A Beginner's Guide to Gold Digging: Chapter 12

Author's Note: aaaaaaannnnnndddddd here we go. Fun fact: this chapter contains the first scene I ever wrote for this story. See if you can guess which one.

A Beginner’s Guide to Bi Awakenings

Lily

I stood in my bathroom putting the finishing touches on my lipstick. Never thought I’d be the kind of girl who wore lipstick every day, but here we were. I had five different shades of red and pink to compliment the outfit of the day, no matter what it was. Even on days where I just put on a pair of jeans and some flannel, I still wore lipstick and mascara. Rose had given me a bunch of makeup lessons, and she and Julia and Lisa had personally taken me shopping for the dress I was wearing now. And they’d all been giggling about something the whole darn time, though for the life of me I couldn’t figure out what. 

The dress was simple but classy. Blue, the same shade you’d see on an American flag, with no sleeves and a generous neckline, plus a hemline that stopped right below the knee and flared out dramatically. I did a twirl, smiling to myself as I a rush of bright, tingly euphoria. When I completed the rotation, I saw my brother standing in the bathroom doorway, misty-eyed. 

“What?” I asked. “Does my makeup look bad?”

“No, no, not all.” Rob said. “You just… You look exactly like Ma. It’s crazy. I don’t know how I never saw it before, but… You’re her spitting image.”

My jaw struggled to close as maudlin solemnity washed over me. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

“Do you… Do you think she’d have accepted me? You know, being like this?”

“Definitely,” Rob said with authority. “Dad, too. They… Look, I won’t pretend either of them were perfect. Dad was a stubborn ass-”

“God, he really was,” I chuckled. 

  “And Ma’s temper could turn your hair white, but… They were both decent people with open minds and kind souls,” Rob said, leaning against the doorway. “I always thought it was funny- Ma was so sure you were gonna be a girl, and then… Well, she was right-”

“But you didn’t know it at the time?” I said, leaning back against the sink.

“Exactly,” Rob said. “She’d have been thrilled. She would have screamed ‘I was right, bitches’ from the top of her lungs while standing on the roof, and she’d… You get the idea. I think… She really wanted a daughter. She was… You know, girly and stuff. Owned more skirts than pants. Had hair down to her waist. She’d have loved to walk you through all this.”

I smiled. I guess… I was a lot like my mother after all. That made me happy; I was becoming more like myself, and apparently who I was… Was my mother’s daughter after all. “Do you think… Do you think they’d have liked Crispin?”

Rob blinked, then scratched at his temple furiously. “Lily. What’s going on?”

“Nothing is- it’s just a hypothetical.”

“Would they have hypothetically approved of you getting into a fake relationship for material gain? No, they’d have been confused by the whole thing and said you’re better than that,” Rob replied. “Unless of course the relationship isn’t fake after all-”

I slammed the door shut on him as anxiety lanced my chest, cold and sharp and jagged. 

“Aaaaaannnndddd we’re still doing this! Jesus fucking Christ on the Cross and cracker and a fucking crescent roll! I swear, getting older relatives to realize that crypto currency is not the fucking future is easier!” Rob said as he walked down the stairs. 

I didn’t blame him. I’d be annoyed too. And frustrated. And confused. This whole thing was absurd. But… It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. It wasn’t supposed to be real. 

I wasn’t attracted to Crispin. I didn’t like him. And he didn’t like me. Maybe he was a little attracted to me, but no more so than was normal for a straight guy with female friends. And tonight… Tonight, I would prove it to myself, and to him. 

***

I’d never been to a fancy country club like this one before. It was… I don’t even know how many acres it was, but it was a lot of freaking acres of golf courses, and atop a hill overlooking it all was a massive central building. A dance floor, wooden and wide, sat at the center on the ground floor, with staircases at each corner leading into the upper levels. Waiters in black uniforms came around with trays carrying flutes of champagne and various appetizers, and natural light streamed in through a glass ceiling. And the place was packed with people dressed in clothes worth more than my house, men and women alike adorned in immaculate finery.

Fourth of July, in my family, in my world, meant cookouts. A bunch of family and friends packed into whoever’s house could hold the most people and out in the yard, waiting on burgers and hot dogs and corn on the cob, everyone with cheap beer in hand, a baseball game on the radio, maybe some old rock music on janky speakers if they were feeling ambitious. People wore shorts and sandals and got drunk in the middle of the day, and a fistfight or two broke out whenever some idiot (usually Rob) decided to bring up politics. This, meanwhile… Well, it really wasn’t about the holiday, so I guess that helped, but it was still a lot. And it was hard not to feel like I didn’t belong here.

