The general consensus is he's married to the job.
Polite but completely uninterested.
Interesting.
Because that's not what I saw today. What I saw was a man who was very,veryinterested—and absolutely determined not to be.
He's like twice your age.
he's 46. I looked it up on the fire department website
that's not twice my age. that's 1.95 times my age. rounding is for cowards.
Oh my god, you already looked him up.
what
Why do I get the feeling I’m not getting the full story?
Fine. Just promise me you'll tell me when there's something to tell.
I hesitate, thumbs hovering over the keyboard. I tell Tess almost everything.
But there are certain things I haven't told her. Things I'm not sure how to explain without heaps of context that feels too personal to share over beers and takeout.
My sexual history and preferences, and the specific kind of man I'm drawn to and why, seems like something that needs…alotof finesse. Truthfully, I’m not sure I’m ready to reveal all that. At least not yet. Maybe never.
And whatever I'm thinking about when it comes to Ike Thurman falls squarely intothatcategory.
Okay, I’ll try
goodnight Tess
SLOANE
I set my phone aside with a grin and sink deeper into the bubbles.
Single. Never married.Polite but uninterestedfor over a decade, despite women apparently making attempts.
Which means either Ike Thurman has zero sex drive—which is unlikely, given the way he eyed me today—or he's been shutting himself down on purpose.
I know something about that.
I close my eyes and let my mind drift backward, the hot water loosening more than just my muscles.
I was fourteen when my mom started dating Oliver. He was the first man in my life who actually stuck around. My biological father left before I could form memories of him, and the string of boyfriends after that were either absent, useless, or both.
But Oliver was different.
He showed up. Not just physically, but in every way that mattered. He set boundaries…for me, for my mom, for our chaotic household…and somehow that structure didn't feel suffocating. It feltsafe.Like exhaling for the first time after holding my breath for years.
He used to say things likeI've got this, sweetheart,and something inside me would unclench. I could relax. I could stop being the mini-adult holding everything together, because someone else was finally steering the ship.
It wasn't romantic or sexual—god, no—but it wasformative.
Oliver taught me what it felt like to trust someone with authority. To lean into structure instead of fighting it.
When he and my mom split up the year I turned seventeen—amicably, mostly due to their jobs pulling them in different directions—I cried for a long time. Not only because I’d grown to love him as a father, but because I'd finally understood what I wanted in a partner someday, and I was terrified I'd never find it.
