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Sam leaned back in her chair trying to think of something to say when Jessie appeared in her doorway. “Any errands?” She looked at Sam, and a smile spread across her face. “What are you doing sitting here with that sappy look on your face? Did you hear from Gray?”
“Yes, I did. We’ve been emailing a little bit today. He has a great sense of humor, Jess. I’m just giddy thinking about seeing him tomorrow night.”
“Well, finally, Sam has a boyfriend! Did you ask him about being a whore?”
“No, I didn’t. It seems too presumptuous to bring it up now.”
Before turning to leave, Jess said, “You know, there is no perfect time for that conversation. It seems unromantic if you discuss it just before you have sex; it seems presumptuous if you ask now. Bottom line, he’s probably thinking about it, too, and wondering when the right time is to ask. One of you has to ‘man up,’ so to speak.” Jess quietly left her with her thoughts.
It was driving her crazy thinking about this. If he was offended by the question, they could just call off their date, and that would be the end of it, right? She typed, deleted, typed, deleted, typed some more, and finally, she had her email ready to go.
From: Samantha Powell
To: Grayson Kinkaide
Date: April 10, 2013 3:20 p.m.
Subject: Presumptuous or inquisitive, you decide
Ihope you don’t think this is presumptuous or too personal, but will you tell me if you’ve been with a lot of women? I’m not sure how to go about this part of it, but while we were kissing last night, I got the impression that you were “interested” in more than just a kiss? But, when it comes to that part of your life, I really don’t know a lot about you.
Samantha Powell
She hit send, and her stomach immediately rolled. Well, it was out there now, so she guessed she needed to live with it. She was disappointed and nervous when she didn’t hear from Gray for the rest of the day. She figured it meant he’d been offended. She knew she’d be great at this dating thing. Gah.
Leaving work around five-thirty and in no hurry to get home, she drove through town; her stomach was still doing somersaults over that stupid email. Why couldn’t she have thought that one through a little more?Mrs. Koeppel must be rubbing off on me.
She pulled into her driveway at five fifty-five-ish, and Gray’s SUV was there. Oh, my God, he was so pissed he came here to talk to her in person! Her thoughts rolled around in her head. Her stomach flipped so much she thought she would throw up.Crap!She pulled into the garage, turned off her car, and took a deep breath. Her hands shook and her face burned hot, her chest felt flushed. When she opened the door, Gray had walked up to the car. She stepped from her vehicle and took a deep breath; her breathing was ragged, and her heart was hammering.
* * *
Gray stepped up to her and looked into her eyes. She was beautiful with her green eyes glassy and bright, her face flushed and her lips trembled, just a bit. He assumed she was nervous about what she thought was coming, but he needed to speak to her in person about this subject. Her tongue nervously swiped at her bottom lip, and his mind blanked for a moment. Shaking the carnal thoughts racing through his brain, he said, “I got your email and thought we should have this discussion in person.”
She continued to stare, then swallowed. He lifted a brow to elicit a response.
Her head bowed, “I sent you the email because I didn’t think I would be able to have that conversation in person.”
Inwardly sighing, he put his fingers under her chin and forced her face up.
Smoothly, he responded, “Yes, I thought as much. But I want us to have this conversation in person. And, I didn’t want your mind wandering and assuming the worst.”
Her grin acknowledged that had been her thinking thus far. He took her hand and led them toward the house, entering from the garage. Halting just outside the door, he held it open for her and followed her inside.
She laid her purse on the little table in the hall and continued into the house. “Do I need wine for this conversation? Do you?”
Chuckling, he replied, “A glass of wine would be fantastic; I’ll have whatever you’re having.”
He watched from the doorway to the kitchen as she pulled glasses from the rack, chose a bottle of white wine, and expertly opened it. Her fingers were sure, her posture rigid. She twisted to pull a wine stopper from the drawer, and he admired her backside, which looked perfect in the soft gray slacks she wore. Her petite frame belied her strength – no one could go through all she had and be weak. That was admirable.
She handed him his glass and swept her free hand toward the living room. “Why don’t we sit where we can try to be more comfortable?”
He chuckled at her formal tone but followed her as he continued to admire the view. Sitting on opposite ends of the sofa, he began.
“You know I’ve been divorced for close to seven years. During my marriage, which I told you was awful, Suzanne and I didn’t have sex very often. I would say in the better years, which were not very many, we had sex maybe once a month or once about every six weeks. Imagine being a young healthy male and not being able to have sex with your wife any more than that! I was frustrated and horny most of the time.” Leaning forward, he set his wine glass on the coffee table and folded his hands together, resting his forearms on his knees. “I didn’t cheat on her until that last four or five years of our marriage after I found out she had been cheating on me for years. I needed to connect with someone, and I needed a release—sexual release. Even then, I didn’t cheat often, but three or four times each year and only with random women. I didn’t want any emotional attachments.”
She slowly set her glass on the table and nervously brushed her slacks of invisible lint.
“After our divorce, I felt free and sowed my wild oats as they say. About three years ago, I dated a nice woman named Cheryl. She was in the same boat I’d been in, had a cheating spouse and endured it for years. We dated for about a year. She broke it off with me when I couldn’t emotionally engage with her. She kept telling me she loved me; I couldn’t say it back. I didn’t love her. I wanted to, but I just couldn’t or didn’t. I didn’t blame her; I would have broken up with me, too, under the same circumstances. Since then, there have been a few here and there, but I was always safe.”
