I choke on charred marshmallow, hacking and coughing and inhaling smoke until my eyes are streaming. This kid’s straight talk could give Trina Hamilton a run for her money.
“Where did you hear that? Am I allowed to—hell, is that why? Did your mom send you here so I could talk to you about sex?”
If a twelve-year-old could scoff, he does. “Duh, I took a class in school.”
“In fifth grade?”
“I’m in seventh grade, Uncle Craig.”
I rub a hand down my burning face. “Right. I knew that. Sorry. Okay, so you already know about sex. Good. That’s good.”
“So is that why you can’t invite Lorelai? Because Mom says you’re in love with her. And when you love someone, you get to have sex with them.”
Holy shit.
Holy. Shit.
Right now would be an excellent time for a bear attack.
I decide the best route is the most direct. Like ripping off a Band-Aid.
“I don’t know where your mom got that information from, but between you and me, I guess, sure. Yes. I love Lorelai. Have for years. Haven’t told her because I know she doesn’t feel the same. So, no more—so, no sex,” I amend, sweating. “Like you said. You should love someone before you have sex with them. Or at least wait until you’re old enough and man enough to buy condoms yourself.”
“Does Lorelai know you love her?”
“No. Thank God.”
“So how do you know she doesn’t love you?”
“She never told me.”
“You never told her that you love her.”
I blink, staring in the firelight, wrapping my head around his preteen logic and looking for the holes. Or even a hole. But, dammit, there isn’t one. It’s massively oversimplified, sure, but maybe I’ve overcomplicated things.
Wouldn’t be the first time.
“Fair enough. You got me on that one, kid. I’ll think about it. For now, though, I think we better get to bed. We have a long ride down the mountain tomorrow, topped off by a side trip to my place to figure out a way to get the marshmallow out of your hair before your mom takes one look and decides to shave it all off.”
30
LORELAI
CHANGE MY MIND
Shockingly, Maren makes it three whole days before she corners me about the dismal state of my love life. The diabolical Junior Miss Michigan waited until I was literally hanging off a cliff’s edge, my life in her hands, before she brought it up in a maddeningly casual and not-at-all-out-of-breath way.
“So, just how long have you and Craig been sleeping together?”
My grip slips and I thud against the rocky surface with an audible oomph, wholly dependent on Maren to steady me and my harness before I find my handhold and footing again.
I make a grab for another hold and pull myself up before answering. “We aren’t sleeping together.”
“Maybe not right this second, no, but you are definitely sleeping together.”
“Okay,” I concede with a soft huff, straightening and letting my one hand loose and shaking it out. “Allow me to rephrase. We are no longer sleeping together.” And because I know she won’t let up until I tell her every detail, and because I need to tell someone, I signal that I’m going to belay down. Jumping down the cliff’s surface in long, careful leaps, I’m back on the hard ground within seconds.
“It’s always so unfair how it takes such an enormous amount of time getting up the cliff and only seconds to get back down. The fun, easy part should last longer.”
“I feel like there’s a metaphor in there somewhere,” Maren says, her expression shrewd.
I snort. “Probably. It’s probably one of those obnoxious ones that’s supposed to teach a lesson. Let’s not try to figure it out today, hmm?” I walk over to where our packs are sitting in a pile near several stacked boulders and pull out a couple of granola bars, offering one to Maren and twisting the cap off my water.
We drink and snack in silence for a few minutes, idly watching a couple of other climbers ascend a far more dangerous route farther away on the cliff. Maren doesn’t ask me her question again. It’s not as though I’ve forgotten it. She knows I’ll share in my own time. Finally I sigh and settle on the top of a boulder, gesturing for her to join me, and lean back on my hands, letting the sun freckle and warm my skin.
“Short story short, we decided, consensually, to try that precarious friends-with-benefits situation I mentioned weeks ago, because we suspected—well, okay we knew from some experience that things between us can be very, very good. And it was exceptional. Like.” I fan myself and I’m not even being dramatic. I legit feel sweat slip between my breasts. Sure, I’ve been climbing a mountain in the midday sun, but this sweat is all Huck.
“A lot of sex, Mare. Sex in our apartment, in his office, on his motorcycle…”
“Okay, we’ll circle back to the logistics of that, because I am definitely curious.”
I grin, and I am one thousand percent sure it’s straight-up dopey. “And then, I don’t know, I blew it, but I’m not exactly sure how. Jennifer had me do that apology tour and the final interview basically exploded in my face and my name became this cussword in country music all fucking over again and I was just trying to protect Huck, you know? He has this brand-new business and he’s so talented at what he does. He deserves success and, you know, all the good things that come with that. The studio should be everything to him. He doesn’t need an association with me to mess it up.”
Maren’s brows pull together in a tiny crease. “Did he say that?”
“No, but come on, Huck would never. He’s too nice. And that was my point! He lets people take advantage of him and his good nature time and again, and I wasn’t about to be one of those people.”
“So, let me see if I understand this. You think having sex with Craig was taking advantage of him?”
“No!” I practically shout, scaring a couple of birds before lowering my voice to a more reasonable level. “Okay. The sex was a separate thing. I haven’t gotten to that part yet. I told him we shouldn’t be seen in public or at his studio together because he would be tainted by association. I’m protecting the asshole. But he got all pissy about it, saying he wasn’t Drake and I should know he wouldn’t care about that, which again proves my point. But anyway, then he said that he couldn’t keep sleeping with me because he can’t do casual anymore.”
“So then you aren’t working together anymore?”
I sigh and brush my fingers together, clearing them of dirt. “No. Obviously we’re still working together. He insisted on that part, actually. He was like, ‘You better be in the studio in the morning,’ so I was. Well, eventually. First I got glutened. But anyway, after that, you know what happened from there…”
“The duet goes number one.”
I nod, still feeling the flip in my belly at the thought.
“So, objectively speaking, being associated with you professionally did not ruin his business at all.”
I press my lips together and nod again.
“All right. And just to recap, you said he should stop being seen with you professionally and he refused (again, thankfully), but then he said you should stop sleeping together, instead.”
“Yeah.”
“So he reinstated the original boundaries.”