“No, no. Red’s just fine.”
Thankfully my kitchen is out of view of the small living room, so I manage to pour myself a small glass to settle my nerves before I regroup to join him. “Do you live nearby?” I call out ahead of myself.
The sight of the Red Unicorn on my couch draws me up short, nearly taking my breath away. He’s picked up one of my books and is studying the back cover, his brow knitted together as if in deep concentration. He has a wonderfully lined face—which might sound out of place for someone roughly my age, but with his defined jawline and full lips and stubbled cheeks, it just kind of works. It makes him look lived-in, in the best possible way.
He looks up finally, reaching out to take the glass from me. Our fingers brush, just lightly, but enough to send a shiver through me. Our gazes lock, holding. There was some weirdness at the cafe and I thought maybe I imagined all of it—this current between us—but now it is snap, crackle, popping all over again. I swallow.
So does he. “Sorry, what?”
It takes me a moment to remember I asked him a question. “Do you live nearby?” I force myself to sit and take a sip of my wine, willing myself to treat this situation like it is normal, tobe normal, darn it!
“Not too far.” It’s an evasive answer, but he’s been kind of evasive all evening. I still don’t fully understand why he’s looking for Dean, or how he thinks I’m going to help him, or why he was so cagey about his dad, and all of these things should be more concerning to me, but in truth I’m so horny it’s difficult to focus on anything but Thad’s lips and his hands and how much I want to interact with them. There’s probably a prettier, more romantic way to try to spin it, but we are about fifteen years past subtleties. I have never wanted anyone so badly, have never fully let myself understand what it is to want like this.
I’m so discombobulated that when I try to take a sip of my wine, aiming for sexy and sultry, I drink too much, too fast, and end up spilling it onto my shirt.
Hot.
“Oh, shoot.” I dart an embarrassed glance at Thad, but to my surprise he looks sort of—resigned? Like he’s been expecting this to happen. Although that obviously doesn’t make any sense. “Sorry. Let me just go change.”
“Sure, sure. Get nice and comfortable.”
He looks so guarded. But maybe he’s just nervous, too? I start out of the room, when his voice catches me: “Leave your phone behind.” At my perplexed look, Thad continues, “In case Dean texts back while you’re changing. We wouldn’t want to miss him.”
It feels strange to surrender my phone. I’m not glued to technology or anything, but it sort of feels like leaving my journal behind. My password-protected journal with nothing even remotely interesting in it, but still. Thad’s gaze almost looks like a challenge, though, like he is waiting for me to put up a fight, so I shrug. “Sure. Just call out if he does. I’ll only be a minute.”
In my room, I quickly realize that might not be true. I have no idea what I should change into. My top is completely soaked and my jeans are spattered, so I’ll have to get entirely re-dressed. It feels like putting on a whole new outfit would be trying too hard, but it also feels like putting on pajamas would be a little too intimate. I desperately want to text Matilda and Nina to ask them their opinions, but of course, I’ve left my phone in the other room with Thad.
It’s ridiculous to spend this long debating over something that doesn’t matter at all. “Everything okay in there?” Thad calls after a moment.
I force my response to be bright: “Yeah, just going to the bathroom!” I cringe as soon as the words leave my mouth. Why did I say that? Now he probably thinks I’m back here pooping since it’s taking so long.
That settles it—I put on the first thing I have on hand, which happens to be a pair of yoga pants and a slouchy T-shirt. It isn’t quite pajamas, but it is comfortable, and it doesn’t look like I’m trying too hard. This should be fine.
I immediately second-guess myself, though, when I reenter the room and see the slow appraisal Thad does of my outfit as I approach. It’s the same look he gave me in the library earlier today when the heater was broken. I suppose the pants are a little on the tight side, but the T-shirt is long and loose enough to counteract that. Or so I thought. Then again, it’s also loose enough that the sleeve keeps slipping down my shoulder, revealing my bra, which is nothing all that special but is still technically underwear, so. There is that.
I think about turning right around to go change again, but then Thad meets my gaze and sighs—not a depressed sigh, but more like anI’m going to give in and eat a piece of cake even though I’m supposed to be dietingsigh.
“Come here,” he says, motioning to the couch cushion next to him.
Swallowing, I obey, wondering why it’s so oddly sexy to have him issue a command like that. All manly and gravelly voiced. I can’t quite meet his gaze as I sit down, pretending to be absorbed with my phone. “Any word from Dean?”
Thad shakes his head. “Doesn’t seem likely we’ll hear from him tonight.”
The words send a jolt of panic through me. Does that mean he’s going to leave? I look up to find him much closer than I expected, his eyes on my lips. He reaches out and touches a strand of my hair, tucking it behind my ear, and I think my ovaries might explode from the contact.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Thad says quietly.
I manage a breathless “Shouldn’t be doing what?” before Thad leans in, and I realize whatthisis with a little jolt of surprise, before I find myself, bizarrely, leaning forward and kissing him, as easy as that, like I do this sort of thing every day.
His lips are nice, and so soft, and his hands are warm as they touch my face, my neck, my shoulders, drawing me closer. For a moment, instinct takes over, and I just genuinely enjoy myself: the sensation of his tongue against mine and our bodies pressing together.
And then…my mind starts going, and I start to panic, wondering if I’m doing everything right. If it’s obvious that I don’t have much experience with this—and certainly no experience with this level ofthis. And now, I begin to second-guess myself, wondering if Thad can tell that I’m a complete novice. Thad doesn’t know that I’m a former sister, after all—or does he? If he’s been trying to find Dean, maybe he looked intomybackground, too, and knows all about my history. Of course, I left my order years ago, so maybe he assumed that, like a normal person, I’ve already gotten back on the saddle, so to speak. Like Dr. Sandra is always saying, I can’t hide behind my vows forever because it wasn’t my time as a nun that keeps me from pursuing romantic relationships, not entirely; it’s my own hang-ups that I have to overcome. I desperately want to ask Thad if I’m doing okay at kissing but I sense that this will be worse than justbeinga bad kisser, so I’m kind of stuck.
I can’t be too bad, though, since Thad runs his knuckles along the neckline of my shirt with one hand, the other sliding down to my waist to pull me closer. I instinctively suck in, wishing I didn’t eat that second red velvet muffin, and then I remember that my mom used to always call red velvet “Satan’s cake,” and the thought is so absurd that I find myself giggling.
Only this is no quick, passing giggle. It’s a hysterical, burbling thing that begins to run rampant as soon as it escapes from my throat. Thad pauses, stiffening a little before pulling back. “Are you…okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say—or at least I try to through uncontrollable laughter. “I’m sorry, my mind was just wandering and I thought of something that happened the other day that was really funny.” Afraid of follow-up questions, I add, “You would have had to have been there!” I take in a deep breath, attempting to steady myself. “Sorry.”
