Trevor is certainly not in between my legs. And his mouth certainly isn’t down there, despite the warm, tingly sensation I feel, as if he really were.
Reality settles around me, like pixels slowly but surely filling a screen.
Hello, bleak reality.
It was a dream.
I should be grateful that I haven’t been taken by some psycho who plans to hold me captive as one of three wives in his secret torture dungeon to birth an army of offspring, but I’m pissed. Frustrated. Like a kid reaching for a decadent piece of chocolate cake on the counter, only to have it snatched away by a health-conscious parent at the very last second.
I’ve received my fair share of oral sex, but no one has made me feel like that. Like he knew exactly what I wanted, without words. Sure, it was erotic and dangerous, but there was a comfort that’s unexplainable. I didn’t ask questions. I didn’t fret about how I looked, or sounded, or tasted. Then again, it wasn’t really me.
It was just a dream, I remind myself. It wasn’t real. The feeling wasn’t real. Trevor and I are platonic. Friends only. We do not see each other naked （except accidentally）。 And we are most certainly not together, despite how perfect it felt.
I clutch my throat, practically choking myself as I come to terms with the horror. I had a sex dream about Trevor. And I liked it. Really liked it.
This means nothing, I tell myself. Dreams are nothing but random compilations of subconscious thoughts, as logical Mel would say. Don’t put too much stock in it. Who wouldn’t have a naughty dream or two about a person they’ve heard having sex through very thin walls?
An impatient tap on the passenger window snaps me out of my spiraling thoughts. “You coming?” Trevor’s deep voice is muffled from behind the glass.
Nope. Not anymore. Thanks for reminding me.
I need an intervention, and fast.
? chapter sixteen
LIVE WITH TARAROMANCEQUEEN: THE HIGH SCHOOL SWEETHEART
[Tara is surrounded by green foliage. She looks at peace with nature, despite a pesky branch that keeps grazing her face.]
EXCERPT FROM TRANSCRIPT
Tara: Hello, romance book lovers, welcome back to my channel. Today is the much-anticipated High School Sweetheart episode. I’ve gotten a ton of messages begging me to reach out to my very own high school sweetheart, Cody.
High school sweethearts are my favorite book boyfriends. Ever since I was in middle school, I daydreamed about meeting my future husband in front of my locker. He’d be the popular, slightly dumb jock in a letterman jacket who discovers my secret, nerdy charm.
People scoff at misguided adolescent love, but I think there’s something special about not having to navigate the minefield that is adult dating. First, you’ve probably known your high school sweetheart your entire life. You’ve witnessed each other’s awkward braces stage, the acne, and the hacked bangs. There are no secrets. No surprises.
My personal favorite high school sweetheart of literature is Peter Kavinsky from To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before. Peter K is the ultimate, and you can’t tell me otherwise. He’s the adorable puppy-faced boy next door who’s nice to everyone. Your parents. Your grandma. The loner kid in school. He’s cute, innocent enough, although I do suspect he may crush Lara Jean’s heart in college . . .
Anyways, backstory. I fell for Cody in tenth-grade science class when he enthusiastically offered to partner with a kid named Bruce, who no one wanted to sit within a three-seat radius of because he had BO. Cody and I had nearly every class together, which gave me ample opportunity to talk to him.
Things really ramped up during a science field trip in Vermont, where we spent hours walking through the woods learning the difference between coniferous and deciduous trees. We snuck away into the bushes and shared our first kiss. As karma would have it, we both got poison ivy rashes later that day.
I’m about to see him for the first time since our breakup before college. Wish me luck!
* * *
? ? ?
I’M STANDING IN a bush, and I’m not proud of it.
For the past half hour, Mel and I have been creeping across the street from an outrageously priced Victorian house for sale in the upscale neighborhood of Back Bay. Thanks to my daily social media stalk of Cody Venner’s Realtor website, I discovered he’s hosting an open house today for one of his listings.
After my R-rated dream about Trevor, and after coming to the stark realization that I only have two exes left and three more weeks until the gala, I doubled down on my second-chance-romance quest. Anything to distract myself from the fact that my attraction for Trevor may or may not be blooming into an all-out crush.
For the past week, we’ve been verging on dangerous territory. On evenings we’re both off work, we sit side by side on the couch, binging TV or reading. Each night, we stay up a little later, knowing full well that breaking sleep patterns is a death wish for shift workers. His mere presence smooths all my swirling thoughts. Every time he smiles or laughs （or, God forbid, both）， I lose all circulation in my limbs. With every accidental touch or brush of skin when we’re on the couch or in our tiny kitchen, I’m spellbound to the point of doing just about anything he asks of me.
Two nights ago, I was on my tiptoes, trying to grab a bag of chips from the top of the fridge. Before I knew it, Trevor’s entire chest was pressed against the width of my back as he reached over me to assist. When I spun around, startled, our eyes snagged for a few beats longer than normal before he handed me the chips, ruffling my hair like an annoying older brother—an act that harshly reminded me of our nonsexual-roommate status.
Finding Cody’s open house listing was like discovering a single diamond in a steaming pile of horseshit. I launched out of bed this morning and put in some serious work painting my face using Mel’s Pink Peachy Glam makeup tutorial. Mel and I even prepared an elaborate backstory—that she mysteriously came into a large sum of money and is embarking on a new quest to flip houses with her own bare hands.
Is it desperate to randomly crash my ex’s open house after not speaking to him for over a decade? One hundred percent. Am I shameless enough to risk the humiliation anyway? Beyond.
Just thinking about Cody Venner feels like slipping on a favorite tried-and-true sweater. Among a hundred other sweaters, you gravitate toward this one for every occasion, anticipating the bliss of that fuzzy, plush fabric against your skin. The freshly laundered yet familiar scent of home. Just the right amount of wear and tear for optimal comfort and movement.
“He was the perfect boyfriend,” I’d explained to Trevor on my way out the door to meet Mel. “He was ambitious, great with my parents, involved in every club and sport. I didn’t see it coming when he broke up with me before college. He was going to Penn State, and I was staying here in Boston. He didn’t think we could do long-distance—”
Trevor shook his head. “Nah. Cody broke up with you because he wanted the freedom to fuck other girls.”
“You don’t even know Cody,” I’d snapped, offended on Cody’s behalf while simultaneously burdened by the memory of crying for multiple days straight in my bedroom after our breakup, combing through my box full of three years’ worth of handwritten notes and drawings he’d sent me during class. There were moments I was convinced my lungs were collapsing, that my chest was caving in on me. That I quite literally couldn’t live without him. Aside from Seth, Cody was by far my worst breakup.