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I never meant for it to happen. I swear I didn’t. But I was so lonely, and he—Jake—was paying attention to me in a way you hadn’t in months. We hadn’t had sex in forever, and I felt invisible at home. I told myself it was just friendship at first.
It started small. Jake would offer to pick me up and drive me home from group hangouts so I didn’t have to drive alone. You even thanked him for being such a good friend and looking out for me. I liked how thoughtful he was. When we were all together, I’d find myself sitting next to him. I didn’t think anyone noticed, but apparently Josh did, and some of the other girls too.
They never said anything.
I was desperate for any little bit of time away from the house, any chance to feel wanted. I made sure nothing ever happened at our home—I was terrified the neighbors would see something and tell you.
One night, after we’d all been at the beach, I’d been venting to him in the truck about how you weren’t paying attention to me anymore, how we barely touched each other. I don’t know if he’d been waiting for the right moment, but he made his move. He leaned over, grabbed the back of my neck gently but firmly, and kissed me. I should have stopped him. I didn’t. I kissed him back.
He pulled me onto his lap, and I just… let it happen. I started grinding against him while he whispered how much he wanted me. His hands went up the back of my shirt, unhooked my bra, and touched my bare skin. I could feel how hard he was through his jeans, pressing right against me. We made out like that for what felt like forever—hot, heavy, desperate—until the guilt suddenly hit me like a wave. I told him I needed to go home.
He drove me back, watched me fumble my bra back on, and kissed me one last time before I ran inside. That was the last time he ever picked/dropped me up from our house.
But it wasn’t the last time I got into his truck.