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She must have realized his indecision because he heard her giggle and looked down and saw poorly disguised amusement dancing in her eyes. He would take her laughing at his expense any day before tears.
Feeling foolish, he finally admitted, “I don’t really know what to do here.”
She laughed. “Why don’t we talk?”
“Okay. Where?”
She looked around. Other than his desk chair there really wasn’t anywhere else to sit. “The bed?”
It seemed so final to go to the bed. They could sit there and talk. They’d just have to keep things within their control.
He quickly played through a list of what if’s and the pros and cons of the bed versus his lack of other options until finally, completely disgusted with himself, he mentally called himself a pussy—which oddly made him feel more like a man and less like a priest—and sat her on the bed.
He pulled the desk chair over and sat across from her. Now what?
After a moment she made an adorable face that he interpreted as her mentally saying, well, this is awkward.
They both laughed uncomfortably. Someone needed to say something, so he figured he might as well be the one to break the ice.
“I’m sorry.”
All amusement left her face and was replaced with fear. “Please stop apologizing,” she whispered.
“But I am—”
“I know. But every time you apologize you say goodbye.”
“Oh.”
He wanted to say sorry for that too, but figured it best if he refrained.
“I’ll try not to do that anymore.”
She blushed. He loved the way that behind all that assumed confidence and American girl charm there was something definitively demure lurking.
“Are you a virgin?” He had no idea where the question came from, but couldn’t regret asking it, even when he saw he had shocked her. Her blush moved from soft pink to crimson.
“I…well…I’m twenty-four.”
“And I’m twenty-nine.”
“You’re different.”
“So are you. Answer the question, Sammy. I’m not going to ask you to say a Rosary.”
“Yes. There was one guy, but he wasn’t right for me and we broke up before it got that far. Since then I’ve dated, but not really ever felt serious enough about anyone to go that far.”
The relief he felt that she had definitely not slept with Braydon was immeasurable.
“You are too, right?”
He laughed. “Being that I had my first real shot at making out the other day, what do you think?”
The side of her mouth kicked up, forming a small dimple in her cheek. “Good.”
He sobered for a minute. “You know I can’t.”
He regretted that his words caused her smile and dimple to disappear. “I know. We shouldn’t anyway. It isn’t right.”
