I’ve never been this hard in my entire life.
Needing some distance, I jog down the steps from Becca’s apartment. Yes, I need to get to the rink, but mostly I just need some space from Becca to figure out what just went down. I walk back to where I parked my car and make the drive to the rink on autopilot, the entire time replaying our conversation in my head. I’m still trying to wrap my head around what she’s asking me to do.
Because my brain? It’s getting all kinds of crazy ideas. And every single one of them is not safe for work.
Last night with Becca, listening to her tell me that she’s thought about me—about us—that she uses a toy, that she’s scared to be physical with a man . . . that it’s been six years. Six freaking years.
usSix freaking years.It broke my f*****g heart. But more
