SOS by Glory, Girl Writer.pdf - Dawson's Creek Fandom Wiki

Jen reached into the car through the window and grabbed her purse. From it, she pulled
out his phone. "What did you give me this for if you were going to say 'Oh, Jen, never
mind, I'm too old for you'?"
"I'm not saying that." He was whispering harshly, suddenly very aware of all the
sleeping people not very far away. "I'm saying that of all the guys I'm willing to be, I'm
not going to be the guy who's ten years older than you are --"
"Nine."
He rolled his eyes. "The guy who's substantially older than you are who sleeps with you
and flies away in the morning and you wind up regretting it."
She shifted her feet impatiently. "Who says I would regret it?"
"Nobody says you would," he replied, slightly distracted by the smell of her perfume as
he got near her again. "But what if you did? What if I took you inside and made love to
you and in the morning I left, and once it was actually happening -- once I was actually
gone, and you were sitting there by yourself, what if you felt bad?"
"What do you think I am, Chris? Some kind of a withering virgin? I'm not going to cry
into my pillow because you didn't give me your high school ring. I'm telling you, I'm not
going to feel bad."
"Well," he said, "I am." At her surprised expression, he went on. "I haven't known you
that long, Jen. I've known you a day and a half, pretty much. It's seemed like more than
that, but it's not. And I don't claim to know everything that's going on in your head, but
from things you've said, it's looking to me like you haven't had the best of all possible
luck where guys are concerned."
She felt tears stinging her eyes. "Well, now I'm not sure it's improving any, either."
He smiled ruefully. "That," he said with a nod of his head, "is exactly what I'm talking
about. I have a weird feeling that you have a script of some kind in your head, and that
in some way I don't even know about yet, if I take you inside with me, I'm going to be
playing my part in it perfectly. And I have an equally weird feeling that if I play my part
perfectly, I'm going to find that my curtain call comes sooner than I'm expecting, and
even if I tried to avoid bowing, the director would come and chase me off the stage with
a wooden bat."
"Are you enjoying this tortured metaphor? Because I'm really not." Now, she was
crying, although she hid it surprisingly well.
"As a matter of fact, I am enjoying it," he went on, unfazed. "I'm enjoying it enough to
say that somehow, I feel like if I don't take you inside with me, if I stand here and I tell
you that I'm going to be thinking about you, and I'm going to call you, and I may be back
in town as soon as, say, next weekend to visit you, but that I think it's not a good idea for
us to see each other naked quite yet, I'm going to break the script wide open."