For crying out loud, they had live musicians playing classical music on site!

“Ah, Mahler. Good choice,” Rose said as she descended the staircase on Kyle’s arm. 

“God, you’re pretentious,” Crispin said as he and I walked behind them. 

“You’re the one who introduced me to Mahler back in high school,” Rose pointed out. 

“And I regret that decision every day.”

“I like Mahler,” Kyle said. 

“... You two really are perfect for each other,” Crispin said. 

I laughed a little. “I’m gonna pretend like I know what you guys are talking about.”

“Trust me, you’re better off not knowing,” Cris said. “Oh, hey, there’s Julia.”

We finished descending the stairs, and there she was, clad in a tuxedo and her blue hair worn up in a bun. God, she was beautiful. And I’d fumbled her. Fumbled her so I could… Spend more time with Crispin. Which… 

You’re gay you’re gay you’re gay, I drummed inside my mind. I focused on Julia instead, basking in her sweat pea and violet scent as she gave me a hug, then did the same for the others. 

“Quite the party,” Julia said. 

“Not really,” Cris replied. “But here we are.”

“Presenting the guests of honor!” boomed a stoop-shouldered butler from the top of the far-left stairwell. “Crispin Eric Winfield III and his wife, Karen Anne Armitage-Winfield!”

Cris’ dad wore a white suit, the same shade as his hair, and drank down three champagne flutes as he walked on his wife’s arm. Karen, meanwhile, wore a pink cotillion gown that flowed and billowed beautifully, legs and cleavage on display, hair worn in the heaviest looking beehive imaginable. She was… Well, she hadn’t exactly made a great first impression, but damn she was milfy. And hey, maybe on her anniversary she’d be a bit more-

“Crispin, Lily, you made it! You just look lovely, Lily- Ah wanna take some pictures with you, if that’s alright? This’ll be a real good chance to show everyone how pretty girls like you can turn out!” Karen smiled broadly and toothily. 

Well never-fucking-mind then!

“Mr. Winfield,” Rose said coolly. “Mrs. Winfield.”

“Rrrrrrrooooose O’Neil!” Crispin’s dad screamed. “An honor to meet you in your truth and totality! I was surprised to find out my son’s old schoolmate had transitioned as well! A pity, however, about the gentleman on your arm!”

“Excuse you?” Kyle said, eyes narrow. 

“Our houses and fortunes might have been joined TOGETHAH through Crispin were it not for you, good sir!” 

“No offense,” Karen said, still smiling. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Dad,” Crispin said, rubbing his eyes. 

“Rose! Tell me! How is your mother!” Crispin’s dad said. 

“In jail, where she belongs,” Rose said with a smug grin. 

“Um,” Mr. Winfield said. “That is… Um…”

“Crispin, do you mind terribly if Kyle, Julia, and I go mingle?” Rose said. 

No, no, don’t leave me alone with these rich weirdos, noooooo!

“Not at all,” Cris responded. 

Dammit!

They left, Rose evidently showing Kyle off and Julia clearly on the prowl for pussy. 

“Listen,” Crispin said, “Happy anniversary, we’ll stay for an hour or two, but Karen, I am not about to let you parade Lily around so you can score wokeness points.”

“I’m sorry, let me?” I said, glaring up at him. Goddammit, Cris, again with this shit?

“Er… Uh… Well, that’s-”

“Have you not been listening to a thing I’ve said?” I put my hands on my hips. “I don’t need your permission to do things.”

“I know you don’t, I just didn’t want you to have to deal with-”

“Because you don’t think I can handle it,” I said. 

“That’s not-”

“Because you don’t think I belong here,” I said, my teeth grinding together. 

“I never said that.”

“No, but you were thinking it,” I said. Goddammit, Cris. I was not some fragile glass doll you had to protect. I was not delicate. I could handle anything these people threw at me. Just because I wasn’t supposed to be this, that I didn’t belong in his world, didn’t mean I couldn’t hack it. “Mrs. Winfield, we can take as many photos as you want.”

“Oooh perfect! Thank you so much, sugah!” Karen squealed. It was… Oddly cute. 

“Lily,” Crispin started, “I just… I was kind of hoping we could spend the party together.”

“We spend everyday together, Cris. You can spare me for a few hours. Plus, isn’t there an afterparty at your place? We can hang out then,” I said, going towards Karen. 

“I-”

Mr. Winfield clapped his son on the shoulder. “Come now, mine eldest boy child. Let us leave these lovely ladies to their business. Or are you saying lovely Lily isn’t a lovely lady?”

