Zoe turns my hand over and runs one finger along the inside of my wrist. “You’re not working right now.”
My heartbeat speeds up, but I force my voice to stay bright and cheerful. “No, I’m eating these delicious fries you bought me because you’re the nicest person ever.” I almost say nicest girlfriend ever, but I’m still not sure if I’m allowed to use that word.
“When you’re done, maybe we could go hang out.”
“We are hanging out.”
“Maybe we could hang out alone. Back in the room.”
“You don’t want to bond with the cast?”
Zoe rolls her eyes. “Brooklyn, I’m with those people twelve hours a day. I’m so sick of them. I want to bond with you. Unless you don’t want to.”
“No, I do.” I glance over at Russell and send him a telepathic message to come save me, but he’s having an animated discussion with Olivier in the corner and doesn’t even notice me.
I eat my fries as slowly as possible, but there’s only so long I can make them last. Zoe has already paid our bill, and she’s on her feet the second the basket is empty. “Ready?” she asks.
If she had suggested we abandon the group and hang out alone four weeks ago, I would’ve been out the door before she was even done asking. It seems so wrong that I feel more apprehension than excitement now. I’m suddenly nostalgic for the night we yelled affirmations into the mirror, when our friendship was heavy with possibility but nothing was expected.
But I still say, “Ready.”
Zoe slips her arm around my waist the moment we’re outside, and as we walk back to Ramsey, her fingers stray down until they’re tucked into the back pocket of my skirt. Every so often she gives my butt a gentle squeeze, and I make myself smile, but if she’s acting like this in public, it’s going to take some serious effort to deflect her advances once we get home. I check my phone to see if it’s late enough that I can claim exhaustion again, but it’s only ten-thirty. I consider saying I don’t feel well, and then I wonder when I turned into the kind of person who fakes illness to get out of kissing her girlfriend.
The door of our room has barely shut behind us before Zoe has me pressed up against it, her teeth tugging at my bottom lip and her hands sliding up my sides, under my shirt. After a minute, she walks me backward toward the bed and lowers me down onto it, and even through my anxiety, I’m impressed by how smoothly she does it. I wonder how much practice she’s had. Before I can even catch my breath, her mouth is on my neck and her hands are creeping up over my ribs, pushing my shirt out of the way and tugging my bra down. I’m pretty sure my heart is going to burst straight up out of my chest, but I close my eyes and try to stay calm. Just let her touch you, I tell myself. What’s the worst that can happen? Pretend she’s a guy if you need to.
The thought is so startling that my eyes snap open. Being touched by someone I love should feel natural, like it used to feel with Jason. It shouldn’t be something I need to pretend away or get used to. If I’m really attracted to Zoe, I shouldn’t like her better when she’s six inches away than when she’s right on top of me. I’ve been telling her I’m not ready, that it’s not the right time, but maybe there’s never going to be a right time.
I tug my clothes back into place, and Zoe sighs with frustration. “Brooklyn, what’s the problem now?”
“I’m really tired…,” I say, and it sounds lame even to me.
“It’s ten-forty-five. That’s why I wanted to come back early, so you wouldn’t be tired for once.”
“Can’t we talk for a little while or something?”
“I don’t want to talk. We talked for an hour at the bar. Right now I’ve got an extremely hot girl in my bed, and I want to take advantage of it, okay?” But she doesn’t say it like it’s sexy; she says it like I owe her something. Her hand glides up my thigh, under my skirt, and I squirm away.
“But we never talk about anything important anymore. Don’t you miss the conversations we used to have? Sometimes I wish we could play Love or Hate like before, when I felt like you were actually paying attention to me.”
“I always pay attention to you,” Zoe says. “I’m not thinking about anything but you right now.”
“But you’re thinking about this.” I gesture vaguely to my body. “You’re not thinking about what I’m saying.”
Zoe sits up. “So, what, you want me to stay on the other side of the room and pretend we’re just friends?”
“We can still be more than friends if we’re not touching every second.”