“I did.” He widens his eyes. “I’m apparently doing a lot of things to impress you, which is hard to do.”
“I’m impressed,” I admit.
He leans in closer so I can feel his breath against my ear. “Prove it,” he whispers so close it’s like he’s trying to deposit it directly into my brain. “Do you find me attractive at all, Celeste? Just put me out of my misery here. Do I have a shot?”
“A shot at what?” I ask. “What exactly are you asking me for?” I lean away and point at his chest. “And don’t you dare say ‘you know what’ because as much as you use that, it’s not an actual answer.”
“Celeste, look—you feel like a puzzle piece I want to pop into place. I don’t know how else to explain this. It just fits. It feels good. I don’t want to be some guy you went to Whit’s funeral with. Do I want to see you naked? Desperately. But I kind of also want to be there when the courts award you custody of the baby.I want to be there when you bring her home. I want to be the one to teach her how to drive because you should not be imparting your driving knowledge on anyone.”
I laugh. “Her?”
“Or him,” Saylor says. “I just hate calling the baby an ‘it.’”
“I keep picturing a girl too,” I muse. “I hope it’s a girl because I know nothing about hunting and fishing and…”
Saylor looks at me expectantly. “Did you just run out of boy things?”
“Kind of.”
His laugh is deep and rumbly. “Nah, yeah. If the baby’s a boy you’re definitely screwed. But I don’t know…” He hedges, just for a second, then continues. “I’ll be here if you want me to be. To teach him more…boy stuff.”
“Is that a free offer, or is that conditional?”
“On what?” He stretches out his legs, making the whole bed jostle.
“The seeing-me-naked part.”
“Oh.No, it wasn’t conditional originally, but now that you mention it. I like that. Yes, new terms. I promise to teach your baby all the rugged boy things. Now, take off your shirt.”
I laugh, but Saylor’s face remains serious, his eyes fixed on mine with the unguarded hunger of a man who’s been wandering through a desert and has just spotted water.
“I haven’t had sex with anyone but Greg since I was twenty.”
The sentence falls out of me like something I’ve been carrying in my mouth and finally spit onto the floor. Graceless. Unplanned. I can feel the blood rushing to my face and I want to take it back except I don’t, because it’s true and I’m tired of designing around truths that make me uncomfortable.
“Even before the divorce, we barely—” I wave my hand vaguely, because apparently I can confess celibacy but not describe the actual act. “It’s been so long that I’ve sort of lostthe desire for it. You know how when you stop eating sugar, eventually you stop craving it? It’s like that. The longer you go without, the less you need it. And honestly, it was never”—I search for the word—“great. It was always a bit awkward. Mechanical. Like we were both following instructions neither of us had read. I know people lose their minds over physical intimacy, but I’ve always found it kind of…overhyped. All that vulnerability for fifteen minutes of someone else’s elbow in your rib. I don’t know, Saylor. If you want hot and passionate—I’m not your girl. You’re going to be disappointed.”
I’m staring at the Destiny’s Child poster because I cannot look at Saylor right now. Beyoncé stares back at me with an expression that says:girl, what are you doing.
“Celeste.” Saylor’s voice is different. Lower. Not teasing. “It sounds like you’ve had terrible sex for the past decade.”
“Probably accurate.”
“That’s genuinely heartbreaking.”
“It’s not heartbreaking, it’s just?—”
“It is. Because you’re describing a woman who’s been told, over and over, that she’s past her prime, by a man whose greatest talent was making you feel small. And you believed him. About your worth. About your desirability. About whether you deserve to feel good.” He shifts on the bed so he’s facing me, and I can feel the heat of him, the proximity, the particular electricity of a body that is very close to mine and very intentional about being there. “Let me tell you something. You deserve to feel great. You deserve a man who watches your eyes to make sure you come first.”
“Easy for you to say. You look like a walking wet dream. Not everybody navigates intimacy that easily.”
“You think it’s easy for me?”
“Isn’t it?”
“I was a professional, Celeste. That doesn’t mean it was easy. That means I learned how to make someone else feel seen. I’m looking at you and I see the truth.” He pauses. “You’re not past anything. You’re just getting started.We’rejust getting started.”
He leans in.
