From the Inside Out: The Compilation (Scorned, Jealousy, Dylan, Austin) by S. L. Scott

again too.
    Irritated for having that thought or feeling, I toss the pen down, watching as it skids across the surface of the desk. I’m not sure how to classify this emotion since I don’t allow myself to dwell on such novelties and irresponsibilities.
     

     
    STARTING WITH THE opener I’ve rehearsed, I say, “Please don’t judge me, okay?”
    Brandon stops, the bottle opener in hand, the cork halfway removed. He tilts his head like he knows what’s coming, but I don’t think he does. I’d be getting more than a raised eyebrow if he did.
    Confessing, I add, “I’ve been thinking about him lately.”
    “ Jesus , Jules. Talk about a masochist.”
    “I like the way I don’t even have to say his name and you know exactly who I’m talking about.” My dry humor is wearing on him tonight.
    He must be tired. Tending to the wine again, his eyes focus on the bottle instead of me. He’s disappointed, but doesn’t want to say it. Then he explains, “If you were talking about Austin or someone else you wouldn’t have to preface that statement with ‘Please don’t judge me’.” The cork gives and the wine is poured.
    I walk closer to get a glass, and reply, “True.”
    He turns and leans against the counter, crossing his legs at the ankles. “Lay it on me. That’s what we’re doing right? You want to talk about Dylan?”
    “Talk might be too strong of a word. Maybe mention works better.”
    After rolling his eyes, a small smile appears. “Okay, whatever.”
    We stay silent for a few seconds, then I finally give in. “Fine.” He looks down, away from me, disapproving of the topic, but I continue, “I saw him last week. He was… a complete mess. It was fun to see, actually.” I giggle, which makes him laugh.
    “You’re so weird sometimes,” he says.
    “You knew that coming into this relationship, so no running out on me now.” I narrow my eyes, teasing him.
    “I’m not going anywhere. Are you?” His eyebrows rise up, waiting.
    I know he’s referring to me moving in with Austin, although he doesn’t say it. I sit on the couch, leaning on the arm.
    “You’re avoiding,” he remarks.
    An assumption on his part. “I’m thinking.”
    “It shouldn’t be that hard to answer,” he says, settling in at the other end of the couch, legs spread wide, his arm across the back, hogging more than half. I don’t mind though. He drinks his wine while watching me.
    I close my eyes and reply, “That would be presumptuous of me at this stage.”
    “Would it? Seems like you and Austin are moving pretty fast.”
    “And?”
    “And, well, I don’t want to see you hurt.”
    Sitting up, I look him directly in the eyes. My mood softens. Brandon does that. He still calms me. “I’m not going anywhere… yet.”
    “I knew you’d throw in a yet. A yet to you is like a hall pass. You can do whatever damn well pleases you because you haven’t committed one way or the other.”
    “I hate you.”
    “You love me.” He smirks.
    “I do love you. I just hate that you know me so well.”
    “Inside and out.”
    “Ewwww! Don’t say that.” I laugh, hard.
    “You went there, not me. Mind in the gutter much?”
    “All the time.”
    “That’s my girl.”
    “Brandon?”
    “Yeah?”
    “Start the damn movie.”
    “Happily. My favorite part is coming up.”
    “I’m Sally,” I call out.
    “You’re always Sally. I want to have the orgasm.”
    “I’m the girl. The girl always gets to play Sally. You’re definitely more Harry.”
    “Fine. I’ll be your Harry.”
     

     
    SATURDAY MORNINGS SHOULD be lazier. I wish I could sleep in like I could in college, but my body is too programmed. Rolling over, I try to go back to sleep, but twenty minutes later, I’m up and showered. I throw on my yoga pants and a T-shirt, grab some money, and my keys.
    The coffee shop is empty on Saturday mornings, especially at this early hour. It’s only me and two other people, who obviously can’t sleep in either. I decide