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Her eyes were on the floor, and her usual brisk confidence was missing. “I guess… oh, shit, this is so hard.” She toyed with the hem of her T-shirt and shifted from foot to foot. “I’ve gotten pretty attached to you over the past month…”
I bit the inside of my cheeks to keep from smiling too broadly as she peeked up at me. She was adorable when she was nervous.
“And, well, you know all about me and my career change and my family and shitty childhood. My baggage is all out there.”
I nodded.
“So before I’m in too deep. I wanna know. What’s your deal? Who hurt you?”
While her question certainly threw me, it was the earnest delivery that really knocked me on my ass. Because I could see it in her eyes. She didn’t want to get hurt.
Shehadalways been honest with me. About her shitty ex and her dad and how hard it had been to climb the ladder at the state police. I wanted to reassure her, wanted to give in to her every request, crack myself open and reveal every shitty part of me and beg for her affection anyway.
But how? I didn’t even know where to begin.
“Because this.” She waved a hand at me. “This whole stoic, closed off, feelings are for the weak facade.” She licked her lips and searched my face. “It reeks of coping mechanism to me. So if we’re sleeping together and in a fake relationship—”
“Stop right there. I think we both know this has grown beyond sleeping together.”
“Okay, if we’re in a relationship of indeterminate reality…”
“Better.”
“Then let me in.” She tapped my chest and looked up at me expectantly.
I chuckled. God, I was totally smitten with how her mind worked. “I thought you were a skilled interrogator?”
She raised one eyebrow in response. The look made me want to take her over my knee and spank her.
“I am. And I have extensive training in psychology. In my expert opinion, it seems that you’re used to being the smartest guy in the room. And you wear your self-control and stoicism like badges of honor instead of the clear trauma responses they are.”
There it was—the smart mouth and sassy attitude that had me hard as a rock every fucking time. Sadly, I had the distinct feeling I wouldn’t be inside her until I had sufficiently bared my soul.
“I hate to disappoint you, but there’s no story here.” I attempted to turn up the charm to divert this line of inquiry. Fucking would be so much more interesting.
Instead of answering me, she turned around and pulled a coffee mug from the cabinet, letting my T-shirt ride up, exposing that delicious ass. She poured a cup, blew on it, and took her time taking a sip, all the while ignoring me. It was infuriating how she could control the pace of a conversation like this.
She placed the mug on the counter and took a hair elastic off her wrist. Just as placidly, she took her time gathering up her hair on top of her head into a messy knot.
The shirt rode up again, this time giving me a tiny glimpse of her delicious pussy. I clenched my fists and shifted on my feet, knowing this was a losing battle.
“Sweet, sweet Pascal. I know your family, your hometown, your job. I’ve seen where you came from. So while I know how badly you want to bend me over this lovely quartz countertop right now, I have to insist we do a little talking first.”
Fuck, now I was sweating. She was clearly a witch sent to tempt me. But instead of walking away, attempting to save my sanity, I opened my mouth.
“It’s not an interesting story,” I said, grabbing my own mug. If we were gonna talk, I’d need to caffeinate. “For as long as I remember, I wanted to do big things. Get far away from the predictable small-town life path.”
She nodded.
“And so I avoided commitments and attachments and focused on money and prestige. Getting my degrees, getting the right job, moving up, and making more and more. I never wanted to be the guy with a nine-to-five and a wife and kids. I thought I was better than that.”
Back then, climbing the ladder felt like the only path forward. Pulling all-nighters and ping-ponging around the globe closing deals was natural. Everyone I knew then lived like this.
“I lived a big life in the city. Deals and travel and cars and girls. But then my dad died, and everything fell apart. And I realized that I had done the exact thing I had tried to avoid. I was nobody doing nothing. My existence was empty and superficial, and it was too late to fix.”
She placed her mug down and grabbed my hand. “It’s not too late.”
“But it is. My dad is gone. I lost out on so many years with him. And so much advice I wish I’d been around for him to impart to me. All I wanted was to avoid turning into him. And I succeeded. But it’s all empty. My siblings are growing and leading a productive life. Even my mom is finding her purpose. But I’m stuck.”
