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Petra had set a big white mug of coffee at the stool beside hers, with a little pitcher of milk or cream and a matching sugar bowl. A crock of butter and three jars of fancy jams were on the island as well, and she was taking sliced English muffins out of the toaster.
“Just in case,” she said with a smile as she set the plate of four toasted muffin halves on the island and then brought two small plates over.
Jay still felt too awkward to eat here, but now he’d feel equally awkward not eating, so he helped himself to a slice of muffin and pulled the butter and some—oh, nice—apple butter over.
“Thanks,” he said as he smeared butter and then apple butter over his muffin.
“Sure.” She took a sip of her coffee and watched him. “I’m glad you didn’t leave in the middle of the night this time.”
In the act of going for more apple butter—hands down the best jam-type stuff ever invented—Jay froze and glanced over at Petra.
“That wasn’t a passive-aggressive swipe,” she said, smiling. “It’s fine that you left when you wanted to then. And I’m glad you wanted to stay last night.”
He’d left the first time because he’d felt entirely out of his element and absolutely sure she’d wake up regretting letting him follow her home. Fucking her had rocked his world, and he very much had not wanted to see her expression when she sat up in the daylight and realized who she’d brought home.
He’d stayed last night because everything had felt different last night. He’d sat at the bar for hours, talking with Petra and Katie, Maude, Bex and a few other regulars. Talking with them had started off a little tense, everybody giving shit back and forth, everybody trying to figure each other out. But then it had just been a conversation, and he’d enjoyed it. He’d felt comfortable, the kind of comfort where time flew crazy fast, and Jayneverfelt time moving fast.
Then he’d helped Petra close the bar, and they’d talked more. They’d started off talking about the women who’d just left, and then they’d talked about the bar, how she’d come to own it and how it had come to be what it was. Then they’d talked about their families. When that topic had gotten too close to things he didn’t want to get into, he’d pulled her into his arms and kissed her—which got them hurrying to finish up and head to her apartment. Where they’d fucked twice more before collapsing into a sweaty tangle of sleep.
He’d stayed because he’d been comfortable—not worried about the expression he’d see in the morning. Wanting to keep being close to her, and feeling like he could. Remembering that now, Jay relaxed.
“I had a good time last night,” Petra said, reaching for a slice of muffin.
“So did I.”
They ate quietly for a minute or two. Then Petra sighed briskly and said, “So. I’ve got a lot of shit going on right now, and I don’t have a lot of room for ...”
She paused and looked up, searching for a word. Jay tried to finish swallowing the bite in his mouth as tension shoved all his newfound ease away. She was trying to figure out how to tell him she didn’t want him hanging around anymore.
It hurt—a surprising amount—and Jay understood that hereallyliked her. More than he’d realized. Maybe more than he’d ever liked a girl before. He didnotwant to hear her kick him to the curb.
He dropped the remains of his muffin to his plate and stood. “Yeah, right. I get it. I’ll get outta here.”
But she grabbed his arm. “Hey, wait.”
He waited.
“I’m trying to say that I don’t have the room for the usual dance, where we try to get what we want without saying what we want, and have to guess what the other person wants because they’re not saying it. So I’m just gonna skip that part and ask, what’s going on here, between us? Anything? Are we just hooking up when we feel like it, what?”
There was absolutely no chance that Jay was going to answer that question and put anything on the line first—not even to say the truth, that he didn’t know what was going on between them or what he wanted it to be. All he knew was he liked her, and she’d taken root in his head.
He also knew she was the best sex he’d ever had, but that drawer in the bathroom freaked him out.
All those dildoes. And the strap-on thing. Women putting dicks on. The one thing he brought to the party with a bisexual chick, she already had covered—in multiple sizes, shapes, and colors.
Had Dre worn that harness? Probably, right?
That was it, wasn’t it? He was freaked out because he knewhewasn’t the best sexshe’dever had. He couldn’t compete with somebody wearing a fucking 10-inch magnum dildo.
And it wasn’t just the sex. He had nothing to offer somebody like Petra. She had so much going for her. Why the fuck hadn’t she kicked him out already?
Obviously, he should tell her there was nothing between them but a couple of hookups. He should say that, thank her for breakfast, grab the rest of his clothes, and get the fuck out before she came to her senses and dusted him when he wasn’t expecting it.
Definitely, he should do that.
But the words wouldn’t come. He really liked her. What if ... what if she liked him? She seemed to. She smiled when she saw him—she’d seemed really glad to see him last night and this morning. She was into the sex—or somebody should polish up one of those little naked gold guys, because she deserved an Oscar.
Hoping for even a tiny chance but unwilling to stick his neck out and get his head lopped off, he asked, “What do you want it to be?”
