Page 19 of Trial and Error

I knew being with Malik would feel comfortable, and I’m glad the pressure of the date hasn’t made things awkward for us. But the more we talk, the more I’m waiting for things to click, and it’s not happening—and I’m trying to think of reasons as to why I don’t feel the sparks between us.

I want to feel more. I want it to feel like how it’s been in my head for the past ten years. I want there to be sparks and fireworks like I so desperately wished for. And now that we’re here, I’m not feeling it. Maybe it’s just because we’re best friends. Maybe we need something more for the pieces of the puzzle to fit together. Maybe when things progress the sparks will come, and then I’ll be able to laugh at how impatient I was.

As I pull myself back to the present, I’m not surprised to hear him still talking about his sister.

“I think he’s good for her,” Malik comments, as he takes a sip of his margarita. “Holy shit, that’s good.”

I taste mine and nod in agreement. “He seems like he has his head screwed on, and that’s what she needs. Especially after Connor.” Malik grimaces at the name and shakes his head. “She seems happy and that’s the main thing.”

“I want to talk about us, not my sister,” he says, “Whenever we’re together we always go back to talking about her, and as much as I love my sister, I don’t want to talk about her anymore.”

I run my index finger around the circular lip of the martini glass and tilt my head to the side. “What do you want to talk about?”

His eyes are slightly glossy, and I can tell the third margarita is kicking in, and my tipsy-self basks in his slightly disheveled look. “I’ll be honest, Bids, talking is the last thing I want to do right now.”

Fuck, maybe this is what we need? This could be the connection I need to bring us together. Once we take that next step, things will surely stop feeling like a friendship and something more, right? Fuck, I need it to feel like something more.

“Are you trying to get in my pants?”

Malik groans and hides his face in the crook of his arm. “I’m trying not to rush it, and I don’t want you to think that’s all I want, but ever since you came out wearing that goddamn blue dress my mind has been thinking of how good it would look bunched up around your waist.”

“You want to fuck me with my clothes on?” I ask, and his eyes droop slightly. “You don’t want to take them off?”

His hands clench on the table top and he shakes his head. “I want to fuck you with them on and then off.”

I down the last of my drink and wave the waitress over. “Well, I guess we better get out of here so you can do both.”

bridget

Malik is gone when I wake and I hate that part of me feels relieved.

We spent all night cuddling and it was really nice to be close to him in that way. It felt like us, but the other parts? Those didn’t. It was short and sweet, not that I minded too much because the thought of it dragging out felt wrong—fake, even. We should’ve just left it at dinner, but I’m not sure he feels the same going by the text that waits for me on my phone.

Malik

I had a great time last night. I hope we can do it again sometime soon

I lie on my back, look up at the ceiling, and sigh.

I feel conflicted.

On one hand, I had a great night with him, and spending time with him is always so rewarding. But on the other hand, it’s just not what I hoped it would be. Things with Malik were supposed to be easy and relaxing, not causing me high levels of stress and anxiety.

It’s meant to be different, and to say I’m disappointed is an understatement.

My phone buzzes but I don’t want to look in case it’s Malik sending a follow-up text, not that he usually does…but we don’t usually fuck each other, so who knows?

It could be Imani asking how the date went, and that’s almost worse. Even though she gave me the green light to go ahead and see if there was something between us, I still feel guilty I’m feeling this way. What if she gets upset that I don’t feel the same way, or that I’ve just fucked her brother and tossed him to the side? What if, all of a sudden, she’s not cool with the fact we slept together and decides she can’t be friends with me anymore.

I decide to be brave and check the message that waits for me at the top of my screen and I blink. It’s an unknown number, and before I even read the message, I get a niggling, slightly hopeful, feeling that it’s who has been on my mind for the past week.

Elias

Hey wifey. I need rescuing! Are you free for brunch? What I want to talk about is better said face to face. E

I sit upright and grab my phone, rereading over the message at least four times before I can type out a reply.

Me