“... Right,” Cris said, straightening his tie. 

Karen took my hand and led me across the dance floor, towards a gaggle of beautiful women ranging in ages from twenty-two to fifty. This was for the best, really: I’d gotten a good, healthy reminder of how condescending and frustrating Cris could be, which helped stave off any dangerous thoughts that might have otherwise entered brain regarding him in that tight-fitting suit, and he got an equally healthy reminder of how angry and unpleasant I really was underneath my recently acquired soft, frilly exterior. That would kill off any lust he felt towards me, curtail it before it became anything more serious (not that it would). 

All I had to do now was survive a few hours of smalltalk with some hot, rich ladies… 

One of whom, I was now realizing as we finally came up to them, was my ex girlfriend and her new girlfriend. 

Fuck. 

“Lily. So glad you could make it,” Olivia said with the bitchiest smile I’ve ever seen. 

“You two know each other?” Karen said, looking back and forth between us. 

“We used to date,” I mumbled. 

“Oh!” Karen said. “Why sugah, Ah had no idea you were… Does Crispin know you’re-”

“He’s up to speed,” I said, my eyes locking on the floor. 

“It’s not like it even matters, our entire relationship was a sham,” Olivia kept on smiling. “I mean, obviously, given she’s now with your step-son, she’s not really queer after all.”

“Oh, nonsense, it’s perfectly normal to swing both ways,” Karen said with a wave of her hand. “Ah do myself, for one thing.”

I blinked. Olivia blinked. Olivia’s new girlfriend who’s name I refused to learn blinked. All of the ladies present blinked. Lotta blinking going on, is what I’m saying. 

“Beg pardon?” an older woman with short white hair, clad in an American flag colored ballgown, said. 

“Have Ah nevah mentioned that before?” Karen said. 

“No, never,” the older lady said. 

“Sorry,” I said, “Do you mean you’re-”

“Ah’m bisexual, sugah. Just like you,” Karen smiled. The word hit me like a freight train, and I scrambled to reassemble the shattered remains of my consciousness in its wake. “Never really dated a lady per se- Ah came up in a different time when we had to be discreet about such things- but mah years at Salem College were quite the adventure.”

“Does… Does your husband know? Does your Crispin know?” I asked. 

“‘Course he does. He’s the love of mah life, Ah tell him everything,” Karen said. 

“That… You,” Olivia said, seemingly unable to process it. 

“Now, now, Olivia, Ah know you wouldn’t be so improper as to say anything derogatory towards a lady at her own anniversary party,” Karen said, turning her passive-aggressive smile towards Olivia and fucking destroying her with it.

Olivia grimaced. “Of course not.”

“Glad to hear it. Now, uh, Ah believe Preston is upstairs- could you make sure that boy of mine ain’t up to anything stupid?”

“Certainly,” Olivia said, taking her (very amused, by the look of it) girlfriend with her as she stomped away in her stilettos. 

The other ladies quietly dispersed themselves as well. Leaving me alone with a woman who thought… Well, who thought she and I were the same. A pair of bisexual women who’d fallen in love with rich boys named Crispin Winfield. But that wasn’t what I was, wasn’t what I supposed to be, I was supposed to be a lesbian, supposed to be gay gay gay-

“Thank you for that,” I said, taking a champagne flute from a server and then downing half of it in one go. 

“Anytime, sugah, anytime,” Karen said. “That Olivia’s always been a bad influence on Claudia and Preston, but they’re both adults and can associate with her if they want.”

“She’s the worst,” I said. 

“On that you have mah full agreement,” Karen said. “Listen, Ah think you’re already one of the family, and Ah’d like us to be close. Ah’m sure I… Well, Ah can come on a bit strong, I know, but I guess I was just excited to have another queer person in the family. Thought it would be nice to show people that we… That Ah… They don’t always believe me when Ah tell ‘em, so Ah thought it… No, no that’s not important. Sorry if I made you uncomfortable with it.”

“I forgive you,” I said. She was definitely a lot, but… Well, everyone had more to them than they appeared at first glance. “And I wouldn’t mind taking those photos with you one bit.”

She hugged me. It was unexpected, but… I didn’t mind it. 

Helped that she smelled just as good as Julia. 

“Let’s go find mah daughters, and we can have the photographer get some good shots of all us Winfield girls,” Karen said, guiding me towards a photography station nearby. 

Lydia, Priscilla, and Claudia joined us in short order. Lydia gave me a big hug and told me I looked beautiful, Priscilla offered a slight nod of approval, and Claudia just asked me if I was coming to her afterparty. 

