Thank You for Sharing, page 22
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t, you think I’m so good I must’ve been made in a lab.”
“I regret saying that already.”
Daniel shakes his head and clucks his tongue. “No takesie-backsies.” An eye roll instead of a chuckle; Stage 2 is approaching more quickly than he thought.
“God, the party,” she says. When Daniel looks, he sees that she’s staring down at her phone. “The sign-up rate is lower than expected.”
“It’ll be okay, Liyah. We still have the wine night.”
“You can’t know that.”
“You’re right,” Daniel says. “I can’t. It might not work, but we just have to run the events and hope for the best.”
They’re solidly in Stage 2, so she doesn’t admit that he’s right. Instead, she groans, dramatically sliding out of bed and puddling on the floor as if she’s gone boneless overnight.
* * *
LIYAH SITS CROSS-LEGGED on the couch, wringing her hands. It’s been a point of pride (though probably shouldn’t be) that she’s done well with quarterly appointments for the past two years. She hadn’t hesitated on Sunday afternoon when she picked up the phone and asked for an emergency session, but now, sitting in this familiar office, she can’t help but feel like she’s failed by being here again after only a few weeks.
“I’m sorry, I’m working up to it,” she says by way of explaining her extended quiet.
Her therapist, Maria, holds up her hand, a few gold bracelets sliding down her arm. “No need to apologize, take as long as you want.”
As long as she wants turns out to be the time it takes to begin and abandon five different sentences and fall into seconds of thoroughly embarrassed silence.
“Do you remember why I first came to you?” Maria gives an encouraging nod. “I ran into him. At my museum—um, not mine, but like, it was at the holiday party that Daniel and I threw. Anyway, he showed up and was trying to talk to me and I panicked. So embarrassing, like it’s ten years now? He had a wedding ring. He wanted to get drinks. Can you believe that? Drinks?”
Maria shakes her head. Liyah’s been seeing her long enough to know that she’s not going to speak until she needs to correct Liyah or she’s sure Liyah’s done, so she blazes onward.
“I’m probably not making a lot of sense. But he—Jerome”—the corners of her lips turn down; the name still leaves a bitter taste in her mouth—“Jerome was saying he ‘regretted how we left things.’ Like, what the fuck? I mean, I know what the fuck. He thinks I ended our friendship because I ‘regret’”—she inserts air quotes for emphasis—“sleeping with him. Which, like, I do have regrets. Namely, getting drunk around him.”
“You know this, Liyah, but I feel compelled to remind you here that it wasn’t your fault.”
Liyah nods. “Yeah, yeah. I know all that. It’s—remember when I told you about him cornering me in the library? And he was going on about how he wanted to know if I felt badly about it or if there was something ‘fucked up’ about what happened, and I begged him to leave me alone? I wasn’t ready to admit to myself what it was at that point, and I can’t even totally remember the conversation. I don’t know what I said. Maybe I told him it was all aboveboard and he had nothing to worry about, just to get him off my back.”
“Sometimes we say things we don’t mean to protect ourselves. That’s okay, especially in those circumstances.”
“Yeah, you told me so years ago. But I can’t help but think he knew. Like he knew what he did to me, and I’m the one who excused it. And so now he believes he can come up to me and ask to hang out while he’s in town. Why didn’t I tell him to fuck off? I don’t usually have a problem doing that. You know what’s the really crazy part? What really gets me?” Liyah pauses to catch her breath. She looks down, and picks at a hangnail until it bleeds.
“What’s that?”
“If you asked me how I would react to seeing him again, I would have been worried about having flashbacks to that night, or the next morning. But I can’t stop thinking about that conversation in the library. That’s what’s been haunting me. That feeling of being trapped by myself at the corner table, trying to speak in hushed tones, having no idea how I was gonna get out of there.”
Maria nods her head slowly. “I’m so sorry that happened to you.” Liyah wonders if they teach that soothing voice in counseling programs or if it’s a natural talent required to get into the field. “Is that how you felt when you saw him this Saturday?”
