"Can we do that now?"
"No."
A whine slips into her voice. "Why not?"
"You're pissed."
"So? Look." She raises her legs. Flexes her ankles. "I'm keeping the shoes on."
"So you can wear them when I fuck you?"
"When you fuck me?"
"When doesn't mean tonight."
She sighs. "You're mean."
"Mean?"
"Yeah, mean. Teasing me with what I want then holding it out of reach."
I can't help but laugh. "I've never heard you use the word mean."
"Kinky makes it sound good."
"It's not?"
She clears her throat.
"You like mean."
"That doesn't change the facts." She rests her head against mine. "But I… this is kinda nice."
It is. It's strange, giving my fiancée a piggyback ride, on a dark street, too close to midnight, but it feels good, taking care of her. It's everything.
"And dinner. That was… I really liked it. Getting to know your family."
"They liked you."
"I'm not sure. Did you see the look Eve gave me when I said I loved Billie Eilish?"
"I don't have a clue who that is."
She laughs. "She's the one doing the Bond film."
"The voluptuous blonde?"
"No. The teenager with green roots. Is that why she doesn't like her? Jealous of her hair?"
"Are you?"
She runs her fingers over my hair. "No. I don't really like it. Eve's hair is way better. Better than mine too."
"Why don't you dye yours teal?"
"Really?" she asks. "You'd approve?"
"I'm not going to tell you what to do with your hair."
"What if I want to cut it off?"
"I'll miss tugging at it as I come in your mouth."
She lets out a soft groan. "Ty…"
"Yes?"
"You're trying to distract me."
"What is it you say? No, I'm answering honestly."
"Do you believe me when I say that?"
"You are. And you're trying to push my buttons."
She squeezes me with her thighs. "Does it work?"
"You know it does."
She lets out a victory squeal. "I might dye it. Maybe. Dark blue. Or dark purple."
"Blue-black?"
"Indigo with indigo hair." She laughs. "That wouldn't be obnoxious."
"It would suit you."
"Would it finally be cooler than Eve's?"
"I can't say I think about whether or not your hair is cool," I say.
"I'm okay losing sometimes. She even matches it to her shoelaces. Did you notice that?" she asks.
"And complements Ian's tie."
She lets out a soft gasp. "It did."
"They always do that."
"What about in the middle of summer? Doesn't she wear sandals?"
"Sometimes."
"And he always wears a tie?"
"Baby, do you really want to talk about my brother's wardrobe?"
She nods into my shoulder. "I like that you know them. That you know them together. They seem happy."
"They are."
"You don't approve?"
"Why do you say that?"
"The tone of your voice."
"I didn't," I say. "When I first heard."
"That he was dating a teenager?"
"Yes."
"There's more."
"Yes."
She waits for me to expand.
I don't.
"You're not going to tell me."
"Ask Ian. He'll tell you if he wants you to know."
"Siding with your brother." She tugs at my shirt. "Mean."
"You'd side with me over Sienna?"
"No." Her voice softens. "I admire the loyalty. I know I have that too."
Loyalty. I've never thought of it that way, but she's right.
"I think you're loyal to a fault, actually. I remember our summer. You told me you were here to help your brother after his divorce."
"I was."
"You came for an entire summer."
"I spent most of it fucking you."
"Yeah, and even though you wanted to keep fucking me, you brushed off my questions about him. About what happened."
I never thought about it. It was a reflex.
"And then later… you wouldn't see me when you came to New York."
That wasn't fair to her. But she's right. I did it out of loyalty to Rory. Because I didn't trust myself with Indigo.
It wasn't that I thought I'd fuck her exactly.
I have enough self-control to keep my trousers zipped.
It was more that I knew, deep down, she'd wake up the part of me I was trying to deny.
If I saw her, I'd remember the thrill of tying her to my bed, ordering her onto her knees, bending her over the table.
"It made me angry," she said. "But it's kind of sweet. Really sweet, actually. Would you do that for me?"
"Do what for you?"
"Not see her? If you went to London?"
"If you asked."
Her thighs tense.
"But I wouldn't have to. I trust myself around her."
"But you don't trust yourself around me? You didn't?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"You know why." I stop at a light. Wait for the car across the street.
Indie taps my chest. "We're almost there."
"And?"
"Down."
"Is that an order?"
"Pretty please."
"You really think adding pretty is going to help your case?"
"No. But I don't want to be too tired to fuck you properly."
I let her down.
She straightens. Takes my hand. "Will you tell me why?"
"You know why."
"Will you tell me anyway?" She runs her thumb over the space between my thumb and forefinger. "Please?"
"I shouldn't reward your begging."
"You should. You like it."
I do.
"If you reward me, I'll do it more. That's basic psychology." She presses her hands together. Mouths pretty please.
"That side of myself that comes out when I'm with you. I tried to keep it in a box for a long time. I tried to tell myself it wasn't there. That I didn't want those things. But I did. And I knew if I saw you, I'd realize that. I knew, if I saw you, I'd be desperate to fuck you."
"Were you?"
"Yes. But I was still trying to bury those desires."
"Are you now?"
It's a good question. She's only asking because alcohol has dissolved her inhibitions.
Mine are weak.
But they're still there.
I promised I'd be honest with her. If it mattered. Even if it hurt her.
That means being honest with myself.
"I can't," I say. "Not when I'm around you. It's impossible."