They were messy. At once overeager and judgemental, far from perfect, but… They accepted me. They only saw a woman when they looked at me, and they saw me as every bit as ladylike and elegant as they were. We took… I don’t even know how many photos we took together, but when it was over, even Priscilla was cracking a smile and telling me she was glad I was here. And we just… Kept talking. They told me family stories, mostly embarrassing ones about Crispin, but also a few about vacations they’d all taken or celebrities they’d met. I felt… I really felt like I belonged here after all. 

Karen went off to go spend some time with her hubby, leaving Cris’ sisters and I all traipsing about the dance floor.

My phone buzzed inside my purse, and I took it out to find Cris had messaged me and was in the midst of typing out another. 

Crispin: look, I’m sorry

Crispin: I know, I did the thing you told me not to do. Again. I fucked up.

I sighed and leaned back against the wall, scanning the ballroom for the world’s most honorable douchebag while typing my response. 

Me: Yeah, you did. and I’m not mad. I’m just

What was I? What did I really feel when he did what he did? And why?

Me: I’m tired. And I need to know that you respect my boundaries.

Crispin: I do. I just… I have a problem with impulse control sometimes? And it’s an explanation, not an excuse, I know. 

Me: Look, Cris. Sometimes, I can’t get a read on you. It always feels like you’re holding something back when you’re around me. And it trips me up because you’re usually so direct with everyone else. I guess when you do that, and when you try to pull the white-knight thing, it feels like you think I’m too delicate to handle the truth. And it hurts. 

Crispin: it’s not like that. It’s… I guess more about me than you. Like I’m afraid that if I let you see everything, you’ll go back to hating me. 

I drew a deep breath, held it in my chest until it burned, and then heaved it out. Part of me wanted to be mad. Another part of me… It was mostly concerned. There was a part of him that was hurting. And it was my fault. He really thought that I’d hated him. That I still hated him, deep down, and that I was looking for an excuse to bring the claws back out. And it made sense. I was using him. And whatever it was I felt for him, whatever bizarre comp-het confusion was killing me by inches, was making it worse.  

We’d only known each other for two months, but we spent every single day together, texted constantly, made plans to always be around each other. We were a bit too tangled up in one another, and the whole reason this had happened in the first place was because he felt guilty. Because he’d wanted to protect me, and it had pissed me off, and it put me into his brain and got us in this mess. And now, we were stuck in a cycle of him censoring himself and trying to avoid putting me in uncomfortable situations while I got pissy and made it about me and my bullshit and he felt guilty again. And we were gonna keep stepping on each other until either he came clean or I learned to live with the silence. 

I didn’t want him to feel guilty. But I could live with the silence. I just needed a few hours to get used to it. 

Me: I understand. You don’t have to say anything you’re not comfortable saying. I never hated you, just to be clear. But let’s give ourselves a bit more time to cool off. 

The ellipses flashed on the screen while I waited for him to respond. 

My eyes drifted upwards, and finally, I found him across the room, back to the wall, a sea of party-goers between us. He was staring at his phone, until someone approached him. A woman. Probably in her early forties, if I had to guess. Tall and toned and beautiful, with sharp cheekbones and a sharper jawline. Her dirty-blonde hair  was worn short, but it looked like she was in the process of growing it out. She wore a sleeveless navy gown with a low neckline and a long slit going up the leg, modest high heels, diamond earrings, and perfect makeup. Goddamn, she was hot. And my heart kicked against the wall of my chest when she started talking to Cris.

Cris put down his phone, straightened his posture, and looked at the woman in front of him. In heels, she was a little taller than him, so he had to look up for a change. And he looked… Nervous. Bashful. But he still smiled. 

Must’ve been one of his flings, here for more. 

I ignored the feral screech of anger and the sinking weight of despair competing for space inside me and put my phone away. This was for the best. Cris needed a reminder of what he was missing, then we could… We could go back to normal. Establish some equilibrium. He could remember that I didn’t need protection and I could stop holding him back. And whatever bizarre concoction of confusion and shame and obligation I was fighting would fade away with time. 

“I wouldn’t worry too much, if I were you,” Lydia said, having suddenly appeared next to me. “You know, about all that over there.” 

She gestured towards Cris and the older woman he was talking to. Seemed like an engrossing conversation. 

“I’m not,” I said.

“I’m serious,” Lydia kept pressing. “Whoever that woman over there is- probably one of my brother’s previous conquests- I don’t think anything is gonna happen between them tonight.”

My lips formed a flat line. “It’s not… I don’t care if anything happens between them.”

“Oh?” Lydia said. 

