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“Maybe you have the right idea.”
His eyebrows drift upward. “You think so?”
I nod. “No one needs the drama. Or the pain. I’ve had like one relationship my entire life and I wasn’t anything close to happy in it.”
His lips purse. Why does he look irritated? Did he expect me to be sad that he wasn’t interested in fucking me again? Did he expect me to push back, disagree with him?
“Recent?”
“It ended three years ago. So not that recent, no.”
“Well, that explains the sex toys.”
I roll my eyes. “For the last time: They. Were. Not. For. Me!”
“Shame,” he says with a low chuckle. “It sounds like you need them a hell of a lot more than your friend does.”
I roll my eyes, even as my cheeks heat up yet again. I mean, he’s not wrong. Tonight is the first time I’ve had sex in over three years. Not that my Garfield panties weren’t a dead giveaway. But even when I was having sex, it was underwhelming on the best of nights.
I’m on the verge of telling him that when I stop myself. Why? Why do I feel the need to share so much of my personal shit with him? It’s not like he deserves it. It’s not like he’s even asking for it.
Just because you’ve watched him from your window doesn’t mean you know the man.
“I’ll let you in on a little secret, though,” he adds, leaning in slightly. “It doesn’t matter how many toys you use: they won’t scratch the itch like a hot-blooded man will.” His gaze is intense as he holds eye contact for one more hot second. Then he relents and eases back, flippant again. “But I suppose, if you’re afraid to be hurt, they’re the next best thing.”
I recoil in irritation. “I’m not afraid to be hurt!”
“So you enjoy being lonely then, do you?”
I am on my feet faster than I’ve ever moved before. “Okay, let’s get one thing straight here, buddy: just because we had sex on your dining room table does not mean you know me. Itdefinitelydoesn’t give you the right to therapize me.”
He just stays where he is, looking up at me with cool amusement. “Sounds like I hit a nerve.”
I glower at him. “You think you’re so different? What makes you think fucking a different girl every night is any different than staying away from relationships altogether? Just because you’re surrounded by people all the time doesn’t mean you’re not lonely.”
“Now, who’s trying to therapize whom?”
“Am I wrong?”
Uri rises to his feet slowly, getting taller and taller until I have to crane my neck back just to look at him. His expression is unreadable, so I have no idea if I’ve hit a nerve or completely missed the mark. He crowds closer until his bulk and his scent is all I can take in. “I fuck because I want to fuck. End of story.”
Is it possible that all that calm confidence is a mask? I decide to test the theory by hedging a little closer and glaring up at him as though the proximity doesn’t bother me at all.
Sidenote: it totally does.
“Please. You think you’re so complicated to figure out? Well, I’ve got news for you, Uri Bugrov: there’s a reason you sleep with every woman only once.”
That finally gets a reaction out of him. His eyes narrow and his mouth pulls back in a dark scowl. “I’d stop right there if I were you, little one.”
I should be scared. But right now, the adrenaline is pumping and getting in the last word is higher on my priority list than self-preservation.
Step back. Mama’s coming in hot!
“I may in fact stay away from men to keep myself from getting hurt—but you keep your revolving door turning in order to stop any woman from becoming more than just your bedwarmer. So if I’m terrified—so are you!”
Aaand… boom. Drop the mic.
Uri stares down at me, his jaw clenched and his irises pulsing with heat. It takes about thirty seconds for my sense of victory to subside. It takes another thirty seconds for my palms to start sweating.
