The frown lines appeared by his eyes. “Why is that?”
There was a lot I could say here. Or I could lie. But I didn’t want to do either. At least not today. Instead, I shrugged and looked away. “I don’t want you to get your hopes up that I would be as easy as the rehearsal dinner night.”
He growled something I couldn’t hear. When I turned back to meet his gaze, his eyes were on fire. The silver in them was molten and bright. “I’m not that easy either,” he argued. “And I wasn’t expecting anything from you now. I just…”
“I wasn’t saying you were! I don’t want you to have false expectations.”
“I don’t have any expectations at this point. I like you. That’s it. And yeah, I had a lot of fun that night with you, but you don’t even remember it so trust me when I say it’s not an experience I ever want to repeat. I prefer to be remembered. And I prefer that the woman I’m sleeping with has the ability to remember me.” He flicked the cup of my bra so that it covered my nipple again and then adjusted the strap of my dress. “Sorry, that was distracting me.”
I pressed my lips together to keep from smiling. He’d somehow managed to separate my last two experiences with sex in a candid way that made me not feel guilt or shame for sleeping with him.
It was kind of mind-boggling how he’d accomplished it so effortlessly. It also helped that I was starting to remember our night together. In fragmented, blurry bits and pieces, but they were coming back to me in bursts of intense passion. And that was a good thing. It separated what Vann and I did consensually, with that horrific night six years ago.
Vann hadn’t realized I was as drunk as I had been. And after knowing him better now, I realized he never would have slept with me had he known I wouldn’t be able to remember in the morning.
He was a decent guy. A good guy.
“I’m going to have to look at my schedule,” I told him. “I’m not sure when I’ll have time.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. “Can I give you my number? Then you can just text me. I’ll make it work.”
“What if it’s five in the morning and I make you miss spin class?”
Half his mouth lifted in a sweet, patient smile. “Then I’ll miss spin class.” He cleared his throat and added, “Or we’ll go to the later class together.”
I laughed. I couldn’t help it.
“Okay. Vann Delane. Yes.”
His smile actually stopped my heart.
Okay, not quite. But it was a close call. I could lose myself in that smile. I could say yes to a lot of things just to see that smile again.
Damn.
He kissed me again and I did lose sense of time and reason and where I was. Again. Finally, we exchanged numbers and I told him I had to pick up butter lettuce, but that we would definitely find time to go on a date.
I walked, er, sort of hobbled to Lilou with a ridiculous smile on my face and a lightness in my clunky shoes. For the first time in my entire life, I felt seen. And I felt cared for.
It wasn’t just the first aid he’d so sweetly administered, it was the way he protected my heart and my priorities, and me. Vann had rescued me several times, most of the time to my own embarrassment.
But I was starting to wonder if the biggest thing Vann was going to rescue me from was myself.
Nineteen
It turnedout that I didn’t have a break in my schedule for another two weeks. So in between our busy and opposite schedules, we barely had time to chat on the phone, let alone see each other. Our relationship, or whatever you wanted to call what we were doing, was reduced to flirtatious texting and five a.m. spin class. During which, I could hardly be called flirty.
Although Vann had taken to riding the bike behind mine. He enjoyed the view apparently.
I continued wearing the tightest leggings I had. And no underwear.
We grew more comfortable with each other in the absence though. The late-night texting and early morning, sleepy-selfies made me lower my guard. Having sex with Vann, even while I was drunk, had opened this door to a possibility of a relationship with him. But now that we were talking about a date and not seeing each other, texting was opening the possibility of getting to know him without the pressure of sex.
It didn’t make sense to my logical concept of how relationships worked. Sleeping with the guy and then getting to know him? That wasn’t normal. But it was working for me. It had removed the crushing fear I had been living with for years.
By the morning of our date, I was ready to get some face-to-gorgeous-handsome-clean-cut-face time in.
I wrapped my hair up in a meticulous messy bun and checked out my outfit in the mirror on my bathroom door. In tune with our unconventional relationship, for our first date Vann was taking me on a bike ride.
