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“What the hell are you talking about, Dave?”
He sighs. “Just come in with me. Or let me come in with you. We don’t have to do anything, I promise. That’s not what this is about.”
Does that mean he doesn’t want to have sex with me? Or does it mean that he does want to, but he’s not sure I want it? Or he’s not sure it’s the right thing?
I’m clueless.
“Then what is it about, David?”
He smiles then. “Tit for tat.”
“Well, you called me Madeline.”
“Madeline is a beautiful name. It suits you.”
“And David is a…biblical name.”
He chuckles. “My mom and dad love it. Except Mom wanted to name me Bryce Junior, but Dad didn’t think that would be fair because Henry’s older than I am. So then Mom wanted Bryce for my middle name, but then Dad decided he didn’t want to use the name his derelict father had given him in any way, so they settled on Steel for my middle name. Then they had to come up with the first name. David was the only one they both liked.”
I didn’t ask for a dissertation, but I know he’s just stalling.
Finally I pull my door open. “Come on in.”
He walks through the door. It’s still dark in my room because I never put the light on. I didn’t want to wake Brianna. I click it on now, my eyes already adjusted because of the hallway.
“You look gorgeous,” he says.
I have no makeup on, and I’m wearing a T-shirt and lounging pants. “O…kay,” I say.
He smiles. “No, you do. I mean, I’ve seen you at night before.” He narrows his eyes. “But there’s something about tonight…”
I roll my eyes. “My hair’s still damp. I took a shower. I just wanted to wash this whole night off me.”
He nods. “I get it. That’s why I stayed down and had a cognac. That was my way of washing the night away.”
“Jesse said he had a drink with you.”
“Yeah, he came down after he saw you guys to your room. Said he didn’t feel like sleeping just yet.”
“Talk about awkward.”
He presses his lips together for a few seconds. “Actually, it wasn’t. We kind of opened up to each other.”
I cock my head at him. Again, what happened to Dave? Last Rake-a-teer standing? Jovial David Simpson?
“I guess there’s more than one side to me.”
I sigh. I hope he doesn’t think I was calling him one-dimensional. Best not to try to explain. “What can I do for you?” I ask.
He starts to open his mouth, but I stop him.
“I mean other than sex.”
He shakes his head. “I’m not after sex. I’ll even sleep in Brianna’s bed if that makes you feel better.”
He seems to be laboring under the delusion that I don’t want to have sex. That’s far from the truth. I just don’t want to get myself into a place where my heart will be broken. That could easily happen with Dave Simpson.
The look on his face, though, is one of pure agony. It’s more than just the trauma of our shared experience.
