"It's not like that," I insisted, turning and walking away.
It had never been like that.
I wasn't stupid or blind, and she was old enough even back then for me to notice that she was gorgeous, but I'd been uncomfortable enough with the age difference not to let my mind go there.
She'd been my little protege, someone eager for what I could teach her, someone who jumped in with both feet, tried her best, trusted me implicitly not to steer her wrong.
It felt good to be seen and appreciated and looked up to.
And it felt better to have someone in my life who I could have a close connection with after being on my own for so damn long.
I'll admit, though, there had been times when studying for the interview that I'd felt a fondness toward her that wasn't appropriate. And the day she showed up in a pretty white dress, holding a handful of daisies, ready to exchange vows and slip a ring on her finger, take my last name, had been more impactful than it should have been. It hadn't felt exactly like an arrangement as we stood in front of the Justice of the Peace and promised our futures. And when she'd leaned up to press a sweet, chaste, shy kiss to my lips, I'd felt a sizzle of interest that I drank away that night because I knew I wasn't supposed to feel it.
She'd needed a friend and a mentor, that was it.
Huck was right, though, she wasn't a kid anymore. And I was very aware of her form spread across my bed as I went back to my room for a shower.
She was spread across the whole bed, dead asleep on her stomach with one of her legs cocked up at an angle. Her half-dry hair was pushed back, showing off the side of her pretty face, her lips opened ever so slightly in sleep.
Turning away, feeling like a creep for looking on as long as I did, I made my way into the bathroom, taking my shower, then coming out to crash on the incredibly uncomfortable recliner I had wedged in the back corner of the room.
"Che," a voice called some unknown time later, making me jolt awake, not used to having female voices waking me up.
It took a long second before it all came rushing back, making me turn to find Sass sitting up in bed, her hair disheveled, her eyes sleep-heavy still.
"Yeah? You alright?" I asked, shrugging a hand over my eyes.
"Why are you sleeping in the chair?" she asked. "The bed is big enough."
"Not the way you sleep, Sass," I told her, smiling.
She sent me a small one back. "Yeah, I'm used to sleeping alone. It's made me a bed hog. But there's room. You look like you were going to wake up sore all over."
I was.
I was just at that point in life where sleeping the wrong way or sneezing too hard could give random aches and pains.
"Come on," she demanded again, tone a little more adamant. "I won't be able to sleep if you're over there all uncomfortable," she added. "And I really need to sleep."
A glance at the clock said it was only about two hours since I'd passed out. If it was closer to morning, I would have just gotten up, said I had to start my day.
I didn't know why, but something in me said that I really, really needed not to get into bed with her.
"It's fine. Be comfortable. I will crash in Seeley's—" I started, getting cut off but a growling noise, making me turn to find her glaring at me.
"Oh my God. Just get in the damn bed, and get some sleep," she snapped, dropping back down, turning to face the opposite direction. "I'm not going to maul you in your sleep, if that's what you're so worried about," she added, tone sharp as she reached down to yank the comforter back over her body.
I knew Sass well enough to know she was the type to argue over little shit. And I didn't want to get into it.
We both needed some rest because I had a feeling the next day was going to be a long one. And probably a lot of days after that too.
So I took a steadying breath, reminding myself that it was no big deal, that she was just an old friend, that there was no reason to feel strange about it as I got to the side of the bed, and climbed in.
"I'm probably a blanket thief too," she told me, reaching back to hold the comforter up, so I could slip under. "You are just going to need to deal with that," she added, sounding lighter.
It was several long minutes later, long enough that I'd thought she'd fallen asleep again, when her voice cut through the silence of the room.
"You have a headboard."
"What?" I asked, sure I misheard her.
"You have a headboard," she repeated. "I've never been to a guy's room that actually has a headboard. They just butt the bed against the wall and let their pillows fall down. Like heathens," she added, getting a chuckle out of me, even if there was a churning inside at her words.
I didn't want to hear about the men whose rooms she'd visited.
I didn't want to see her as a woman.
Not because I wanted to picture her as young or virginal, but because if I let myself think of her as a woman, one with urges and desires, one that liked the company of men, I had a feeling I was going to start sexualizing her in a way we both didn't want.
"I also have curtains," I told her.
"And extra towels," she said, voice dramatic. "You're like a full-blown adult and shit," she added, teasing. "And, you have actual conditioner."
"What?"
"Men never have conditioner," she told me, turning over onto her back to look at me. "They use soap on everything. I think your conditioner is actually better than mine," she added, reaching up to stroke her fingers down her hair. "It makes me feel mildly better that your recliner is tragic," she finished, turning on the pillow to smile at me.
"Tragic how?"
"It's big and lumpy and hideous."
"You forget expensive and uncomfortable," I said, getting a big smile from her, one that managed to reach her eyes.
"Why do you keep it then?"
"Guess I wasn't raised to toss shit that wasn't broken beyond repair."
"Yeah," she agreed, letting out a deep breath. "I know all about that. My backpack was about seventy-percent duct tape by the time it got to me."
"Have you spoken to any of your siblings?" I asked.
Back when we'd first met, the older siblings had flown the coop, never to look back, seeming not to give a shit about the younger ones left behind.
I knew for a fact that Saskia used to take some of her racing money with her to Goodwill, the dollar store, and the grocery store, stocking up on things for her other siblings, wanting them to have it easier than she did, but also knowing she couldn't give her mom the money, and she couldn't buy them anything too nice, or their mom would just end up selling it.
"I don't even know if the older two are still alive," she admitted. "But my oldest younger brother is in med school. The sister after him is working on becoming a social worker. Then the next brother is working as a male exotic dancer. By choice, not necessity. And the other two are doing the young adult move to a big city and find themselves thing. One is in New York; the other headed out to LA."
"What about your mom?" I asked, knowing that she was a touchy subject even on a good day.
"Well, luckily, she didn't get knocked up a ninth time. She settled down with someone just about as toxic as she is. A guy with four kids from four different moms who doesn't bother to pay child support to any of them."