Page 22 of Forever After Fall

“Occasionally.”

“And they don’t mind what we did Saturday?”

“No. You don’t need to feel guilty if that’s what you’re worried about. I told you we were good, and I meant it.”

“I don’t feel guilty. I feel…” She pauses again, and it takes an eternity before she finishes her sentence. “Curious.” Her lashes lift, and her eyes meet mine, studying me to see how I’ll react. So I take a big fucking risk.

“I got that impression when you made some pretty quick work of getting me out of my pants.”

She laughs, the kind that makes my chest go tight and my heart skip a beat even when I wish it wouldn’t. Her eyes drift to the side like she’s remembering something she doesn’t want to, and her smile fades.

“I haven’t felt a thing since Chris and I broke up. It’s why I agreed to try things with Jasper. I just wanted to feel something again. A swarm. A flutter. A flip. I’d take anything at this point. I thought with all his experience, he must be good for it, you know?” She shrugs.

“I see.” I don’t know what else to say.

I’m picturing her with Jasper again. Remembering the way they kissed. She says he kissed her, and I believe her, but fuck if she didn’t look like she was enjoying it. I hate the thought of it even if it makes me a shitty friend.

“But he kissed me and nothing. Absolutely nothing,” she laments as though she can hear my thoughts. I should feel guilty about the way that warms my black heart. But I can’t bring myself to do it.

“I’m sorry it didn’t work out. Maybe the timing was just wrong.” I try to say the kind of thing I would to anyone else in this situation, but it feels bitter on my tongue.

“Yeah. I’m pretty sure that was a huge part of it. He followed a stranger I met in a whiskey closet who had my heart pounding out of my chest. Damn near killed me when the lights came on.” A soft smile returns to her face, and she glances up at me again.

I lift my hat and smooth my hair back before I put it back on. Sucks for me that I get her heart started in all the wrong ways. Now’s the time for the real apology I was trying to make when I started this conversation.

“About that…” I start, trying and failing to find the right words to set us back on track.

“It’s all I can see when I close my eyes at night. It just replays over and over,” she admits. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

I’m knocked fucking speechless by her admission. Any sort of capable answer I would have had for someone else is out of my reach. It’s the last thing I expected. But she doesn’t stop there.

“I guess what I’m saying is you really must be good at this. That you could do all that, make a woman feel that way, and then just be casual the next day. Is it really no strings? No feelings with them?”

I feel like I’m speeding on one of those winding switchbacks on the mountain, just hanging on for dear life, and I have no idea what the hell is around the next corner. Each curve we hit is threatening to take me to the top or launch me down to sudden death. All of it is too fast for me to process.

“Yes. That’s part of the deal, but I didn’t mean to imply—like I said, that doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

“I know.” She shifts her stance and looks down at the counter. “So how do these women get on the roster? Referrals?”

“There’s not a roster.”

“Rotation. Schedule? Whatever you call it, I guess.”

“There’s not a rotation.”

“Okay…” She draws out the word as if she’s embarrassed that she said the wrong thing, and she takes a step back. “I’m not trying to be insulting. I’m just curious. I can stop asking questions if I’m overstepping here.”

“I’m a one-woman kind of guy. I can’t handle more than that. With the business and Ford and working with the Stocktons.”

“So it is kind of a relationship that you’re in.”

“No.”

“I guess I’m not following.”

“It’s hard to explain.” I didn’t imagine ever having to explain this to her. Mostly because I didn’t expect her to ever find out.

“But the position is currently taken? If I had a friend who wanted⁠—”