But nothing happens.
Tomorrow.
I’ll do it tomorrow.
Or maybe Thursday night.
Thursday night. Shit. I’m excited for it. Last week might not have gone according to plan, but now that I’ve gotten a taste for it, I don’t want to let Izzy down. So, I’ve been planning. And, yeah, I brought Andre into my scheming, but I needed his help to make sure I’m thinking through this and not getting caught up in my preconceived notions.
It was the right decision. Even if I’m a little worried about telling Izzy that Andre knows.
If this week isn’t a success, Andre even looked into a sex therapist he can call and ask some questions. I would do it myself, but on the off chance someone recognizes my voice, it’s not a risk I can take.
Chapter twenty-eight
Izzy
It’sThursday,whichmeansI can officially only focus on one thing: spice coaching session two.
“Hey!” Jaxon calls as he walks into our house after knocking once.
I hurry out to the kitchen, just as Becca heads toward the door. “Good luck,” she whispers as she walks by, knocking her hip into mine.
I watch the door close behind her before finally forcing myself to focus on Jaxon. He’s wearing a pair of brown cowboy boots with dark jeans and a white T-shirt that stretches across chest muscles he’s clearly worked very hard on.
“Did you just check me out, Iz?” Jaxon asks as he puts a couple of to-go boxes in the fridge.
“Isabel,” I say half-heartedly. “And so what if I did? You worked hard to look that pretty. The least I can do is appreciate it.”
Jaxon laughs, and the warm, rich sound of it is like a siren’s call to my goddamn hormones.
“Are we not eating dinner?”
Jaxon shakes his head. “No. New day, new experiment.”
“Is it drinking heavily? Because I’m starting to think there might be some real merit to that strategy.” I smile at the look on his face. “Don’t look so disappointed. It might help me get out of my head.”
“I’ve got a different plan for that,” Jaxon says, heading into the living room. He pulls the curtains shut before turning off the light.
“Is your plan to murder me? Because, while it feels aggressive, I can see the logic. It might be the best option.”
“Okay, negative Nancy,” Jaxon says on a laugh. “Why don’t you tell me how you’re really feeling about tonight?”
“Since it feels like a less than fifty percent chance that I’ll actually have an orgasm, not great.”
“Why would you think those are your odds of orgasming?”
“We’ve said the word orgasm too many times for one night.”
“There’s no such thing as too many orgasms in one night, Izzy. It’s one of the many benefits of being a woman,” Jaxon says with a cocky smirk. “Or so I’ve been told, at least.”
I snort a laugh.
“But back to my original question,” he says. “Why would you think your chances of reaching bliss”—he sends me a smirk at the rephrase—“are so low?”
“Statistics. History.”
Jaxon just looks at me, giving me the space to say more.
