“So that’s how you justify it? It’s not meant for me, so I should just close my eyes and pretend it doesn’t exist?”
“I’m not justifying anything; I’m explaining it. You don’t like the content on the site? Frankly, I’d be concerned if you did.” He rakes a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. “Let me put this in terms you’ll understand. Brawler’s largest audience is males between the ages of sixteen and twenty-four. College guys. We tailor the majority of our content to appeal to that age group. Is the humor crass and immature sometimes? Sure, because college guys are crass and immature. Am I thrilled about everything that’s on the site? No, but I’m also not our target audience anymore, either.”
He drags a hand through his hair again, mussing it adorably, pieces sticking up every which way. How is it possible to want to both kiss and kill someone at the same time?
“Look, it’s been ten years. I’m not the same kid who started the site with his friend in a dorm room. I’m not even in charge anymore! We have a board of directors to answer to, investors to satisfy, revenue targets to hit. Brawler employs hundreds of people. The site stopped being about Tom and me a long time ago. And I won’t be doing this forever.” He seems to want to say something more here but stops short. “The point is: I am not the site, and the site is not me.”
I desperately want to believe him. I want to pretend this elephant in the room doesn’t exist, that his work isn’t directly in conflict with mine, but how can I? I don’t want to rationalize away his faults any more than I want to ignore my own principles. It’s a dizzying paradox to navigate, like I’m tiptoeing around a house of cards, holding my breath for fear of sending it all crashing to the ground.
On the other hand, I know a job doesn’t define someone; their character does. And Jack is a good man, full stop. Is he perfect? No, but he’s also so many things I never expected him to be—gentlemanly and evolved, insightful and empathetic, unselfish in both word and deed. He’s solid and rock steady in a way I didn’t even know I was looking for but now can’t imagine living without. It’s painful to know that just a few weeks ago I would have written him off, as certain of his flawed character as I was that my grandmother and these old-fashioned tips had nothing to teach me.
Maybe life is thinking you have all the answers, then realizing you know nothing at all.
I stare at our entwined fingers and think about how many things had to fall into place exactly the right way at exactly the right moment for us to be sitting here together. Against all odds, this relationship is thriving. We’re like two orphan puzzle pieces that somehow magically, inexplicably fit together.
“So in other words, I don’t have to like the site. I just have to like you.”
The corner of his mouth hitches up. “Tall order, I know.”
“Indeed.” I purse my lips like I’ll have to think about it, then angle my face up to his.
The kiss starts slow, his mouth meeting mine, his lips chasing away my reservations like sunlight chases away fog. But what began as chaste and restrained quickly escalates into something more, something deeper; a needy, urgent intensity neither of us can seem to control. This is more than a kiss. It’s a promise, an unspoken acknowledgment that this relationship is different from any others we’ve had. I can feel his commitment as strongly as I can feel my own. Our connection is a living thing, growing by the day, its roots twisting a winding path through me and wrapping around my heart.
When he finally pulls away there’s a question in his eyes, and it’s the same one I see every time we kiss. I can hear it on his lips; taste it on his tongue. He wants to know when I’ll be ready for more, what’s holding me back . . . but I also know he won’t ask. The man seems to have a bottomless well of patience, matched only by his stubbornness. And as much as my body is screaming to take that next step, I find myself at a similar impasse, albeit for entirely different reasons. How could I possibly justify being intimate with him when there are so many lies still between us? My deception is a splinter that digs a little deeper into my psyche each day, perniciously infecting our relationship, and yet I know extracting it would cause even worse harm. Every time I consider confessing the truth, I picture Jack’s face, lit with joy at some silly, insignificant good deed I’ve done for him, and I can’t go through with it. I can’t be another person in his life who’s let him down; who’s betrayed him. It’s a plot hole I can’t seem to write my way out of.
But there is one thing I can do. “So I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”
This is not precisely true; it was more that I couldn’t decide whether to ask him at all, and it’s not until this exact moment that my decision has become clear.
“There’s an event next week. A work event, I mean. It’s Siren’s ‘Women of the Year’ dinner? That we host annually? Maybe you’re familiar with it?” I need to stop speaking in question marks. Jack blinks at me and I shift gears, a torrent of words spilling out in one long, rambling gush. “Anyway, I’m allowed a plus-one. I’ve never actually invited anyone before, but Nat’s bringing Gabriel and I thought maybe you’d want to go, but then I wasn’t sure if it would be awkward for you or if—”
“Of course I’ll go,” he cuts me off, squeezing my hand.
Oh. “You will? Okay.” A heavy breath gusts out of me. “Are you sure?”
“Are you sure?” He’s gently amused.
“Yeah! I mean, yes. I just, you know, I wasn’t sure if you would feel weird coming to a Siren event. Not that you should feel weird, I just . . . argh, you know what I mean.”
Is it a bold choice to pick Siren’s biggest event of the year as a coming-out party for me and Jack? Without a doubt, which is precisely why I’ve been obsessing over this decision for the past couple of weeks. Keeping our relationship under wraps made sense at first; I needed to find my footing, give myself the space and time to confirm this was real. But the longer I’ve waited, the more wrong it’s felt. Jack welcomed me into his life wholly and without reservations—heck, I met his friends and coworkers on our first date—and I haven’t exactly responded in kind. It’s time for me to step up to the plate. Besides, I’m finally dating someone I’m excited about, who makes me happy, and I’m tired of hiding it. I want to show him off. I want to prove to Cynthia and everyone else that Jack was worth the risk.
“Let me make this easy for you: I don’t feel weird if you don’t feel weird. I have a cordial relationship with Cynthia, and I promise to be on my best behavior.” He is all wide-eyed innocence; a class clown trying to sweet-talk his way out of detention. “And I’d be honored to be your arm candy for the night.”