Connie rolled her eyes before sitting down on the edge of the bed with a sigh. It was the first time I noticed that something might be off. She wasn’t looking anywhere in my direction but at the far wall, her lips twisted. She tapped her foot against the floor.

“Is something wrong?” I asked. I waited a few moments, but no reply came. “O’Reilly?”

I sat up in the bed and she seemed to snap out of whatever daze she was in, glowering at me. “What do you want?”

“I asked if something’s wrong?”

“No.”

“Are you sure? You were pacing, and now you’re staring blankly…”

“I’m just thinking.”

“You know, you’re always telling me to think a bit less.” I nudged her playfully, smiling. “Maybe you should take some of your own advice.”

Shuffling gracelessly, I sat on the edge of the bed next to her, leaving just enough space that I could slip my hand into hers. She glanced down and raised an eyebrow but silently accepted, entwining her fingers with mine. She ceased nibbling on her lip before finally raising her gaze to meet mine and it seemed heavy, unbearably so, beneath the weight of all the things we chose to leave unsaid.

It took a moment but the tension started to dwindle away, until she eventually dared herself to speak. “Your hair looks like shit.”

I couldn’t stop myself from smiling, and when her own lips quirked upwards, it only seemed to grow. “Ever the charmer.” Connie scoffed, but from the way her shoulders dropped I could tell she had relaxed. “Are we—should we talk about it?”

“Talk about what? We’re not dating, Ryan. It was just one night.”

“I know that! I know that. I just—you’re definitely not gay?”

“No.”

“I don’t really get it.”

“Does it bother you?”

I paused, deliberating. Should it have bothered me? I supposed maybe so. In a sense, it seemed like maybe she had just used me to fulfill her base needs. She didn’t want anything more from me than that. But did it bother me? I thought of the low moans she emitted and the way she writhed beneath my hands at the slightest of touches. I thought of how stunning she was, how easily she drew every eye in a room to her. I thought of her tongue licking into my mouth, the tone of her voice when she bossed me around. I thought of how long I had wanted for her, waited for her. I thought of how many times I forbade myself from dreaming of her because I never could have conceived it might come true. “No. I guess not.”

She deliberated over a reply just as the door to the bedroom swung open. Orla smiled at both of us, her own face appearing a lot fresher than how I imagined we looked. She was already showered and dressed, it seemed, and as I smiled back at her I found myself edging slightly away from the girl next to me.