“Do I what?” I prod, curious to see what has his cheeks turning so pink.
“Nothing. It’s inappropriate for me to ask.”
“Gabe, you just made me sit here while you complained about how your wife chooses to be impregnated through aprocedureto avoid being touched by you. I think we passed the line of appropriate conversation topics several minutes ago.”
His blush deepens. “Do you have a sex life?”
“Oh,” I breathe, brows lifting and falling. “If you’d asked me this a day ago, I’d tell you what I do or don’t do with my body isn’t your business.”
Which is still true, but since he was willing to be vulnerable with me, I can try to do the same. I exhale before continuing, “I spent thefirst year after our divorce abstinent. But I was a single woman in her early twenties, and I missed feeling wanted. At first, I think a part of me hoped that being intimate would convince them to propose. Maybe that would’ve been enough for some men, but clearly not for the ones I’ve picked. Hasn’t stopped me from finding pleasure, though. Especially when I’m having a bad flare-up and I’m desperate for some relief.”
Gabe nods, likely recalling the times during our marriage when I’d beg for an orgasm to help ease the migraine pressure. Not that I had to beg too much. He’d been all too willing to oblige, much like the handful of others I’ve been with since him.
I shift my knees closer, wrapping my arms around them. “I’d say it’s a fairly even trade. I use them for the temporary reprieve. They use me to avoid long-term commitment.”
He frowns. “You’re not something to be used. Don’t you want more than that?”
“Of course I do. But no one wants Bren’s broken throwaway—not when there are plenty of girls who are younger. More malleable.” My tone drops to a whisper. “More fertile.”
One of the glowing insects lands on my kneecap. It shifts around for a few seconds, pivoting in a circle before realizing I have no sweet nectar to offer it, and flies off. Gone as quickly as it came. Just like all the men who’ve landed atop me.
I spot Gabe’s pitying look and nudge my leg into his. “Hey, at least I’m getting laid. That’s more thanyoucan say.”
“Fair enough.” He nudges me back, but his leg lingers against mine.
Once, a giddy warmth might’ve traced up my thigh at the small touch. The nerves beneath my leathers might’ve prickled in heightened awareness. Now, all I feel is the cool sting of broken promises.
I feel his gaze drift to my lips, yet I tell myself to ignore it. Ignorehim. Put some distance between us. But my traitorous body does no such thing as my eyes find his.
He swallows roughly.
“Elle.” His tone is like a deep caress, stroking old memories back to life as he lifts his hand and hovers it above my leg.
I freeze, waiting for the contact of his fingers and gasping when they press into my leather-clad thigh. I wrap my hand around his, unsure if I want to stop this from going any further, or guide us both over that edge.
Eyes closing, I whisper his name. “Gabe.”
He groans, but his fingers still, waiting for me to make the call.
I squeeze his hand, savoring this once-familiar touch for one last second.
“I can’t.” My head and voice lower, though I know I’ve made the right call.
Gabe isn’t like the others. Being with him inthatway will never be a balanced, casual exchange. If I let myself go down this path, I’d want more, and he can’t give it to me. Not while he’s still married. Maybe not even if he became single again. Because we can’t erase what’s been done. If we gave it another try, I don’t know if I could trust it. Trusthim. Or if I’d always be waiting to be abandoned again for his warped sense of duty.
Shadows flicker in Gabe’s midnight irises, but he hides it quickly with a soft, non-dimpled smile as he pulls back. “I understand.”
A shiver rocks through me, and he shrugs off his vest.
“Here.” He drapes it around my shoulders before putting some extra space between our bodies.
Smiling shyly, I scoot closer.
“You’re allowed to touch me. Not likethat,” I rush to add, “but in a more platonic way. We were friends longer than we were more.Maybe we could go back to that?”
Long before our first kiss, we’d spent most of our childhood together, thanks to the close friendship between our parents. After the divorce, I’d grieved our emotional connection just as much as our physical one.
Gabe groans again, though there’s much less gravel in it this time. “Are you putting me back in the friend zone, Elle?”
