Boys of West Denton ✓

chapter thirty

sebastian

Harris isn't saying anything. Why isn't he saying anything?

He looks stumped. Dumbfounded. Water drips from his messily dried hair, and I refuse to let myself look at his broad, bare shoulders. He purses his lips, thinking.

I can't take it for very long. "I just want to know how you feel. What you're thinking."

"I know," he mutters, avoiding my gaze. I wish I could crawl inside his head and figure out exactly what he's thinking. I like him. I know this. But, if he doesn't like me back, then there's not really anything I can do, is there?

I wasn't mad after the quarry. I was just incredibly grossed out, not to mention concerned. But once I showered, I felt fine, if not a little guilty, because Harris seemed more upset than I did—probably because I seemed upset. I just needed to get all that manky lake water off me before I could pretend I was in the mood to smile. Jumping in the quarry is gross and I never need to do it again, but there. I did it. Cool.

"It's ... it's seriously up to you," I tell him. Okay. Okay. No more needling him. Gotta stop. Gotta let him make up his own mind.

Harris rubs the back of his neck. "I really don't know, Seb."

Oh.

My heart doesn't sink so much as it straight-up crashes, burning all the way from my chest down to my stomach. What does he mean, 'he really doesn't know'? What? Did I get my hopes up too far? Is that it?

I don't think my facial expression has changed. God, I hope it hasn't. But, seriously, what am I to him? What is this?

"What are you thinking, Seb?" he asks, his gaze pleading. But I don't know. For a split second there, I could imagine some sort of a future for me and Harris. That maybe I like him more than just friends with benefits, and maybe he likes me back. But there's no way he does. Harris has been a terrific friend, and I hope I haven't let him down in turn. Still, though. This is all we can ever be, isn't it? Simply friends with benefits, and nothing more.

And what would even be the point in trying to date? I'm leaving for Dartmouth at the end of August, and Harris is probably leaving even before that. We'd have less than two months together, and then bam, long distance. And I hate the idea of long distance. Could we even last like that, with how physical we are? Don't get me wrong, the physical intimacy is great. But it does not a relationship make. So this ... this is for the best, isn't it?

It's good to know this now. Set yourself up for success by planning for failure. That's what my dad always said when I was a kid, and look at me now. I don't need a boy in my life. And I especially don't need Harrison McCammon, no matter how great a distraction he may appear.

This would not work out. This was never going to work out.

I'm just glad I asked.

"Seb?"

"Nothing," I tell him, smiling. It's probably not a very convincing smile, but that's not the most important thing right now, is it? "I'm good."

"So...?"

"So?"

"Why did you bring it up?" Harris asks slowly, his gaze searching. "Are we okay?"

I swallow. My throat is tight. Painful. "Harris, we are fine. I just wanted to know what we were thinking for the rest of the summer."

"So ... do we want to keep on being friends with benefits, then?"

Fuck. Fuck. This ... this just sucks. I know that Harris doesn't see me as only being my body. He's made that point clear; I'm not stupid. Yet the idea that he only wants me to be his friend with benefits hurts. Because, I'm good enough to be his friend, and I'm good enough to have sex with, but for Harris, I guess I'm simply not good enough to date.