Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
He pauses, letting the question register, then runs the brush one more time through my hair and sets it down. “No, she didn’t.”
Reaching for another hair tie, he loops it onto his wrist.
“Like, at all?” I ask.
Carter runs both thumbs through my hair near the crown of my head, gathering a chunk. “She said It’s just your excuse for everything.”
Maybe because he asked earlier, I’m compelled to do the same. “Why did you stay with her so long?”
But what I really want to say is—why did you propose?
As he sorts my hair, he takes a deep breath. “There were things I liked,” he says, but he sounds…evasive.
“It had to be more than things,” I say, gently insistent. I want to understand him like he’s understanding me.
I settle in deeper between the safe haven of his thighs, his knees framing me. Perhaps my touch reassures him because he tries again, saying, “I really like…” He blows out a big breath. “Ah, fuck.”
I want to turn, check in with him, but I don’t want to ruin his work, so I set a hand on his knee and ask with some concern, “What is it?”
As he gathers the next strand then loops it through, he sighs again. “I like being with someone,” he says, and he sounds so damn sad.
There’s a borderline embarrassment, too, like he’s ashamed of his desire.
“You stayed with her because it was better than being alone?” You think you know everything about your best friends, but then you become intimate, and suddenly you’re sharing stories and wishes and fears you never voiced. You see facets of them that you never expected.
He sighs, but it’s a contemplative sound now. “I don’t think I’m afraid of being alone. But I found I really enjoyed monogamy,” he says, his voice as stripped bare as his admission of this character flaw. “I suppose my Achilles’ heel is I like dating one person. I like being with one person. I really like having a girlfriend.” He laughs lightly, a self-deprecating sound as he weaves in another strand of my hair. “And I love sex. On the reg.”
I laugh too, grateful for the levity. “You’re pretty good at it.”
He kisses the top of my head. I close my eyes because the feeling in my chest is almost too much.
He pulls back, then keeps talking. “But I like it so much I stay too long. Even when things go south. I like the good things of relationships, so I ignore the bad things. I guess I should learn to like being alone more, because I keep staying too long, and then…shit happens. It goes south. I stayed with Quinn too long just because I like being with someone. Well, I enjoyed it until my fiancée took off with the ring and left me with nothing but a contract for five dates on an app,” he deadpans, but there’s a knife’s edge to his voice.
A cutting reminder, too, of what these girlfriend lessons were born from—a deal he had to fulfill.
This is a deal between us. An exchange of goods and services, even when it feels like more.
But in the comfort of our exchange, I take more steps. I’m free to try things I wouldn’t try. I rub my hand over his knee, perhaps to comfort him. Is he seeking comfort? I don’t know. But I want to tell him with touch that I understand where he’s been. “I understand, Carter. I’m sure that’s why I stayed too,” I say.
“I get it,” he says quietly. “I was mad earlier, but I do get it.”
A lump forms in my throat, but I’m not entirely sad. I’m just…emotional.
“And now, you’re sort of…” I cast about for the right word. “Detoxing!”
He laughs as he reaches the nape of my neck. “Yeah, I suppose so.”
“So this is an un-dating, ultra-sexing detox,” I offer, because I don’t want him to think I’m getting clingy.
Or needy.
Or all feels-y.
I don’t want him to worry that I’m misunderstanding our exchange. He needs time to detox. He’s a man who’s trying to learn new patterns too. Just like me.
“I suppose so,” he says, but his voice sounds a little far away as he finishes the braid, then loops a tie around the end. “Done.”
“How does it look?” I ask, with a strange cocktail of nerves and hope in my voice. I want his real answer so badly. I want him to love the braid. I don’t even know why. I just do.
He leans closer, slides his hands down my arms, reaches for my ass, and tugs me up, settling me between his legs…so he can press a kiss to the back of my neck. “Beautiful,” he murmurs. “You’re beautiful.”
I feel beautiful for the first time in his arms.
He kisses my neck up to my ear, then says, “Remember in the car? When I kissed your forehead, and you said it felt real?”