“I don’t date.”
“Fair enough.” He grins, completely unfazed. “I’m gonna have a beer to unwind after a long, busy shift. Want one?”
I nod, although I’m not sure I do. What I really want is a moment to think.
He knocks the cap off on the counter’s edge and hands it to me, indicating the massive leather sofa in his living room. “Sit.”
I comply, itchy at how easy I’m being. But also…maybe part of the itch is that I like this bossy side he pulls out occasionally. A lot.
“You always like this?”
“No.” He opens his own beer and walks over to tap it against mine. “Just with you.”
“I’m not sure I like it.”
“Noted.” I watch him take a long swig, head back, Adam’s apple bobbing. “You’renot sureyou like it.” He sits in a huge leather armchair that somehow looks small once he inhabits it. Relieved by his choice to sit across from me, I settle deeper into the sofa, as far from his wide-spread knees as I can get. “See,not surethat you like it kind of insinuates that you’re not sure either way. Not sure you like it. Not sure you don’t.”
I open my mouth to object and realize he might be right. There’s something to his bossiness. Something almost…relaxing maybe?
Maybe it’s all the decision fatigue from living with a man who never took charge for so long. Or maybe being the owner of a successful business and a house that’s falling apart. Maybe it’sthat I’ve been alone, making the decisions, doing the things, and when he tells me what to do, it’s a vacation.
No way will I admit to any of that, though. And right now, we probably need to focus on getting this whole thing back on track.
“I…we…” I take a swig from my bottle, start to set it down and then drain half of it. “I think you’re right. Things have changed and we need to re-establish boundaries.”
“Ah. So, you’re into a little negotiation?” He takes a sip of beer and smirks. The expression is maddening and cocky and it looks so good on him, I have to turn away. “Should I call my lawyer?”
“You know, Jake, maybe that’s not such a bad idea.” Maybe if I’m prissy, it’ll destabilize him the way he’s done me.
“Oh, yeah?”
“I don’t know if I’m pregnant yet, but the moment it happens?—”
“You taken a test yet?”
Oh, I’m so busted. No. No, I haven’t. And I can’t go into the whys right now, because if I do, I might have to face the truth of my denial. What I come up with is, “Hasn’t been long enough,” which has the benefit of being the truth, although it doesn’t begin to explain why I don’t want to know if what we’ve done has worked. Knowing, after all, would mean stopping. “The point is, I…” I finish off my drink and set down the empty bottle and straighten up as best I can in this slouchy, too comfortable sofa. Then, because I’m a mess inside and can’t focus when he sits there like that, staring at me like I’m lunch, I spit out, “I only need you for one thing, okay? Once you do your… Once you finish, we’re done.”
“Are we?” He leans forward and he’s got that look again—the one that tells me he’s not the kind of lion who toys with his food. He’s the one who goes straight in for the kill. The kind thatdevours its prey and leaves nothing behind but a pile of shining white bones, picked clean.
Well, and maybe an essential organ or two. Like my heart.
Shit. Why did I go and think of that? What is wrong with me? This is sex. I’ve done sex before. I’m an expert at the no-strings part. No heart involvement whatsoever.
“You know what?” I stand, all business. “Let’s do this. Let’s do our session.”
“Sit down, Kitty. We’re not done.”
28
Kit
Why do I hate it when he calls me that?
Because Kitty’s not my name? Or is it that it’s what everyone at work calls me? Maybe the problem is actually that he says my full name—Katarina—when he’s buried inside me and now it’s how I think of myself on his tongue. On his lips. On that sandblasted voice.
Whatever the case, I drop back onto my seat like he’s pushed a button, and let my head fall into my hands.
“Tell me what’s wrong, Kit.”