“Yes.” Liyah rakes her teeth over her bottom lip as she considers it. “But only at first. Daniel was in line at the bar when he came up, and then he came back. It felt different then.”
“Like you had someone in your corner?”
“Yeah, like that. He was so patient with me, even though…” Liyah trails off. The years of rapport she’s built with Maria don’t save her the shame of what she’s about to admit. “Even when I drank most of a bottle of wine and tried to initiate sex, and then got mad at myself when he said no, and then asked him to cuddle me so I could feel better.” She cringes, hearing it aloud. It feels like such a regression.
“You seem upset with yourself.”
“Disappointed. Aren’t you disappointed in me?”
Maria’s brows knit together. “Why would I be disappointed in you?”
“Because this is what we worked on! Here I was thinking I’m doing better, and I’m just as bad as I’ve always been.”
The corners of Maria’s eyes crinkle as she grins. Liyah folds her arms over her chest. “Okay, let’s check the facts: you had an unexpected run-in with someone who caused you a great deal of trauma, yes?” Liyah nods. “You reached first for an unhealthy coping mechanism you’ve relied on before, yes?” Liyah nods. “But ultimately, you switched course and asked for help when you needed it, from Daniel and then from me, yes?”
“Yeah, I guess that’s true.”
“Do you think that’s how you would have handled it when you were twenty-three? Or might you have stuck with the less healthy option?”
Liyah snorts. “I probably would be telling you about the four different people I slept with that weekend, two of whom I wasn’t that attracted to.”
“Exactly. Your recovery isn’t about you suddenly being perfect; it’s about you getting better at making these difficult choices.”
Liyah chews this over, then laughs. “God, that’s good. Ever consider becoming a therapist?”
CHAPTER 22
“YES, deadly serious,” Liyah says around a mouthful of mapo tofu.
“She’s the Man is your favorite movie of all time?” Daniel clarifies yet again, putting down his bowl of General Tso’s chicken so he can give her a full view of his duly incredulous expression. Her face reveals nothing, but part of him feels as though she’s pulling his leg.
“It would be one of your favorite films, too, if you had any taste.”
“If I had any taste?”
She narrows her eyes. “Yes. It’s literally Shakespeare.”
“It’s also mid-2000s Amanda Bynes.”
“I thought you were taking the negative argument? If you want me to debate against its merits, I’m gonna need to review my notes.”
Daniel shakes his head and lifts his beer bottle to his lips, taking a generous swig. “Nope, still very much anti.”
Liyah shifts on the couch so that she’s facing Daniel and crosses her legs, knees bumping against the side of his thigh. His hand unconsciously falls to settle on her ankle, thumb stroking the only bare skin it can access. They’ve been doing this—whatever this is—for a few weeks now, but his fingertips have yet to get their fill. Liyah never seems to mind.
“Daniel. You’re missing the point. It’s the fact that it is Shakespeare and Amanda Bynes that makes it so special. There was one, like, ten-year period where Hollywood decided the world needed modern American teen remakes of British classic literature. And you know what? They were absolutely fucking right!”
“I had no idea you felt so strongly about this.” Daniel smiles. She feels this strongly about everything, and he’s only really saying it to get a rise out of her.
She holds up a hand and begins ticking off her fingers. “Clueless—Emma. 10 Things I Hate About You—The Taming of the Shrew. Mean Girls—Julius Caesar. She’s the Man—Twelfth Night. All absolute bangers. The trend sort of fizzled—although Fire Island is officially the best version of Pride and Prejudice, so I’m keeping all my fingers and toes crossed that it’ll kick off a decade of adult queer retellings.”
“Okay, okay, fine.” He rubs his free hand along his jaw and does not miss how Liyah’s eyes briefly drift to follow along. “It just seems like favorite ever is a stretch.” She glares. Daniel retraces his steps. “You work in a museum! I thought your favorite would be something a little more … I don’t know. Acclaimed? I expected you to insist on something from Barry Jenkins or Aaron Sorkin.”
