Hold Me Close - Talia Hibbert Page 0,257

fingers tighten around her glass. She shifted away from the topic. “You’re twenty-eight. So when you say multiple plans, I’m assuming you mean two.”

“Three,” he corrected, then looked thoughtful. “Or four.”

“You’re telling me you were making these plans as a kid?”

“It’s what I do,” he said, like it was no big deal. “I had shit to handle. I always have shit to handle.”

Something twanged beneath her breastbone. She felt herself get all soft and sympathetic. “Zach…”

He flashed her a look. Might as well have said Don’t out loud. "There’s something I wanted to tell you."

“What a smooth change of subject.”

“Shut up.” He tugged one of her little plaits. As usual, she’d braided the front of her hair off her face. His eyes eased over her scars for a second, like a touch.

No, not her scars—just her. He was looking at her. Always.

“Let me talk,” he said. “It’s about Friday night.”

She screwed her face into what must be a highly unattractive expression. “Are we still on that?”

“Yes. Right now, I’m blurting out a big speech while you listen.”

She started to smile, but then she saw the tightness of his jaw and realised he was nervous. “Oh. Okay.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Okay.”

He met her eyes. “So, do you know what demisexual means?”

5

What a way to begin. Do you know what demisexual means? But it was part of the plan, and Zach couldn’t deviate from the plan. He’d thought it all through so carefully, from his opening line to the fact that he would tell Rae before anyone else. She’d be his trial run. He’d decided that, if he had to face an ignorant meltdown from someone he cared about, he’d rather not start with his fucking brother.

But, as he waited for Rae to respond, he started to think she wasn’t a great first choice, either. He should’ve told a random old lady at a bus stop, or something, just to get used to the conversation. And, maybe, to get used to negative reactions. He could handle just about anything, so long as he knew what to expect. Right now, he had not a fucking clue what to expect.

After a pause, she said carefully, “I think I do.” Her eyes seemed darker and more direct than ever, two patient black holes sucking the air out of the room.

He wasn’t surprised. She knew all kinds of shit. It was one of the many ticks in the ‘for’ column of his Should I Come Out to Rae? project.

“As far as I’m aware,” she went on, “demisexuality is an orientation on the asexual spectrum. Demisexual people only experience sexual attraction toward those they’ve formed an emotional bond with. Does that sound right to you?”

Like she was checking her explanation hadn’t offended him. So, she’d already figured out what he was going to say. That was another tick he’d put in Rae’s ‘for’ column: she was smart.

“Yeah,” he said. His voice came out too rough, so he cleared his throat. “Yeah. That’s about right. I figured out a while ago that I’m demisexual—I mean, I knew from the start, but I didn’t realise it was, uh, an official thing. And I wasn’t exactly okay with it. Which is why I slept around a lot.” He gave her a wry look. “You might’ve heard about that.”

She bit her lip and looked mildly tortured, which he enjoyed more than a gentleman should. She was real fucking cute when she felt guilty. “You know, I really don’t care about that stuff.”

“I know.”

“Are you okay with it now?” She looked at him like, if he wasn’t, she’d drag him off for lessons in self-love.

“I am,” he assured her. “Honestly, it wasn’t like I hated myself or anything. I just didn’t get it, and then, when I was starting to…” He trailed off with a frown, because this story wasn’t necessary, and he didn’t know why he’d started to tell it. Sharing details like that wasn’t part of the plan, mostly because no-one wanted to hear them.

But Rae kept watching him, like anything that might come out of his mouth was vital. Like she had all the time and inclination in the world. Fuck it. He shrugged off his hesitation and just kept going.

“I was an unpopular kid,” he said. “Giant nerd. Obvious target.” He’d been lanky and pale with milk-bottle glasses and an open love of comics, always daydreaming and drawing weird shit in the back of his notebooks. It hadn’t really mattered, at first, because everyone was terrified of Nate,