“What did she say?”
“She asked whether sleeping with you felt new.”
His cheeks warmed.
“She meant sex.”
“I assumed she did.”
“She thought it was funny.”
“She felt terrible afterward.”
His head turned. “You talked to her?”
“She texted.”
Noah nodded and looked toward the dark window.
“I didn’t know what to tell her.”
“You didn’t owe her an answer.”
“I don’t have one.”
I shifted toward him. “Noah.”
“I’ve been thinking about sex since we talked.”
“All right.”
“I’ve been thinking about wanting to think about it.”
“That may be the most neurologically accurate sentence you’ve ever spoken.”
He gave me a tired glare.
I let the humor go.
He looked down at his hands.
“I know my body responds to you.”
“Yes.”
“I like kissing you.”
“I’ve gathered that.”
“I liked touching you the other night.”
My pulse kicked hard.
He noticed. Of course he did.
“But I don’t wake up wanting sex,” he continued.
“That is not something you are required to do.”