“No, it… I guess I’m worried everything with Cris is moving too fast? And… I think maybe I wanna give him some space for a few more hours so he can see if I’m really what he wants,” I said. It wasn’t untrue, per se. 

“Okay, fair enough. Hows about I give you a ride back to our place for the afterparty, then? I think we’ve put in enough facetime for the folks.”

  “I’d like that,” I nodded as Lydia took me by the arm and led me towards the stairs, her sisters joining her in short order.”

“But I’m telling you, you are what he wants,” Lydia said as we climbed the stairs. 

“I doubt that,” I laughed. 

“I don’t. Wanna know how I know?”

I rolled my eyes. “How do you know?”

“He never shuts up about you,” Lydia said. 

“Bullshit,” I laughed. 

“It’s true,” Priscilla added. “Every time we see him now it’s ‘Lily this, Lily that. Lily did the cutest thing the other day. Lily is so cool and clever and interesting. Lily flipped someone off last night at dinner and it was awesome.’”

“That can’t be-”

“It’s true,” Claudia said. “Look, Cris and I have never been super close, but like… I got eyes. He’s a different person around you.”

We finished the climb. “What if I don’t want him to be a different person around me?” 

“Well then that’s something you can tell him yourself,” Lydia said. 

There were a lot of things I wanted to tell him. All of them scared the shit out of me. 

***

Winfield Manor was a screaming monument to debauchery. A DJ worked a turntable while the ground floor of the house was as supercharged as any dance floor I’d ever seen. Lydia’s fiancé, Chadwick, had shown up and stolen her away immediately upon our arrival, and Priscilla and Claudia had found dance partners pretty quickly themselves.

I’d texted Cris on the way here, and he’d said he’d be here soon, but for now I was content to sit alone in the kitchen rubbing my sore feet. 

However, I found myself interrupted from my recharging session after a few minutes.

“Hey, uh, can we talk?” Preston entered the room with his hands jammed into his pockets.

I groaned. “No.”

“But-”

“Preston, you’ve been hostile and bigoted towards me from the second we met. And apparently you’re buddies with my abusive ex, who I’m sure is lurking around here somewhere. None of this makes me terribly inclined to listen to anything you say.”

“No, see, Olivia told me-”

“Fuck off, Winfield the lesser,” I said, giving him the middle finger. 

“You heard the lady, goldilocks,” Chuck said as he walked into the kitchen. His girl was nowhere in sight, but Cris’ friend ambled past me and opened the liquor cabinet like he owned the place. “Best make yourself scarce. I know you like to loom and watch, but… you get the idea.”

Preston’s signature enraged glare appeared, directed at Chuck as he sat down at the kitchen table with two glasses of whiskey.

Slowly, Cris’ brother turned around and left, disappearing into the wall of noise outside.

“Thanks for that,” I said.

Chuck raised a glass. “Not a problem, sweetheart.”

Oh God, I thought. “So, you and Cris went to college together, right?”

“Yeah. Brothers for life. He’s a good friend.”

And yet he doesn’t talk about you… Ever, come to think of it. “Did you know Rose too? Or… probably just O’Neil back then.”

“Pfft, yeah, but I was never friends with that weirdo.”

God, no wonder Cris doesn’t talk about you. “Right. So…”

“I’m not here to talk about the past,” Chuck said, all smarmy-like. “I’m here to talk about the future. With you. Over a drink.” 

He slid the whiskey glass over to me. 

“Y-yeah uh so I’m not generally into taking drinks from guys I don’t know,” I said, suddenly wishing Cris would hurry up and get here already, or that I hadn’t told Priscilla and Claudia I’d be fine waiting here alone. Mistakes, as they say, were made.

“Oh come on, don’t be like that,” Chuck laughed. “I saw Cris talking to that hot piece of ass at the country club, so you guys definitely aren’t exclusive. Now have a drink with me.”

My stomach lurched. “I should go,” I said as I stood up.

Chuck grabbed me by the wrist, squeezing painfully tight. “Have. A. Drink. With me.”

“Let go of me!” I snapped, trying to pull myself away. 

Preston chose then to rush back in. “Chuck. That’s enough. Don’t do that.”

Chuck laughed again. “You don’t go around barking orders at me, goldilocks.”

Preston reached for Chuck… and Chuck tossed whiskey in Preston’s face. The younger man screeched as he clutched his burning eyes. 

“Help me!” I screamed. “Someone help!”

Unfortunately, the cacophony of the party drowned it out. I’d been in situations like this before, but Chuck was stronger and meaner and a lot more sober than other guys who’d pulled this stunt. And there was nobody there to run interference or throw us out. 

