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“Yeah,” he mutters.
It’s not exactly a “come in,” but it’s not a “fuck off,”either. So I twist the handle and stare through the crack at him. He has his hands pressed to the counter and his head hanging forward.
There are moments when I can tell people want to talk and moments when they really don’t. It reminds me of the months after my mom left, and I’d find my dad sitting at the kitchen table alone, staring straight ahead, looking as if the world lay heavy on his shoulders. If I pressed him to talk, he’d shut down. He would tell me he was fine and leave the room. So I quickly learned not to ask. Instead, I’d make him a cup of coffee or bake his favorite pistachio cookies. We wouldn’t utter a word as I moved around him in the kitchen. But it was peaceful, and I think it was what he needed.
So I don’t press Clay for information about his mother or answers as to why she causes him so much distress. I just walk into the bathroom and wrap my arms around his waist.
When he lets me, I maneuver myself to the space between his body and the bathroom counter, and I stand there, letting him rest his head on my shoulder. Soon, it’s his arms around me and his breath against my neck.
Clay isn’t like any guy I’ve ever dated before. Things with him are simple but never easy. He wears his heart on his sleeve, but only on his terms. There are secrets there too, but I know the more I push for them, the less likely I am to get them.
“Did you fill out that form?” he murmurs into my neck.
“Yes,” I reply. Thinking about the form and everything I circled has my stomach turning with anxiety. Immediately I want to run out there and undo everything I just did. Will he think I’m depraved or perverted? Watching him have sex with someone else was never part of the plan, but if I was supposed to fill out the form honestly, that’s what I did.
It doesn’t mean they have to actually do it.
Slowly he pulls away from our embrace. Then without meeting my eyes, he clears his throat and turns toward the door. I follow, chewing my lip, as we reach his bedroom, where he picks up the form from the mattress.
I watch nervously as he reads, his brows growing more and more pinched together as he goes down the list.
Then his expression relaxes from confusion as he swallows and glances my way. “This is what you want?” he asks.
I shrug. “You told me to be honest. I just…tried to be honest.”
“You know all of this isn’t happening tonight,” he says, pointing to the paper.
“I know.”
“But watching me with another woman…would turn you on?”
I feel my insides start to warm up with embarrassment. Why is this stuff so hard to talk about?
“Not any woman,” I reply, which I thought would ease his nerves. Instead, his eyes widen even more as he glances down at the list and back up at me.
He rubs his brow before tossing the paper down on the mattress. It feels like a torturous hour before he finally lifts his gaze back to my face.
“You kinky little minx,” he mumbles. Completely by surprise, he wraps his arms around my thighs and lifts me from the floor before tossing me onto the bed and covering my body with his.
His mouth lands against mine with a crash, and he kisses me until I feel like I can’t breathe.
“You drive me absolutely wild, Jade. Do you know that?”
“Yes,” I say with a gasp. He drags my skirt up and grinds himself between my legs.
Then he lifts up and stares down at me affectionately. “And you’re the only one I want to fuck.”
That might be the opposite of what I just asked for, but it manages to warm my heart regardless.
“Then fuck me,” I reply breathlessly.
So he does, right on top of the stupid list.
Rule #22: Don’t second-guess yourself.
Jade
Eleven o’clock rolls around slowly. It feels like waiting for Christmas morning.
