Never Summer Again

Chapter Thirty-Four - I'll Stay

Score: Change My Mind - One Direction

Mark

It's been a week since Lydia and I started sleeping together, in my bed.

That's it. Just sleeping. We haven't even kissed once, since the night of the last game.

It has been a fucking torture, because I want nothing more than to feel her warmth again, to touch her, kiss her, fucking devour her, but I don't want to push her. The first time we were together she was drunk, and, then, after the game I'd lost control, riding on the adrenaline from winning, so now I don't want to force things. I want to give her space. I want to be sure I'm not alone at this party. And I want her to make the first move this time.

But she hasn't yet.

That's what you get for falling for your best friend. There seems to be no right move. Like, should I pretend I want to be just friends again? That's obviously not an option. Should I just tell her the truth and get it over with? Can't do that either. She'll fucking hate me. Should I get off my ass, walk to the guest room, which she's been using as a closet ever since we started sleeping in the same bed, and where I know for a fact she is right now, and fuck her brains out? Definitely the best-case scenario, but I can't keep pushing this. I can't keep pushing her, especially now that she's got no place to go. The last thing I want is to make her feel not safe in this flat.

And, to make our current living arrangement even more unbearable, she's been walking around the house in the shortest of shorts and the tiniest of tank tops. OK, I admit we are having a heatwave, but, come on! Like I need any more fuel to the fire, blazing inside me already!

I must have set a world record for wanking this past week.

I feel so wound up about this whole thing, that I decide to resort to desperate measures. A short, blonde one in particular.

Martha and I have been shagging on and off since I was seventeen. I've known her since I was sixteen and started playing poker. We met at a friend's house, where she saw me playing. We came across each other a couple more times in the course of a year, and, one night, we played the same table. That night, I lost for the first time in my life.

To her.

Later that night, I lost my virginity to her, too, in the back of her car.

She's the one, who introduced me to The Game, when I turned eighteen.

She's been there for many of my firsts, obviously.

We used to hook up after games, but it all ended shortly after Italy. The pandemic hit, and I got stuck in Amsterdam, and the games stopped, and, frankly, Martha had been the last thing on my mind at that point.

I saw her again, for the first time since I came back, on the street on the day that I brought Lydia to The Game. It was nice seeing her, though she nearly busted me to Lydia that night.

She has never been on the bright side, I guess...

But now, I am in desperate need of her. And, no, I don't mean fucking. Like, I could look at another woman again, in that way, since sleeping with the girl I've been in love with all my life. No. I need her advice. She's the only female I can turn to for advice in this situation. I can't possibly resort to Gloria for support with my issues with Lydia. She's way too biased.

So, I called Martha earlier and asked her if she wanted to meet up, without telling her what it was all about. She agreed, and, now, I'm making my way down my hallway. I have made an effort with my looks for once, and am wearing a black button-down shirt, and black jeans. Martha might want to go somewhere for dinner, and, knowing her, it would be some place fancy. I think I might have gone a little overboard with the aftershave, though...