Her brows furrow. “What it feels like? Haven’t you ever been on a date?”
I shake my head.
“You’ve never been on a date?” she questions again, astonished. After another head shake she asks, “What about in high school? Didn’t you go on any dates?”
I laugh. “Definitely not. I was the biggest asshole in high school.”
“Huh.”
It’s a statement, not a question, and I can see the gears turning in her mind. But with my question still unanswered, I try again. “So, is this what a date feels like?”
The words are hardly out of my mouth when she completely ignores me, instead asking, “Why did you break your rule for me?”
“Fireball,” I say, reaching up to push a whisp of stray hair out of her face and behind her ear. “You’re gonna need to be a little more specific on that. I’ve broken a number of them.”
“The big one. The one everyone talks about.” Her brows are pushed together in deep concentration like she’s trying to figure the answer out on her own without my help. “You never sleep with someone twice.”
I’ve been struggling with an answer to this myself. When I woke up yesterday morning and she was gone, unexpected disappointment exploded in me like a propane tank in a fire. I figured it was because I wanted another round when we woke up. One last fuck for the road.
But as the day went on, and we talked and hung out at the pool, I realized maybe I wasn’t finished with her. I hadn’t had my fill of Jordan yet. Which has never happened, so I figured maybe it was because we were out of town, and I wasn’t in my normal stomping grounds. Not to say I couldn’t find pussy elsewhere, but the thought of bringing anyone back to the hotel last night didn’t bring the normal thrill or pleasure I usually get.
When the girl giving away body shots at the bar came around, it held no interest. To any of us, to be honest, which the guys razzed me for because typically I would have been all over that. But nothing about the woman appealed to me, and it wasn’t because she wasn’t fine as hell.
She just wasn’t Jordan.
“I don’t,” I confirm.
“So why me?”
“Because you wouldn’t let me eat you out the first night, so I thought maybe I’d get to on the second,” I tell her, deflecting the question.
It works, at least for a second. Jordan throws her head back and laughs. “You’re ridiculous!”
“You gonna tell me if this is what a date feels like or not?”
Again she ignores me. “Why are you like this?”
Pressing her hands against my chest, I can feel her nails digging into me through my t-shirt. It’s not sexual, though. She’s just letting me know she’s there.
“Like what made you like this? You say you were an asshole in high school and never had a date, so I can’t imagine it was some broken heart that closed you off to anything but screwing. What happened?” Her brows furrow. “Nate’s never said anything. I mean, I’ve never asked, but he’s never mentioned it.”
Not a line of questioning I’m willing to go down. I don’t talk about my mother with anyone. Besides my dad, anyway, and we haven’t spoken her name in years. But I can still recall the days when I would get home from school and ask if mom had come home yet. It was always the same old “not yet” from him, until one day he told me to quit asking, she wasn’t coming home. Period.
I don’t want Jordan to think I’m upset for her asking, so I kiss her forehead before answering. “I don’t talk about it.”
“Not even with Nate?” she asks skeptically.
I shake my head. “Nope. We’re dudes. We don’t have to do the whole sharing every piece of our lives.”
“It’s kind of a big part, though. I mean hasn’t he ever asked you?”
“Once or twice.” I shrug casually. “But I told you. I don’t talk about it.”
“Huh.”
Another statement.
I’m beginning to wish I’d never asked the date question, but at the same time I didn’t give my mouth permission to speak, either. The filter was completely and utterly gone. And now that I’ve asked it a couple times, and now that she’s interrogated me, I’ll admit I’m even more curious. A little worried about the answer, but curious, nonetheless.