“Thought I told you not to do that,” Chuck sneered, my wrist screaming from his iron grip. “Frankly, you should be grateful. I’m sure ugly trannies like you don’t get a guy like me knocking on your door too often.”

“Get the fuck away from her!” Crispin screamed as he barreled in. He grabbed Chuck by the lapel, tearing him off of me and burying his fist in Chuck’s face.

Chuck, little bitch that he was, tried to back away, but Crispin wasn’t having it. He charged, landing another blow across Chuck’s face, only for Chuck to start landing body and face shots of his own. 

The two men fought until security came to pull them apart. 

***

“Preston found me, told me what was happening. Idiot’s always been a fast runner,” Cris murmured as I helped him hobble upstairs. He’d fought for me. Literally fought for me with his fists! And now he was injured for me, for… 

Protecting me? Is that what just happened? Seemed like it was. I’d needed him to this time. I’d told him where the line was, and he came to me when someone crossed it. I’d been in real danger, and he’d protected me. As the strobe lights shone over the foyer and the living room and the rest of the first floor, those fresh memories were the only thing I could see; as house music blared from the speakers, his words were the only things I could hear. 

One step at a time, we made it to the second and then third and then fourth floor of his family’s house. He breathed heavily next to me while blood leaked out of his nose and busted lip and the gash above his eye, staining his crisp white shirt. Honestly, I was just glad he wasn’t missing any teeth: that would be way too much blood for me to handle. And it would ruin his beautiful smile. 

“How you doing, Cris?” I said as I helped him limp into his bedroom. I flicked on the lights and then he guided me to his bathroom. It was the first time I’d seen either, and I was mostly shocked by how clean it all was. Don’t know why. He probably had a maid who tidied up for him everyday. 

Or he might not. It was hard to tell with him. So many things were hard to tell with him. I thought he was easy to read at first, but… He was frankly inscrutable. 

Regardless, I sat him on his four-poster, canopied bed (probably stuffed with goose feathers or something, given what the rest of this place was like) and went into his bathroom. In the medicine cabinet, I found a first aid kit and some rubbing alcohol. 

As I brought them over, he pointed to the minifridge in the far corner of the room and said, “Ice pack in the freezer.”

“What for?” I asked. 

“My ribs,” he said. Made sense: Chuck had gotten a lot of body-shots, even if my fake fiance still won the fight. I retrieved the ice pack and went back over to him. “I’m still pretty enough for you, right?” he said with a weak chuckle. 

A scoff escaped my lips, and I shook my head and caused my bangs to tumble into my face. Merely at chin-length now, but still so much longer than I was used to. I pushed it back and said, “I wouldn’t know, Cris. Pretty sure we’ve been over that.”

“Just trying to hone my sense of humor. If my face is fucked up for the rest of my life, I’ll need a new ‘only thing I have going for me.’ Girls like funny guys, right?”

“Wouldn’t know, never met one,” I rolled my eyes and started unbuttoning his ruined shirt. 

“Just tear it off,” Crispin said, his dulcet baritone stretching out over the room. “The thing is beyond salvage, I’m just going to throw it out.”

“Are you asking me to tear off your clothes?” I said with a raised eyebrow as I continued to hold the shirt in both hands. God, only this man would dare to be charming at a time like this. 

“I mean, hey, we are engaged,” he laughed. “And I’ve heard you say way worse.”

“Heh. I suppose that’s true,” I said. So I fisted the shirt and tore it in both directions, the buttons flying all over the place and exposing his bare chest. I grabbed the ice pack off the bed, and then I did a double-take as I registered what I was looking at.

I hadn’t seen… This, before. The only guys I’d seen shirtless since high school were my brother and a handful of our construction workers, who were basically family themselves. This was different. He was different. The blood had leaked and splattered on his tanned skin, dotting it intermittently in ways that drew my eyes to certain spots: his abs and pecs, namely. Sculpted, refined, clearly a result of a lot of exercise, all of it glistening with blood and sweat. A garden of chest hair shot out of the skin, black like the rest of his hair, intriguing me, inviting me to run my hand through it to know how it felt. To rub the hair between my fingers and run the tips over his skin. A bruise the size of a large man’s fist purpled over his ribs, and as I guided the ice pack into place over it, the desire to touch it wholesale, to touch him, kept growing stronger and stronger. 

