“I know you think I’m just a fuck up right now and that I don’t notice what’s going on in your life, but I do hear the way you talk about her,” he admits. “Unless you were spewing me bullshit about what’s been happening, I think she’s been leading you on.”
“No she hasn’t, okay?” I argue. “I shouldn’t have just assumed shit.”
He scoffs. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”
Preston’s a lot of things but willing to console anybody isn’t a talent he possesses.
“Me?” I point at myself. “What the hell did I do?”
“Look, I don’t want to get all sappy and shit and you know I do give a fuck about you but you just—you always think you having something to prove.”
He stops me before I can argue. “And I get it. You’re stereotyped, man. It’s kind of hard not to feel the need to prove a point but you shouldn’t have to do that with her.”
“Idon’tfeel like I need to do that with Denise.”
“Really?” He arches his eyebrow. “You said you wanted a relationship with her, she said she didn’t want that. Then what happened?”
I shrug. “I apologized for making her feel like she had to pretend to want something more.”
“And that’s it right there.”
I lean forward on the couch, resting my elbows on my knees, eyes narrowed in Preston’s direction. “Dude, what are you talking about? I can’t just force someone to want me.”
“No.” We finally agree on one thing. “But you also didn’t have to pretend that you were cool with her not wanting more. You’re allowed to tell her how you really feel without having to play into whatever anyone else thinks about you. You’re allowed to step out of whatever character it is you think you have to be.”
People always ask me why I’m friends with Preston.
Where he’s blunt and harsh, I try to be patient and calm.
Mom and Dad like to joke that we’re fire and ice. That Preston must be blackmailing me into being his friend because theoretically, we shouldn’t want anything to do with each other.
But we’ve always had a mutual understanding that we’re alike in many ways—we just express ourselves differently.
I’m never going to fault Preston for being a little rough around the edges and he’s never made me feel like I was just meant to perform.
“Did you start going to therapy or something, ole wise one?” I grin, not being able to help myself because for all the shit he gives me when I suggest talking through things, he sure wants to do a lot of that right now.
“Nah.” He chuckles. “I’m too self-aware for that shit.”
“Sure, Pres.”
I pick my controller back up, joining him in picking my character before I do something like hug the guy. Not that I would mind but Preston would probably punch me in the face.
“I’m serious, though.” Preston doesn’t look away from the screen. “You should go and find someone you don’t have to pretend with. I mean, if that’s what you want. Or you can be just another booty call.”
“Wow, five hours of sobriety must be getting to you if you’re encouraging me to get into a relationship.”
“Hey.” He slaps the back of my head. Not so softly either. “It might not be my thing but I know it’s yours, god knows why, but I’ll always be here to support you—and maybe judge your taste in women.”
“My taste? What’s wrong with my taste?”
He laughs. “Dude, I’m seriously starting to think you have some sort of kink for emotional pain or something.”
“Oh, it’s not just emotional.”
Preston pauses for a moment, registering what I just said. I laugh when his lips pull back in disgust. “I’m gonna stop you right there.”
“I’m in the venting mood now.” I shake my head. “Come on, Nole, let’s talk feelings. Break the stereotype.”