“Well,” he says running his hands back down my thighs. He stops at my knees. With gentle pressure, he pushes my legs back together. “That changes things.”
What? It changes things? Just because I’m a virgin, for all intents and purposes, now he doesn’t want me? I guess he saw me and it disgusted him. Why else would he push my legs back together? I quickly start to slide off the desk. I feel the burn of tears, but I will not cry. This is par for the Lainie Palmer course. I’m used to this. It happened in high school on my one and only date. Tod Mendenhall touched my stomach then told me I was too fat to screw. The difference between then and now? Nothing. It still hurts the same. The same humiliation is coursing through my body that I felt when I was sixteen.
Pushing my skirt down as I go, I land on my high-heels and wobble a little. Keeton uses his hands to steady me, but I slap them away. Yes, you heard me. I slapped them away. Without another word, I try to move past him but he’s bigger than me, if you can believe that. He’s blocking me. “Move, Keeton.” I say angrily.
“Baby, stop.”
“Donotcall me baby.” I push on his chest, but he doesn’t budge.
“Lainie. I said that wrong.”
“You think?” My voice wavers and I literally bite my tongue to stop any tears from escaping. Focus on the pain, because he doesn’t get my tears.
I push one more time but this time, he wraps his big arms around me lifting me off the ground. “Put me down. I’m going to hurt you.”
I feel his hand reach down beneath my legs so now he’s holding me like a child. I kick out but it’s no use. “Honey, please stop. Let me start over. You misunderstood.”
I won’t look at him. I can’t.
Walking over to a long leather sofa, he sits down with me on his lap. His grip is firm so I’m unable to squirm away.
“I meant that it changed how I approach this with you. If I’m your first, honey, it needs to be special, romantic. Not on my desk in my office. We can do that next week, I promise. The first time for us shouldn’t be fucking on the office furniture. No, the first time we make love, it will be on my bed.
I’m still not looking at him. But I’m listening.
“I want to do this right. Take you out on a date.”
“You want to court me?” Now I look at him.
“If that’s what you want, I’ll court the fuck out of you, sweetheart.”
That makes me laugh. Only Keeton Gustafson could make courting sound dirty.
“Not a long courtship. Maybe one night?” I say shyly.
“Thank fuck. If you made me wait for months my dick might fall off.”
“I was willing to do it today,” I say arching one brow.
“And I appreciate that. But, I want this with you. Do you? Want it with me?”
“Sex? Yes.” I laugh. “Yes. For some crazy reason, I do. Even though we just met, it feels like I’ve known you forever.”
“I know.” He runs his palm down my leg then kisses my nose. “I know, baby.” He nudges me off his lap until I’m standing. Pulling himself up to stand next to me, he adds, “So, be ready by seven.”
“Oh, I can’t tonight.” Here we go. I’m going to tell him I’m going out with my sisters and he’s going to launch into a rant about spending too much time with my family and not enough time with him. Lewis always did.
“You can’t?”
“No. I can’t tonight. I’m going out with my sisters.”
“Oh, alright. Tomorrow?”
What?That didn’t just happen. “Sure. Tomorrow.” He’s not upset? He doesn’t ask me to cancel my plans with them? What’s happening?
“Wear something sexy, I’m taking you somewhere fancy.”
“No. I don’t need fancy.” That’s all we ever did when Lewis and I went out. I’m sick of fancy. “Let’s go somewhere on your motorcycle.”