It was as if my mind, my soul, were a pool of pristine, distilled water, and a man stood above it with a pipette filled with some mysterious, dangerous, preternatural substance; as if Crispin had filled the pipette with the substance, raised it over the pool, let fall a single droplet that collided with the clear water and… And changed it. Suddenly, it wasn’t clear or distilled or pure any longer. This new liquid had invaded it, contaminated it, polluted it. It was changing colors, changing at its core into something else. Something warm and powerful; something that smelled less like a pristine pool and more like the ocean with all its power and might and variety; something intoxicating yet gentle that made me want to jump into it; something that would keep me safe, that would show me sights and sounds and scents and sensations I’d never before known; something that would envelop me, consume me, destroy me as it altered me on a core level. 

A single thought bubbled up from the surface of the water, rising like a sea monster coming to clamp its jaws on my entire sense of identity: fuck, he’s hot.

I blinked as the words echoed inside my mind like a tidal wave exploding against the shore. I wanted to look away, to turn away, to run away, but I was frozen in place. Staring at him. I couldn’t look away from this brave, bloodied, beautiful man even if I’d wanted to… And to my shock and horror and shameful elation, I found that I didn’t want to. Because I LIKED what I saw. 

His hand wrapped around mine as I pressed the ice to his bruise. I gulped at his touch, the direct skin on skin contact sending a wave of joy up my arm and through the rest of my body. His hands were rough, which I was used to from all the butch girls I’d dated, but it was so much bigger than any of theirs. So much bigger than mine. He was a life preserver keeping me from drowning in my shock; he would keep me safe no matter what. 

He would fight for me; he’d proven that much. Me, who he wasn’t actually involved with; me, who he wasn’t attracted to; me, who, even if he did feel something (which he couldn’t, shouldn’t, wouldn’t) knew I would never feel it back. Because I couldn’t. Because I was… I was a lesbian. Because I didn’t feel that way about men. I wasn’t attracted to men. I couldn’t be. I shouldn’t be. I wasn’t supposed to be!

“I can take it from here,” he said, nodding towards the ice pack.

“No!” I said, too quickly and too loudly. “I mean… I don’t mind. It’s no big deal.”

“But don’t you need two hands to do the rest of the first aid?”

I flinched. “Right.”

I didn’t want to let go. I didn’t want to pull away. Because then his hand wouldn’t be on mine anymore. Then our skin wouldn’t be touching. And right now, my skin on his was the most intoxicating sensation I’d ever felt in my life, even as the revelation of that sent cold, wet fear pulsing through my veins. 

This isn’t happening, this can’t be happening, why is this happening to me?! It’s just supposed to be a bit of comp-het born from our strong bond, I’m not… I’m not physically attracted to him, that’s ridiculous! So why do I wanna keep touching him so badly?! I thought as I dabbed a cotton swab in rubbing alcohol and pressed it to the wound above his eye. He winced slightly, and I… FELT the pain he felt. Or at least my body thought I did, and was determined to convince my mind of it. I just… I didn’t like seeing him in pain. I loved… liked… LIKED that he protected me, but I didn’t like seeing him in pain. And he probably felt the same way as me, on that point and absolutely nothing else. Nothing whatsoever. 

“What’s the prognosis, nurse?” A question which beamed some deeply disconcerting images into my brain, straight from the ass’ mouth. “Is my modeling career over?”

“Well,” I said as I tried to make myself look anywhere besides his gorgeous green eyes (something that no longer felt like a remotely objective assessment) with no success at all, “I’m afraid it looks bleak.”

He chuckled again, a deep rumbling coming from his chest. “Your bedside manner leaves something to be desired, nurse.”

I responded by sticking cotton balls up his bleeding nostrils and forcing my face into a wicked smile. Good, good, make him think you’re annoyed with him like he assumes you always are. “Well, would it help if I wore a white minidress and a pillbox hat while I torment you?”

“Yes, immensely,” he retorted without missing a beat. 

My eyes bulged with embarrassment as I realized how he’d taken my PERFECTLY INNOCENT comment… The same way most men would, come to think of it. But I couldn’t even be annoyed because the cotton in his nose made his voice come out ridiculous. 

A light, almost musical sound fluttered out of my mouth before I could register what it was. It was only when I heard it that I realized I’d fucking giggled. I guess this is a night for firsts, then. First giggle, first time needing someone to come to my rescue, first time I… 

First time…

“Everything alright?” he asked.

“Yeah. I’m fine,” I tried to play it off, applying more rubbing alcohol to his busted lip. 

He pulled out the cotton balls and plucked two fresh ones from the kit. “You sure?” 

“You’re reading too much into my resting bitch face,” I said with a dismissive wave of my hand and another scoff.

“What the hell are you talking about? You don’t have a resting bitch face.”

