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That’s said clearly from experience. “Did you have an ex who did something similar?”
He downs some tea from the travel mug, then answers, “In a way, yes. Turned out Samantha still kept all her dating profiles and was quite active with them while we were together,” he says dryly, like he’s reporting the news, but it’s clear he’s masking real hurt. Or shame.
I growl, instantly protective of this clever, caring man. “Why are people like that?”
“I wish I knew. I just know they are,” he says, but he moves on swiftly as we turn the corner. “But to answer why a good boyfriend would walk you to work…” His gaze swings to me, his eyes curious. “I would turn it back to you. Do you actually want someone walking you to work?”
He doesn’t ask it weakly as if he’s doubting himself for walking me to yoga today. But more because he seems legitimately interested in my answer.
As we turn onto a bustling block where the festival’s spread out on this Friday morning, taking over more of the town, I mull on an answer—one that makes me feel a little vulnerable. “Yes, because it gives us a chance to talk,” I say.
He stops in front of a cheese shop, the scent of Gouda and cheddar drifting past the open door. Rhys lifts a hand, casually brushes some hair off my shoulder, his fingers trailing sensually over my hoodie. The fabric does nothing to stop the sensations from flowing through me.
“Screaming orgasms are great but I’m pretty sure they’re better when you actually talk to the person you’re sharing them with,” he says, and my stomach swoops.
Impulsively, I set a hand on his chest over his right pec. I desperately want to know him more. To understand what makes him tick. “Your tattoo. I noticed the dates on it last night,” I say, a start and an end. “For someone who must have mattered to you a lot?”
I leave it open-ended so he can answer or not.
“Yes. A lot,” he says. Sadness flickers in his deep brown eyes, as he swings his gaze away from me to the town square across the street. Green wooden benches line the square on all sides, and the grass is dotted with a few early morning picnickers.
It’s not hard to read the room. Or to give him what he’s given me so far—a welcome ear. “Hey,” I say gently. “I’ve got a few minutes before I need to set up my tent. Do you want to sit and chat?”
He’s careful as he asks the question. “Are you sure? It’s not a pretty story.”
“I didn’t think it was, Rhys.” I squeeze his arm, trying to reassure him that I’m here if he needs to talk.
He gives a long exhale, then he says, “My brother died when I was sixteen. Daniel. He was my only sibling.”
My heart lurches. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” I say, emotion tightening my throat. “I have a brother I adore. I can’t imagine.”
“I hope you never have to,” he says with so much kindness, my heart aches even more. “We don’t have to sit and chat if you don’t want to.”
Rhys is trying to give me an out, but I don’t need to take it. “It’s not about me. If you want to talk, I want to listen.”
His shoulders relax. Relief seems to pass over those soulful eyes. “I do.”
32
THE LUCKY ONE
Rhys
If she’s offering, I’m answering.
Samantha wasn’t like this. She talked at me instead of with me. I take the opportunity Briar’s giving, setting a hand on the small of her back as we head to the bench.
But a small part of me hates to be a downer after our fantastic night in bed. We didn’t stop at her orgasm, though I’d have been content to. She insisted on returning the favor, and really, who was I to refuse? Then I learned she’s a world-class cuddler, snuggling up with me while her dog curled under Hollis’s neck.
There’s something about actually sleeping with someone—slumbering—that brings you closer. She kissed my tattoo again before she fell asleep too. Maybe that’s why I’m willing to sit on the bench with her and share.
“I don’t usually share the worst thing that’s ever happened to me on a third date,” I say, trying to make light of…everything.
She gives me a curious look then asks, “The cat rescue was the first date? Dinner last night the second? And this is the third?”
“Sure,” I say with a forced smile.
She sets a hand on my arm, takes a moment. “You don’t have to do that.”
