Jesse and I put in the effort. We were good to and for each other. We cared about each other. We were genuine and honest, and for the three months following New York and the ICCA's we were great together.
Breaking up with Jesse was the easiest thing I've ever done. He made it easy. We made it easy on ourselves. As shitty as our communication skills had been prior to the Bellas totally kicking the Treblemakers' asses at finals, well, we became the opposite of that. And so it was obvious to the both of us that our foray into the land of non-platonic canoodling was not working.
We were made to be buds. Best buds. Best buds that share a deep and meaningful appreciation for the glory that is a woman's ass. And smile. And legs. And softness. And cuddliness, though that's more of a Jesse thing than a me thing.
This is not about me and Jesse.
This is not about my discovery of how happy-making the warmth of a woman's body is, or how the world suddenly made sense once I decided to be honest with myself about myself. That ship had sailed long ago. And that's not to say that what Jesse and I had wasn't real. It was, and I was all in while it lasted. I'm not immune to the dudes of the world. It just so happens that, well... Women, y'know?
So this is not about Jesse or life-altering realizations.
This is also not about how I become an award-winning, critically acclaimed, mega famous yet reclusive music producer-slash-DJ.
This is about me and Chloe.
Dear, sweet, kind of scary Chloe.
Chloe who I was not immediately in like with, let alone head over heels in love. Chloe who took some getting used to. Chloe who I always recognized as being a beautiful woman, but for whom I felt nothing beyond a fluctuating mix of irritation, warm fuzzies of friendship, and dark amusement.
Chloe who sent me into a complete tailspin when she kissed me six and a half days after Jesse and I had officially agreed to play for the same team.
Chloe Beale.
Who the hell knew? I sure as shit didn't.
She kissed me. Nothing spectacularly mind-blowing, at least not the actual kiss. The fact that it happened at all? Like I said, complete tailspin.
Two seconds of lips, three seconds of blinking and brain rebooting, then the locating of chairs followed by a lot of talking and no more kissing.
She held my hand. That was sweet. That initiated a resurgence of the warm fuzzies I mentioned earlier, minus the friendship because those two seconds of lips didn't feel like friendship, and her fingers tangled up in mine didn't feel like friendship either.
She said she thought I was amazing. She said that she hadn't been confused about what she was feeling for me, just that she hadn't been sure about which category her affection belonged to. She said that watching me use music to communicate with Jesse had brought a few things into focus for her. She said that seeing us kiss in the audience had felt different than seeing Aubrey kiss someone. She said she liked me and wanted the opportunity to explore that.
Chloe Beale was very clear about her intentions.
I was still in recovery. In recovery, but totally into the idea of exploring possibilities.
That's what we've been doing for the past nine weeks. We're exploring possibilities together. And right now? The possibilities seem endless. And warm. And soft. And curvy. And glorious.