,” she said. “It’s not a great position, to be frank. It’s a secretarial position, really, but it would be a reliable way to get your foot in the door. Even without qualifications.”
