“Barry!”
“What? Did you forget how you got to be in your condition?”
I propped myself up on my elbow and studied his face, looking for a joke, some proof that he would yield this point, but he just raised his eyebrows and nodded down at my belly, my shirt having ridden up to leave it exposed.
“I said no romance,” I reminded him. “This is bordering on romance.”
“I’m not talking about romance, I’m talking about sex,” he said.
“Probably shouldn’t talk about that either.”
“It seemed to me you didn’t come. Am I right about that?”
“I thought we were forgetting about this.” I tried to sound normal, like I was an adult capable of adult conversations withher roommate, instead of how I felt, which was like an embarrassed, still horny teenager afraid of sex.
“Hannah.”
“Fine.” I sighed. I stalled while I sat up and pulled the fabric over my stomach. Crossing my legs, I looked at him and tilted my head. “No, I didn’t. Masturbating in my state isn’t the easiest thing in the world.”
“Right. And where does it fall on the romance scale if I was to…help you out?”
I blinked, cheeks still flaming.
“Help me how? Leaving the house?”
Barry chewed on the inside of his cheek like he always did when he was debating what to say to me. I braced, barely breathing, until he exhaled. Looking at the spot his hand still sat on my leg, he inched his palm upwards, over my knee, then halfway up my thigh, the silence and tension in the room thick between us.
“I could help you get off,” he said quietly. His fingertips on my thigh felt electrified.
“You probably shouldn’t,” I whispered.
“You’re probably right.”
“Why?” I asked too quickly. “I mean, I know why I think you shouldn’t, but why do you agree?”
Barry’s hand stayed where it was, but his thumb started lightly tracing lines back and forth. It felt like there was a direct line to my still aching pussy. I was a fuckingmess.
“If I help you come one time, I’ll probably be asking to help all the time. You know how I love being helpful?—”
“Infuriatingly helpful,” I agreed.
“—and that could be dangerous. You could even startlikingme.”
I smirked, then gave a sharp inhale when his hand skirted an inch higher. “I can’t be the only one who’s horny all the time. Do you find women to hook up with on your trips? Did you this time?” I asked, brave considering I already wanted to riot at the thought of him hooking up with strangers on his road trips. Ihad no claim to him nor his body, but the thought still made me unreasonably angry—I blamed the hormones.
He opened his mouth but didn’t say anything. After a soundless second, he laughed and shut his eyes.
“It’s okay if you did,” I said. “You’re allowed to have sex with people, you’re not in a relationship.”
“I haven’t.”
Haven’t.
I blinked, trying to calculate the relative probability of hot, single, hockey playing Barry Wright not having sex for the seven months since he knocked me up and determined the number close to zero. Many hockey players are hot, or kind of hot—or like, they are hot, but mostly because they are tall or strong or professional hockey players—but Barry washothot. The hottest man on both his current and previous teams.
So no way did he go that long with no sex after meeting me. No way.
“So you’re probably horny too, then. I doubt the blow-up mattress is the best place to jerk off, and we know that the downstairs shower isn’t an option.”
