XXXIX. Date to Talk

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"What's going on?" I ask. "Are we...What are we?"

"I'm courting you?"

"I thought we were sex buddies," I said slowly. I never imagine myself having this type of conversation.

"We are."

"Then...are you still courting me?"

"I...am."

"You're courting your sex buddy, who is your soulmate and someone you agree not to have your feeling towards," I said slowly. I have a feeling mom is right. Whatever it is between us is complicated.

"That...I am."

"Do you hear what's coming out of my mouth?"

He smiles, "Sweet whispers?"

I pinch his arm.

"Ow," he faked pain.

"This is serious. I...we-" I curl my fingers into my hair and pull it.

"Alright," he says. "Maybe things between us aren't clear cut."

"Maybe?"

"Okay. It's extremely confusing, but-"

"But? But what? We talk about it?"

"We could."

Both of us went quiet.

Talking.

One of the most dreaded things for a teenager.

Even more dreadful when you're an adult.

Overall, it's horrible.

I rather have sex with him right now than talk about our relationship.

I know I had a talk with my mom about Marcelo earlier, but it's my mom. I've told her worse.

I'm not sure if she knows which werewolf. But, considering how I had introduced her to only one, I think she has a good idea.

"Another day?" Marcelo suggests.

"Yeah. Yeah. That sounds good. We can create a date to talk." He stares at me. "I don't mean a date date, but like schedule a day. That's what I meant - an appointment."

"Sounds cool."

"So, I'm going to go downstairs, and you can totally go to the attic or hang out here. Just don't break anything. Yeah. Okay. Bye." I left the bedroom.

When I left the room, I ran into my mom. She had a dirty clothes basket on the side of her hips.

"Is he in there?" She whispers.

I nod.

"Conversation didn't go so well?"

I shook my head.

"Should I pretend to catch him?"

I'm pretty sure Marcelo could hear us from the other room. It's interesting how we can't hear sounds from the attic as easily compared to the rest of the house.

"No," I responded. I walk downstairs—my phone buzzes.

Marcelo: Your mom knows about us?

Jules: Yeah.

Marcelo: You told her?

Jules: She found out on her own.

Marcelo: Your dad?

Jules: Will shank you.

Marcelo sent me a picture of a shocked face.

I spent the rest of the day texting Marcelo.

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