“Nope,” he says, tightening his hold on my hands. He looks deep into my eyes, and I suppress a shiver. “That’s my one rule,” he says. “If you need a buzz to go through with this, I’m not the guy for the job.”
I nod, thrilled by his take-charge approach. Gary was never like that. Dax is right, of course. If I’m going to do this, I should be fully aware of what I’m choosing. Fully committed to this act of debauchery.
Do wanton women use words like debauchery?
Or wanton?
“How about Perrier?” I offer, determined to be a good hostess. “I also have Evian or La Croix if you prefer.”
Dax frowns. “Can I just get some water?”
I start to point out that those were all different types of water, but maybe he knows this. Maybe he wants to see if I’m the sort of spontaneous girl who can be wild and crazy and drink straight-up tap water.
Oh my God, shut up.
I swallow hard and try my best to appear cool and composed.
“Lisa?”
“Yeah?”
“Is there a reason you’re gripping my hand like you’re trying to squeeze juice out of a grapefruit?”
I look down to see he’s right. I’m like a freaking anaconda. I drop his hand like it’s on fire. “I’m sorry, I’m just a little nervous.”
He smiles and takes my hand back, then reaches for the other. Now we’re standing here in the middle of my living room holding hands like two four-year-olds playing ring-around-the-rosie.
This is so not how I imagined my first no-strings hookup.
“Close your eyes.” His voice is low and soothing, and I obey without hesitation. I don’t even ask why.
“Very good.” Something about his gentle baritone makes my heart slow from a gallop to a canter.
“Breathe in through your nose,” he says softly. “Inhale for a count of one…two…three…four…five…six.” His voice is steady, unhurried, and his hands feel warm around mine.
I do exactly what he says. I swear I’d jump off my roof right now as long as he ordered me to do it in this velvet-edged, milk-chocolaty voice.
“Now exhale for a count of eight…seven…six…five… four…three…two…one,” he murmurs. “That’s it. Good girl.”
He’s breathing with me, I can tell. My eyes are still closed, but he’s so close I can sense the rise and fall of his chest. Is this foreplay? I have no idea. Gary’s idea of foreplay was muting the ten o’clock news and patting the mattress beside him.
Don’t think I didn’t notice how he’d peer at the stock market crawl over my shoulder.
“You’re breathing fast again,” Dax says, jarring me back to the moment. “Focus on breathing in slowly through your nose for six breaths. Then out for eight. Always more breaths going out than in.”
“How do you know this?” I ask. My eyes are still closed, but I feel his hands tense in mine.
“Practiced a lot of self-soothing as a kid.” There’s a gruffness to his voice that wasn’t there a few minutes ago, and I start to open my eyes.
But Dax gives my fingers a gentle squeeze and keeps counting. “In for one…two…three…four…five…six,” he murmurs.
How many minutes pass? Maybe only a few seconds. I could stand here forever, holding hands with this man, breathing in and out and feeling my own heartbeat slow.
Finally, I open my eyes and look at him. His blue eyes are watchful, curious.
“Answer me this,” I say. “Is this the lamest entrée to casual sex you’ve ever had in your life?”
He grins and lets go of my hands.
