The Complications of T by Bey Deckard Read Free Book Online Page B

serious. Because no matter if this thing between us actually works in the long term or sputters out after a few more days, I’m worried that it’s going to wind up on public record and… There’s no going back from that.”
    There was a hollow growing in the pit of my stomach.
    “What are you saying?”
    “I’m saying give me ninety days.”
    “Ninety days?”
    “Think of it as a warranty. You can take back anything you’ve said for ninety days, change your mind, whatever, no penalty. We’ll just chalk it up to fate being a major bitch, and we move on and try not to be too hurt about it. But , if you still want me once the warranty runs out, well… We’ll give it a try.”
    I took a deep breath and shook my head slowly in confusion.
    “I don’t understand.”
    “Give me ninety days to miss you. To think about you. To think about us being together. To grow some balls. And… You take ninety days to figure out if I’m worth the media shitstorm that’ll hit.”
    “You are.”
    “You don’t know that.”
    Rubbing my palms on my knees, I bit back a retort. In the five days that I’d known Tim, I’d learned that he was more stubborn than I was, and that sort of argument would go nowhere.
    “So, I just go home, and what? Sit on my hands for ninety days?” It was hard not to sound angry.
    “All we’ve been doing is fucking and sleeping and fucking and watching movies and fucking and eating.” His grin was a shadow of its usual coy self.
    “And talking…”
    “And talking. But I can’t keep my hands off you, and you’re just as bad, so we’re not talking as much as we should be, given that you’re trying to whisk me away with you.”
    “Ninety days,” I said faintly. “Emails and texts?”
    “No contact unless it’s an emergency.”
    “You’re being ridiculous.”
    “I’m being cautious.”
    “How in the hell are we supposed to get to know each other better if we’re not actually communicating?” I said, more anger creeping into my voice.
    “I need to know that you don't just see me as some sort of novelty,” Tim said quietly, “and that you’re actually serious about this.”
    “Jesus, Tim. I am!” I replied, frustrated. “And you’re not —why is it so fucking hard for you to accept that I might like you for who you are?”
    “And who's that?”
    “Someone who sees me for who I am… who sees the man and not the actor.”
    Tim smirked, but his eyes had gone soft. “Listen… It’s only ninety days, Stu. Less than three months. The problem with online relationships is that you forget that the person snores or that they pick their teeth—it all gets overwritten by sanitized text in short order… Emails that are distilled down to flowery words about desire and intention without the imperfection of reality. No… This way you get to play back your memories. Examine them without my input. Maybe even obsess over them. But, even if you remember things in a rosy glow, ninety days, I think, is long enough to either tire of waiting and then move on, or realize that what you’re feeling here”—Tim tapped my chest lightly—“might be worth investing in.”
    Bugger it all, it made good sense, but I hated it nonetheless.
    “I snore?” I muttered.
    “Jesus, Stuart… is that what you took away from—” Tim stopped when he saw I was just trying to make a lame joke.
    “You can have your ninety days,” I conceded with a scowl. “Now, can we please use the remaining time we have together to apply ourselves entirely to creating more memories that I will pine pathetically over?”
    Tim wrapped his arms around my neck and kissed me softly. I slid my hands up his bare back, and he made a quiet little sound of pleasure before he rose up on knees to straddle me on the couch, bending my head back so he could kiss me deep.
    It felt like we were already saying goodbye.
     

Seven
    Ninety days later
     
    I HUNG UP WITH GREG, feeling happier and more excited about a role than I had in