“Yes, I do, you dumbass.”

“You really don’t, Lily. You don’t at all.”

“Then why has everyone my entire life told me how I never smile? That I have exactly one expression and it’s ‘chronically annoyed?’”

He dabbed his nose again, then dropped the ice pack and squeezed my hand. There he was, my skin on his yet again, him blurring into me and me into him. “I don’t know who’s been telling you that, but they’re idiot scumbags on the same level as Chuck. Your facial expressions are myriad and varied and like… fucking delightful, frankly.”

I finally managed to break off eye contact, but I failed to pull my hand out of his. “I don’t think everyone who’s said I never smile is as dumb as Chuck. Or as scummy as Chuck.”

“Well at the very least they’re not paying enough attention to you, because you smile all the time when we hang out. And that just means they’re missing out, because your smile…”

He trailed off, and the column of his neck worked a gulp. 

“What?” I asked, my heartbeat quaking over the words I was terrified were coming.

“Lights up the whole damn room,” he said, so quiet I barely heard. Like he was afraid of letting me hear. Then he pointed at my face and said with a tired grin, “There it is.”

“There’s what?” I said, heart screeching louder and louder. 

“The smile,” he said. “You’re doing it right now.”

And I… I fucking giggled again! Goddamnit! “And does it… Light up the whole room?”

“I could turn off the lamp and still see you perfectly,” he said, and there was a… a hunger in his words, a ravenous edge of desire. 

The sight of him sitting there atop his bed where he had no doubt ravaged dozens of girls, stripped of his finery and baring his wounds for me, began to really, truly register, and thoughts of what this would look like to anyone besides us, of what they would assume we were doing, began to flicker in my minds’ eye as a cavalcade of delicious, dangerous images. And when I saw myself inside those images, naked and spread-eagle and wrapped around his dick… Well, that hypothetical version of me looked like she was having a damn good time.

I tried to avoid blinking, because closing my eyes made me see those images again. But as I pressed bandages to his cuts, that meant there was nowhere to look besides his OBJECTIVELY handsome face (just aesthetic appreciation, nothing androphilic going on here, nothing whatsoever) that he’d nearly gone and gotten ruined over my ridiculous, gold digging ass. But… he wore the wounds well. Like badges of honor. A bit of grit looked good on him. A few well-earned dents in the proverbial shining armor made him seem less like some white-knight and more like… More like he really was my brave, handsome hero. 

Objectively. Aesthetically. That was all it was. All I wanted it to be. Even as the stirring in my chest and stomach and loins, the hardening of my nipples and the acceleration of my pulse made me fear that my body’s needs would override my conscious mind’s wants.

Those eyes, those gorgeous green eyes, drooped with exhaustion. Poor guy’s adrenaline was burning out. “You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” Cris said. “I can handle the rest.”

My terror of the world outside this room, of how it would respond to me after that reaction, of how I would navigate it now that I faced hard evidence that I was changing, that Cris was changing me, corrupting me, outweighed any terror I felt around staying with him by a considerable margin. “No, I should stay,” I said, and my confused, frantic heart thanked me. “You need someone to keep the ice pack pressed against you while you sleep.”

“It’s not that big a deal, Lily,” he said. 

I poked his bruise, and he groaned with pain. I couldn’t help but wonder what his other groans sounded like.

“Okay, point taken,” Crispin said. “I’ll defer to the nurse’s orders.”

“Good boy,” I said before I could stop myself. And I wanted to clamp my hand over my mouth, but instead I just… picked up the ice pack and pressed it to his wounds as his eyes slowly closed and his breathing steadied.

“You’re gonna make some lucky woman very happy one day, angel,” Crispin murmured as he drifted off.

“But what if I wanna make you happy instead?” The words tumbled out my mouth and into the world, and just like that… Just like that, I’d admitted it. To myself, more so than him: he was already snoring when I said it.

I sat there for a while, holding the ice in place and watching him sleep. He looked so peaceful, so stolid, so gallant as he slumbered, and some of that peace came to me and assuaged my dread and confusion. I wasn’t supposed to like him. I wasn’t supposed to like any guy at all. But… There I was, sitting silently in this new reality where I was experiencing real attraction to my fake fiancé. Nobody but my corrupted self for company. 

It was why, as my own exhaustion caught up with me and as the ice pack began to warm, I still didn’t leave. Because as much as this feeling scared me, what scared me most of all was the possibility of walking away right now and losing it. Of losing him.

It was why I turned off the lights and laid down in that bed next to him, pulled the covers over us and kept on looking at him as I drifted off to sleep.