“What was I supposed to say? When? And why should it matter?"
"It matters." His voice is serious now, all the playful seduction gone. "Tara, you're twenty-one years old. You've never had sex? Why is that?"
I pull the sheet up to cover myself, suddenly feeling exposed in more ways than one.
"It's not a horror story. I wasn't abused or anything like that."
"Then what?"
"I'm not the kind of person who can just do it and pretend it doesn't mean something," I say, the words rushing out.
"It doesn't have to be marriage, but I want this intimacy to matter. In high school, the guys were just boys. In college, they were slightly older boys with the same mentality."
He nods slowly, something shifting in his expression. "I was that way too when I was younger," he says quietly. "But not now. You could trust me."
"Trust you for what?" I ask, pulling the sheet higher. He's quiet for a long moment, his cobalt-blue eyes searching mine. "Why did you agree to have sex with me?"
The question catches me off guard. Because I love you is the obvious answer. But that would be too much, too soon.
Instead, I say, "Because I've fantasized about you forever. I have a crush on you. Surely you could see that."
"I noticed." A small smile plays on his lips.
"But today, after the storm, the wine, this whole day... I felt like I could spend my life with you. Or if not my life, then at least trust you with something real."
"You can still trust me. But now that you've told me this, your expectations feel too intense for me to handle.”
"Meaning?"
He sighs, the sound heavy in the quiet room. "Look, it's nothing we have to decide tonight. I feel a connection with you. But you're so young, Tara. I don't want to give you the wrong impression.”
The rejection stings more than it should.
"So what do you propose we do?"
"I propose we kiss goodnight." He leans down to brush his lips against mine, gentle and achingly sweet. "And we carry on the way we have for the last few days. See where the next few takes us."
He helps me dress—T-shirt, panties, jeans—his movements careful and respectful. When I'm clothed again, he opens the door for me.
"Think you can find your way back to your room?" he asks softly.
I nod, not trusting my voice.
The hallway feels endless as I walk back to my room, the echo of his kiss still tingling on my lips. Once inside, I close the door and lean against it, sliding down until I'm sitting on the floor.
My body still hums with unfulfilled desire, every nerve ending alive with want.
But it's the emotional ache that cuts deeper. I think back on the day—the storm, finding shelter together, watching him sing Posey to sleep, the way he looked at me in the candlelight.
The careful way he touched me, like I was something precious instead of just another conquest. That was the best day of my life.So why did I mess it up?I replay the conversation, searching for the moment it all went wrong.
Was it admitting I was a virgin? Or was it something deeper—the way I looked at him, the hope he must have seen in my eyes that scared him away?
Maybe he's right. Maybe my expectations are too high.
But how do you separate your heart from your body? Especially when someone touches you like you're the only woman in the world?
I pull my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around them.
