My mind’s still on our previous conversation. “Do you really mean no sex?” I want his confirmation.
“No sex,” he replies firmly.
Then, as he disappears to refresh our drinks, I feel a ridiculous wave of disappointment go through me. He said he didn’t think he could be the man to show me pleasure. Of course, he’s not attracted to me, and won’t find it difficult to controlhimself. I’m nothing like any of the women he’s surrounded by. I’m too fat, as Dad constantly reminded me. My hair is lank and long, and definitely not styled, and I’ve never worn a lick of makeup in my life. I’m dowdy, having lost my youthful bloom. Even my dad hasn’t touched me for years – something I’m entirely grateful for, but which confirms I’ve got nothing to attract a man.
By the time Short’s back, putting a half-filled glass in my hand, I’m still trying to convince myself it’s a good thing Short’s not going to get aroused around me. I’m grateful I’ve got nothing to worry about.
Aren’t I? So why do I feel disappointment?
It seems important to make something clear. Short’s a good man. I can’t trap him into a quasi-relationship he can’t want. “If I agree to this, it’s only temporary. Just so long as I need protection. As soon as I can, I’ll find a place for me and Trip, and then you can get back to…” My words trail off.Fucking the whores,was what I was thinking.
Short’s looking at me pensively. After a moment, he grimaces. “Whatever you want, darlin’. The moment you want out of this, I’ll lift my claim on you.”
He’s given me exactly what I want, an assurance I’m not committing to anything long term. Exactly what I want. So why do I feel like I’ve won the battle but lost the war, and don’t have any idea what I’ve been fighting for?
This has turned into a too-heavy conversation, so I decide to try to lighten the mood. “If I’m going to be your ol’ lady, am I entitled to know why a giant like you is called Short?”
