I drop my head into my hands. “I’m broken. This is a me problem, not a them problem. So I don’t think it matters who I’m with.”
“You don’t know that. How many guys have you actually slept with?”
God. Could this get any more embarrassing? I mean, not that I’m ashamed of the number. It’s just…this whole situation.
“Four,” I say, deciding I’m already in too deep with Jaxon to hold back now. It’s not like telling him my past can be any more embarrassing than him watching me fail to come last week. “Four really nice guys. Who did try,” I say.
And they did. I haven’t always been this jaded about my sex life. I may have been a bit old to lose my virginity at twenty-one, but I’d been raised with a healthy dose of realism about the odds of doing everything right with condoms and birth control and something still going wrong and ending up pregnant. It was not a risk I was willing to take.
“I’ve never been one to date around,” I continue. “But I’ve always enjoyed being in long-term relationships, having someone to share my life with, but eventually, my lack of give-a-shit in bed would drive guys away.”
I sigh, struggling to make eye contact with Jaxon as I move into the most embarrassing part.
“It’s not my fault that my mind would wander when their tongues were between my legs or when they were giving it their all in a variety of positions. It just…didn’t do anything for me. Eventually, we’d have quickies that were just for them, and turns out, that’s not the foundation for a great relationship. Not that sex was the only thing that drove us apart. In and out of the bedroom, all those relationships just lacked a…spark.”
“I’m sorry that was your experience, Iz,” Jaxon says. “And I’m not promising you anything except that I’m going to try. And if it happens, great. If it doesn’t, no worries. This is totally and completely about you.”
I know he’s sincere now, but I’ve heard that line before. Good guys want to make the person they’re sleeping with feel good. So, it’s tough for them too when I don’t.
Luckily, Jaxon won’t be around long enough to hit that stage.
Jaxon claps once, before he pulls two small candles out of his pocket. “So, my plan for today: I’m going to romance you.”
A laugh spills from my lips before I can stop it. “I’m sorry, you’re going to what?”
“Romance, Iz,” Jaxon says, lighting the candles. “Last time I was going for casual—just trying to get you used to me. But you’ve never been someone who does casual anything.”
“Wait, are you under the misconception that using toys—plural—in front of someone is casual? That is not casual. That’s like, six-months-into-a-relationship kind of thing. And I would know. I’m super casual. Just look at my clothes,” I say, gesturing down before realizing I’m in a dress. A very date-looking dress. Not my normal jeans or joggers and a shirt.
Jaxon nods. “Thank you for proving my point.”
“Wouldn’t dinner first add to the romance vibes?” I ask.
“Maybe.” He bites his lower lip as if considering it, and suddenly I feel a little bit bad about questioning his plan. It’s clear he’s put more thought into this than I have, so who am I to judge?
“We can eat now if you want to,” he says. “I don’t want you to be hungry. Shoot. I should’ve thought of that and grabbed a quick appetizer or something.”
“It’s not a big deal,” I say, reaching up and gently tugging on the strand of hair that hangs down in the middle of his forehead. His eyes meet mine as I remember all the times I’d done that to him in our youth. I smile. “I’m not that hungry anyway. Plus, this way we can get this part over with, and I won’t have to worry about it anymore.”
Jaxon’s eyes meet mine, and his lip curls into a sad sort of smile. “This is supposed to be fun, Iz. Not something you worry about.”
“It was fun…for a few minutes.” My eyes run down his arms before snagging on the small looping tattoo on the inside ofhis left elbow. “What’s that?” I ask, nodding toward the flowing black ink.
“A tattoo.”
“Wow, thank you for that. What is it of?”
“I’m pretty sure it’s the Chinese symbol for fame and fortune,” Jaxon says, giving me a goofy smile.
“Well, it clearly worked,” I say. “Though, it seems just as likely that it’s the symbol for donkey or something like that. Did you fact-check it before they permanently put it on your body?”
“I’d rather not know at this point,” Jaxon says, starting some music on his phone before reaching toward me.
I stare blankly at his outstretched hand. “What are we doing?”
“Dancing.”
“I’m—”
