I wasn’t exactly sure what was happening on her end, except that she took comfort in me. As soon I tucked her into my chest, her whole body would relax. She’d breathe into my neck and sigh. And sometimes she’d fall asleep. It was fucking incredible.
Other times we’d search each other’s bodies with our hands—only our hands—trying to keep silent, with most of our clothes on. Well, I always kept my clothes on. I couldn’t be held responsible for how much I needed to touch and pleasure her.
But we tried to be careful, especially after one night when we heard Dakota rummaging around in the kitchen, sounding restless and troubled about something. I could feel Rachel’s pulse beating double time against her neck as we waited Dakota out for a long, painstaking hour before Rachel was able to return to her room.
On the nights when we explored and held each other—trying like hell not to get too caught up in our desire for each other—I’d pocket her underwear and then plant it somewhere for her to notice the next day.
Now I shoved her underwear beneath my own in my drawer, intending to get it back to her later. But I knew today wasn’t the day for jokes. Rachel’s friends were coming up for the Music Center show tonight. She’d been a wreck about it all week, but her anxiety had skyrocketed to a fever pitch when she had been in my room last night.
“I’m afraid to tell you,” she had whispered at first, curled up tightly in my arms.
“Why are you so afraid?” I’d tunneled my fingers through the back of her hair, trying to put her at ease.
“I’m scared what you’ll think of me.” She had looked up, and I’d seen trepidation in her eyes. “I . . . I’ve made some mistakes.”
“We all make mistakes,” I’d said. “I’ve fucked up more times than I can count. So whatever you have to say won’t surprise me.”
Except that it had. It made me wonder just how far off-course she’d gotten in the last three years. But, truth be told, I also liked this new Rachel. I liked how much more confident and sure of herself she’d become. She was closer to the Rachel I knew before she dated Miles, anyway.
Everybody goes through shit in life. Shit that can change you. And what Rachel had gone through would change anybody. So I couldn’t fault her for that.
“Out with it,” I’d said, and she’d tensed in arms.
“I . . . I lied to them.” She sighed, finally letting it loose. “To my friends in college. I’m such an idiot.”
I couldn’t imagine what she could have possibly lied about that made her this uneasy. “I know you didn’t tell them about the accident and your rehab. So what else did you lie about?”
“About Miles. I told them that I broke it off with him,” she said in a rush. Probably in an effort to get it all out. “I exaggerated about that ring he gave me—I know it was a stupid-ass promise ring, but I told them it was an engagement ring and that I wasn’t ready for that.”
I remembered how she wore it so proudly on a chain around her neck. I’d always questioned why the fuck you’d give someone a ring in high school. I’ll admit, it had made me wonder if Miles had bigger feelings for her than I suspected.
Until I overheard him one day in the hall after school. His friends had been ragging on him about it, asking him if Rachel had guilted him into giving it to her. And he’d just shrugged and played along. Didn’t even stand up for her or their relationship. Big pussy.
“And then I pretended that I was just having some wild fun after being in such a serious relationship,” Rachel said, snapping me out of my thoughts. “When instead I was just . . . doing whatever the hell I was doing with those jocks.”
My jaw tightened. It was hard to hear that. “What were you doing with those guys?” I had no right to ask, but somehow it slipped out.
“Mostly making out. Sometimes sex . . .” She trailed off and then looked up at me. “Safe sex. Always. It felt good to be the one in control. I decided who I wanted to get lost in and for how long . . .”
I tried to steady my reaction. I needed to be a friend. But wasn’t she essentially doing the same with me? I shouldn’t have been hurt. I’d known all of this going in.
“Please don’t look at me that way. You’re the only one who . . .”
“Who what?”
“You’re the only one who I can talk to. Who might understand.” Her eyes were timid and soft. “I’m sure you wouldn’t want me to question you about all of your . . . girls.”
“You’re right, I wouldn’t,” I said, tightening my hand into a fist. “And I do understand. And for the record, I’ve been safe, too.”