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“Mmm, maybe I don’t care about most women.” I mean the words, but I didn’t mean to say them out loud. Her fingers stop playing with the material and she slowly looks up at me.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
I reach out and cup her cheek, hoping I’ve dodged the question, but I guess not. “Just your typical boy-meets-girl-and-falls-in-love story with a girl-falls-out-of-love-and-breaks-boy’s-heart ending. Nothing special.” I smile.
“And now you’re just a brokenhearted Casanova, huh?” She pokes at my ribs, laughing, and I grab her hand.
“I think this rumor about my playboy ways is greatly exaggerated.”
“Oh, please. A month ago, you said it had been six weeks since the last time you had sex, and we both know between then and now, you were with someone.”
I can’t tell where this conversation is going—if once again, she’s trying to find out if there’s someone else I’m sleeping with or if she’s genuinely just teasing me. Maybe it’s that I want her to be jealous. I want her to want me to only be with her.
“For the record, I haven’t been with anyone else since that comment, and the woman I had been with wasn’t just a random person; she was more of a standing arrangement. Just because I have regular sex doesn’t mean it’s with a bunch of random women. It just means there are arrangements in place—an agreement between me and the person that it’s nothing more than what it is: sex.”
“Well, for the record, I’m not an arrangement.”
“I’m not asking you to be.” Before the conversation derails or she tells me she regrets this already, I pull her toward me, pressing my lips to hers and losing myself in our kiss.
By the time we’ve finished another two rounds of intense orgasms, she’s practically crawling into my arms and falling asleep. Her back is to me, her breathing deep and rhythmic as I wrap my body around hers.
I know this is dangerous territory. I don’t do this. I close my eyes briefly, contemplating giving in and allowing myself to fall asleep with her in my arms, but at the last second, I decide against it. I slowly slide my arm out from under her without disturbing her, pulling the blankets up over her shoulders and kissing her forehead softly before putting on my pants and tiptoeing out of her bedroom.
For as much as I tell myself it’s because I don’t want to confuse her, it’s because I don’t want to confuse myself.
13
JULIETTE
“Mom?”
My eyes fly open in a panic and I grip the sheet that’s covering my body. I slowly roll to the side, relief washing over me when I see the empty half of the bed.
“Good morning, sweetie.” I smile at Chloe, who’s standing in my doorway and already dressed in her favorite jeans and anEmpire Strikes BackT-shirt. “I guess I forgot to set my alarm.”
“It’s still early. I just wanted to see if you wanted French toast?”
“Oh,” I rub my eyes, glancing around the room to make sure there’s nothing incriminating lying around. “Sure, sweetie. I’ll get dressed and be down in a minute to make it.”
“Actually, Alex already made it.” She smiles. “Well, I helped too. Anyway, he’s not done making it, so it’s still warm.”
“Okay, I’ll be right there.” She leaves my room and I pull back the sheets, immediately feeling the results of last night. My hand shoots between my thighs as I gingerly walk to my bathroom and flip on the shower. I don’t wash my hair, keeping the shower short. I’m still not sure how I feel about him making my daughter breakfast. I certainly don’t want him thinking that just because we slept together, it means we’re going to start acting differently with Chloe.
I slip on a pair of linen pants and a blouse, throwing my hair up into a ponytail and brushing my teeth before tiptoeing downstairs. I’m met with Chloe’s high-pitched laughter. It makes my heart hurt—not with pain, but with happiness—hearing her so relaxed and carefree, just being a kid. I pause outside the kitchen, poking my head around the door frame to see Alex singing into the spatula as he swivels his hips in a funny way, like he’s impersonating Elvis. When he finishes the song, he grabs the spatula with both hands, whipping it back and forth and making lightsaber sounds.
“Luke,” Alex says in a deep voice between dramatic gasps, like Darth Vader, “I am your father.”
“That’s not the line,” Chloe says with her hands on her hips, making me giggle quietly. Of course my kid would be combative about aStar Warsline. “It’s ‘No, I am your father.’Everyone just gets it wrong.”
“Well, shoot,” Alex says, dropping his hands down. “I guess I’ll have to rewatch the movie just to make sure you aren’t wrong.”
“Trust me, I’m not wrong. But if you’re going to rewatch it, you have to watch all of them in order.” I step into the kitchen, and Chloe spins around. “Mom, can we have aStar Warsmovie marathon tonight with Alex?”
Shit, exactly what I was afraid would happen.
“Uh, I’ve got some work to do tonight, actually,” Alex says, his eyes catching mine.
“Maybe another time, Chlo. How’s the French toast?” I walk over and kiss the top of her head before walking to the coffee maker to brew myself a much-needed espresso. Last night was beyond amazing and satisfying, but I haven’t spent hours getting physical with a man like that in close to a decade.