Liyah scoffs, poking him in the chest. “That’s because you’ve been brainwashed by mass media into believing intellectual women must reject traditionally feminine interests!” She fires back, barely stopping to breathe. “Because God forbid a teenage girl likes a movie about a—gasp—teenage girl. These movies got me through middle school and high school.”
“How is it you never mentioned these to me at camp, then?”
“Would you even remember if I had?” she asks, one eyebrow raised. He takes another swig of his beer so he doesn’t have to look at her as he nods. “Well, as a preteen, ‘I’m not like other girls’ really had me in a choke hold. But I have since realized that my shame was a construct of the patriarchy. If you wanted to hang out with someone who jerks off to Martin Scorsese, you should’ve asked one of your non-Jordan coworkers.”
Daniel wants to kiss her. It’ll piss her off, though, so he settles for glancing at the deep groove of her cupid’s bow and letting his lips slide into an easy smile. “I didn’t know I registered for Feminist Reading of Popular Media this semester, but I can’t say I’m disappointed.”
“It comes free, like the side of rice.” She leans across him—brushing against his chest much more than is strictly necessary—to scoop more rice and tofu onto her plate. “Have you ever even seen the movie?”
Daniel shrugs. “With Kayla, maybe? It would’ve been forever ago.”
“And you’re judging already.” Liyah sucks her teeth disapprovingly. “Now we have to watch.”
Daniel laughs, no longer able to resist the urge to wrap his arm around to the small of her back. Instead of lowering his lips to hers, he veers left and lets them brush against her neck just below her ear. Liyah shivers, the same way she did the last time his breath touched this piece of skin, and the time before that. “I never said I didn’t want to watch it.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” she says, voice a touch rougher than usual. He grins into her neck, and she pushes him flush against the sofa cushion and swings her leg over so she’s straddling his lap. He trails his hands up her thighs and under her sweater until he gets to the soft skin of her rib cage. She sighs and leans into the touch, her hips rocking forward, eliciting a sharp inhale from Daniel. Noses brush as Liyah dips her head downward. “You’re so easy.” She laughs softly. “Your eyes have gone dark already.”
“I’m half-hard and it’s my eyes that clue you in?” He leans in, but she tilts her head back at the last moment, evading his kiss. She cradles his jaw in her hand, gently angling his face so she can examine each iris.
“They’re usually this deep chocolate brown, kinda golden in the light. It’s the color of a beer bottle.” She clocks his raised brows. “In a good way, I promise. Right now, your pupils have dilated so much they’re mostly black.” She unbuttons his shirt as she speaks, spreading the fabric aside to trace the planes of his torso. The outline of his tattoo is usually where she starts, and today is no different.
“No fair. Your eyes are always pitch-black. They never give away their secrets.”
She pulls her sweater over her head, some of her mussed curls shielding her eyes from view as they fall, the rest landing against her bare shoulders. “Maybe I’m always turned on,” she whispers mischievously, brushing her hair away from her face. “Or never.”
“Never?” His fingers creep up from her ribs, pulling the lace cup of her bra aside and drawing circles around her already pinched nipple. A single brush of his thumb and it tightens further.
Her teeth sink deeply into her bottom lip, and she shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “Maybe.” He draws her breast into his mouth, and her breath hitches. She doesn’t give in yet. Her fingers find the button of his jeans and then she’s unzipping and sliding her hand into his boxer briefs. He bites into her shoulder to avoid groaning.
Holding out, pretending to be unaffected until one of them can’t take it anymore, is Daniel’s new favorite game. Liyah is a formidable offensive player—she can get him so wound up that he thinks he might die if he doesn’t get inside of her—but she lacks the necessary self-control to play defense. It’s always a photo finish, but he wins every single time.
And that’s the fun of it, finding that one last touch that will force her vocal cords to vibrate against one another. Usually a whimper, but once he got a delicious, strangled groan. Then the dam breaks.
Liyah’s playing the best game of her life. They’re both completely naked before she makes a single sound, and Daniel has let out a breath that is dangerously close to a moan one too many times. Surprisingly, he finds today’s pressure points in rather innocuous locations: one of his hands at the small of her back, the other on the side of her face, his lips pressing a chaste kiss to her collarbone.
