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“I have mild scoliosis; I treat the problems with physical therapy and working out. Keeps all my bones mostly where they’re supposed to be.”
“Oh.” I wasn’t expecting that. “I can’t tell by looking at you.”
“The curve is between my upper shoulder blades. It’s not obvious anymore, I a lot of PT for it.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Not as much as it used to. But I have to stay in the gym cause most of my job is at my computer or sitting in a plane. That makes it worse.”
Digesting this, I study him again. He is possibly the most handsome man I’ve ever met. A big, handsome specimen. His beard is short, mustache a little thicker and longer. His hair is dark brown, brushed back with a little falling over his forehead from being in bed. I want to twirl it around my finger and it. Maybe touch his jaw where his beard is all stubbly.
Heat creeps up my neck.
I’m blushing. He’s making me blush. This was supposed to be casual, but my heart is pounding out of my chest. I’m tingling because, for the first time, I had sex. It was honestly far better than I expected. Despite not knowing him well, he was incredibly gentle and checked in throughout the whole thing. He even asked if he could go a little harder at the end. I said yes, and I got the mind-numbingly euphoric experience of him thrusting hard and shuddering on top of me, his prickly face shoved into my neck, breath hot on my shoulder. He smelled so fucking good.
It doesn’t mean anything, though.
Sex is weird, weirdly intimate, and just weird in general. All the good and bad feelings around it are as strange and confusing.
We both freeze. Someone walks down the hall and goes into the bathroom.
He taps off the lamp. In the dark, I can make out most of Jamie’s face. The moon shines bright through the open window. He’s very still, brows lifted and eyes on the door.
“Will Coen be mad at you?” I whisper.
He shakes his head once. Then shrugs.
“Who knows? Probably not so long as I don’t make you cry.”
He sets the book aside and gets up to put his shirt on. He might make me cry just by leaving. I prop myself up on my elbows.
“What if you stayed until early morning?” I whisper.
He buckles his pants, zipping them. “What if I n’t, sweetheart?”
His tone bothers me. Tired, like now that he got off, he’s ready to head out. His demeanor flicks from open and relaxed to beyond glacial. My stomach hollows out with the same feeling I felt after my first sexual encounter. I n’t go all the way; the guy wasn’t very experienced, and I wasn’t any better. It ended with me having to assure him it was all good that he finished on my leg, not even close to getting in. It’s much worse this time. Why I let him be the first? Does it even matter, anyway? My heart pounds sideways, tender against my ribs.
“Okay,” I say, pulling the blanket over my shoulders.
He looks at me like he wants to say something, but then he shakes his head and goes to the door. I shut my eyes tight. The door creaks, and the soft shuffle of his feet dies away.
A tear slips out. Then another.
Fuck him. Fuck me for thinking it was more than sex.
The doorknob rattles. Hastily, I wipe my face as the door opens—he’s back. My heart patters, and my stomach does a backflip.
“Maybe…I left a little too fast,” he says, voice barely audible. “If you’re open, I might take you up on that whole staying-the-night thing.”
I want to smile, but I shrug, like it doesn’t matter to me.
“So long as you’re up early and out,” I say, shifting to the side.
He moves soundlessly across the room and lays down beside me, almost tenting my bed. It might be awkward if we weren’t jammed up on each other. I sink to my side, and I’m basically sandwiched between his broad, hard pectorals. Not a bad place to be.
He runs his hand up my back. Boldly, I slide my leg up and let it rest on his waist.
“You don’t seem like the type to spend the night,” I whisper.
