Nate laughs. “Yeah, well, in Ye Olden Days, I don’t think they were like, ‘Yes, let’s have sex on theseconddate.’” He winces again. “I don’t always bring a girl home then, either.”
“Why?” I can’t help but ask.
He shrugs, almost seeming ashamed. “I’m not comfortable with it, I guess. It feels . . . too personal. I want to get to know a girl first.”
That’s sweet, actually. And not at all what I’m used to. Probably because I’ve been “dating” onTinder. “I think that’s the way I would be, too, if I weren’t scared of getting into a relationship. I like the idea of getting to know someone first, having it mean something, but I haven’t been in a place for that.”
“How often do you date?” Nate asks.
“There have been a total of five guys in three years. Counting that guy with the dick pic, who I didn’t sleep with. I got a vibe from him on that date that led me to bail.The pic just confirmed it.”
Nate’s tone softens. “How long did it take you to be ready to date after your husband died?”
“A year,” I admit.
“And how long ago was your last date?”
This stuff, he’s probably asking for the show, so I remember to restate. “My last date was five months ago.”
Nate smiles. “Okay, yeah. So you’ve got to be sexually frustrated. You know you’re not going to be able to hook up with Prince Charming the first time you meet him, right? Not unless you want to do that in front of the cameras and quite possibly other contestants.”
I groan, and it comes out a little too orgasmic. “Iknow. But trust me. I’ve had sex four times in three years. I know how to control myself.” And I make liberal use of my vibrator, which I unfortunately did not pack for this adventure. I’ll have roommates the whole time anyway, but given how tense I feel even now, I’m clearly going to take care of myself in the shower.
Nate looks like he wants to say something, but thinks better of it. I want to ask what he was thinking, but there’s this thread of tension between us. Not an awkwardness, but this electric current, like the moment right before a first kiss. He looks into my eyes, and my sexual frustration is stronger than it’s been in a long while, maybe ever. I know he’s just trying to get me to loosen up so I’ll do better when they get me on camera—and yeah, maybe he’s having a good time laughing with me, as a friend.
But as we look at each other, all I can imagine is him moving off of that bench seat, kneeling on the floor of this carriage, and crawling under my skirts. Prince Charming could be a demi-god, and it’s still going to be Nate’s tongue I’m thinking about when I finally get a chance to relieve myself.
The carriage moves up again, then stops. Nate breaks his gaze, staring out the window.
“Getting closer,” I say.
“Yeah,” he responds.
He sounds a little breathless, but it’s probably my imagination.
I’m sure I’ve said enough things for the show to embarrass me with; I’m not going to add getting shot down by a producer to the list.
