Chapter Seventeen
Then
“Where does Casey think you are this weekend?” I tease as I drive us back to my apartment.
My roommate is away at his parents’ house for the weekend, meaningfinally, something more than just fooling around here and there can happen between Ellen and me without Casey interrupting us.
Even better?
This was Ellen’s idea.
We’ve been dating for six weeksand I’m even more convinced now than I was before of how perfect she is. Heck yeah, I was willing to wait and take our time to get to this point. Because every moment I spend with her is fantastic.
“I told her I was spending it with you,” she says.
I snort. “Bet she wasn’t happy about that.”
“She doesn’thateyou, George.”
“She damn sure has a funny way of showing she likes me, then. Maybethat’s why she doesn’t have a boyfriend.” But when I glance at her I hope I didn’t cross a line. Ellen’s wearing a sort of frown as she stares out the windshield.
“Case didn’t have a good childhood,” she finally says, looking at me. “She’s protective of me. She loves me.”
I take a deep breath and dial it back. “I’m sorry. I just wish when I’m over there that she wouldn’t berighton top of usand obviously trying to Force choke me with her mind.”
Ellen giggles. “It would be cool if she could do that.”
“Maybe if she finds a guy who likes being choked.”
“MaybeIlike being choked.”
It takes me a moment to process she actually said that, and when I look, I find her wearing a playful grin.
“Oh, reeeeallly?”
“Hey, a girl can dream.”
I reach over, lace fingers with her, and gentlysqueeze. I know she’s never had intercourse with a guy, but she hinted she’s fooled around before, and I know she’s got toys, because I’ve seen them.
She actually showed them to me.
I’m not exactly Casanova, but I hope I don’t disappoint her this weekend.
When we reach my place, I don’t let her carry her bag. I open and hold the front door of my building for her, as well as my apartment doorwhen I unlock it.
On the way inside the apartment, she rises up on her toes and brushes a kiss across my lips. “Thank you.”
My cock hardens, and I don’t even try to hide it now. I haven’t for the past couple of weeks, although I do my best to not be an asshole about it or call attention to it. I don’t “expect” sex from her, ever. Dad—and Mom—metaphorically pounded that into our heads when wegot “the talk” from them. That sometimes we’re going to hearno, and weneedto be okay with that and take care of things ourselves. Even if we’re halfway—or more—through something with a girl. That it’salwaysbetter to roll over and finish ourselves off than get charged with rape.
And that if we ever did get tried and convicted of rape, it’d be one of the few things they’d disown us over andwould forever be ashamed of us for doing. That there was no excuse to put ourselves in a situation where we might pressure a woman.
That if we had to pressure a woman for sex, we weren’t being very good men, and that meant we needed to fix ourselves. That we didn’tdeservesex if we had to pressure someone for it.
I honestly didn’t understand what they meant about that until college, my firstyear in the dorm, and hearing guys talk.
And overhearing women talk.
I have the feeling something might have happened to Mom when she was younger, but neither Dad nor Mom told us that, if it did. Just a suspicion I have. When I once asked Mom outright, she dodged the subject, so I’ve never brought it up again because I could tell it was too painful for her to talk about.