Her defeat comes with a soft, low whine followed quickly by a hissed “fuck you” and a grind of her hips that would have cost Daniel his win had it come ten seconds earlier.
“Gladly,” he responds, gathering her in his arms so he can lay her against the emerald velvet of her couch, knocking off one of Laura or Lara’s excellent throw pillows in the process.
“Thank God,” she says. “Those things belong on the floor.” She interrupts his laughter with a rough kiss. With great effort, he pulls back so that he can crawl down her torso, filling his mouth with her everywhere he wants to do so.
An untold number of minutes later, when he’s lost in her, hands aiding in the hypnotic motion of her hips, upright chests pressed together, heavy breaths mingling, he’s hit with a startling thought: I love this woman so much.
It’s a mistake, drawn out by the feeling of her around him and above him. I love having sex with this woman so much, it should have been. Or maybe like. He meant to think like.
Liyah stills and leans back to surveil his face. “Is everything okay?”
Daniel smiles. “I’m great, actually.” He kisses the moles on her cheekbone. “Just thinking about how lucky I am to be here right now.”
“Daniel. You can’t say that.”
“Why not?”
“Because it makes me want to…” She trails off, pouting. “I don’t know! You just can’t. You’re so…” She huffs. The way her nose crinkles and her eyes squeeze shut tells him that whatever he’s so … is a good thing.
His smile gives way to a grin. “Sorry.”
“You should be,” Liyah says before using a particularly luxurious roll of her hips to coax out twin moans.
* * *
THEY WATCH THE movie completely naked, Liyah draped over Daniel’s body, her cheek pressed to his sternum. Half an hour passes before she realizes that he’s the first she’s done this with, had so much skin on skin when it’s not a prelude to sex (at least not immediately; she hasn’t written off a late-night round two). She’s had exactly one relationship, and she and Spencer had been nervous sixteen-year-olds who couldn’t get beyond half-clothed fumbling. Anybody else, she would’ve either felt self-conscious or altogether disinterested. Not with Daniel.
Besides, Daniel smells wonderfully earthy, and from this vantage point she can feel his warm chest shake with laughter and thus find new ways to say I told you so.
“You know, this is the first Friday night without SSC since August. Except the snowstorm,” she marvels aloud.
Daniel mm-hmms, and she feels it against the whole left side of her face. “Yeah. I’m glad you’re still here, though. Chinese food and a movie on Christmas would be much less fun by myself.”
She laughs. “You’ll be eating your words at five tomorrow morning when you’re driving me to the airport.”
“I should not have agreed to that.”
“Hey!” Liyah says, tilting her face so she can look Daniel in the eyes. “You can’t back out now.”
“I wouldn’t dare.” He kisses her forehead, and she rolls her eyes, earning a short chuckle. “Why this movie?”
“You’re missing the carnival scene!”
Daniel feels around the coffee table for the clicker and hits pause. “Of all the ones you listed, why is She’s the Man your favorite?”
“It’s embarrassing. You’re gonna think I’m dumb.”
He cocks his head to the side, giving her an unimpressed look. “Liyah, come on.”
“Fine,” she says, turning so her cheek rests against his chest. She’s not avoiding eye contact, she’s simply enticed by the freeze-frame of Amanda Bynes removing her wig and sideburns in a Tilt-A-Whirl. “Neen and I used to watch it a lot. Like, objectively, it’s an extremely straight movie. But if you squint just right, it’s a bisexual guy falling in love with someone who’s gender-fluid. We were obsessed before we even knew why. You take what you can get, I guess.” Fingers run up and down her spine as she speaks, drawing out more words than she intends. She feels her muscles tense involuntarily.
“Damn, we’ve gotten to queer analysis and it’s only the first semester! No wonder I’m hot for professor,” Daniel jokes, and her body relaxes.
“Can we finish the movie now?”
“Thank you for sharing this with me, Liyah,” he says, the earnestness in his voice making her stomach flip, then presses play before she has a chance to respond.
