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The truth was he wasn’t wrong, not entirely anyway.
I found him sexy as hell. I liked everything about him. I was positive that he would be a superb lover, though I had no objective evidence to support that theory.
What was the problem then?
The same freaking hang-ups as always, Lindsey-style.
I had carefully crafted this scenario from the time I had first felt those little gut twinges around boys. From the time of my first crush to the present, I had this whole scenario laid out in my mind.
It wasn’t as if I was not being realistic. Of course, I knew that I would have more than one lover in my life. Statistics like that couldn’t be denied.
Over the course of my teenage years, and now past twenty, many of the prerequisites I had previously mandated had fallen by the wayside with the exception of one: any man that I fucked had to care something about me. I would not be labeled as a one-night stand. I wouldn’t make an exception to that even if it was Taz.
“Well?” he asked, taking his eyes off the road momentarily to gaze over at me.
“Is this going to be like a one-night stand?” I asked, sounding meeker than I had intended.
“That will be up to you,” he replied, giving me a sexy smile. “Is that what you want?”
I didn’t answer him. I didn’t know what the hell I wanted any longer. Nothing had gone as I expected from the time I suffered my first broken heart with Lance, to finding out Adam was gay. What the hell?
“What about your girlfriend? What about Roxie?”
“Roxie is not my girlfriend,” he stated. “She is someone that I fuck.”
“Why did you bring her to dinner then?”
I could tell he was not comfortable with the question.
“I thought it would help.”
“Help with what?”
“Help with getting you out from under my skin.”
“Did it?”
“What do you think?”
I felt a warm, fuzzy feeling inside. It was something at least.
“I want to fuck you, Taz,” I said softly, peering up at him from beneath my lashes. “I want to fuck you very much.”
Once we reached Taz’s apartment, he told me to make myself comfortable.
I relaxed on the sofa of his large living room. He had some music playing on his Bose system; soft rock. I liked that.
He came back with a couple of glasses of white wine.
I smiled inwardly thinking how he was attempting to stage a semi-intimate scene though I knew it was what it was: simple fucking, no strings attached.
He handed me a glass of wine, and then took his place next to me on the couch.
He was in another pair of tattered jeans, no shoes or socks. He had a white tee shirt on but he still looked like he had just stepped off of the cover of a sexy man’s magazine.
I had peeled my boots off just inside the door, pulling a leg up underneath me as I accepted the glass of wine and sipped it slowly. My palms were still sweaty.
He was turned towards me, one arm resting against the back of the couch. I felt his fingers gently playing in my hair. I shivered unintentionally.
