IOU Sex

My fingers were still in his hair, my breasts still pressed to his chest. My head fell back as he continued to tease the skin on my throat with his lips and tongue.

I let out a sigh. One of want and need. One of obvious frustration.

Oh, if only I could say to hell with my good girl ways and be bad with him. Right now. For one night. But I knew that come morning, I’d regret having to leave his bed. I’d want more. I always did when it came to him. Thankfully, he’d given me quite a lot when we’d gotten together in the past. He’d wanted me night after night.

By the third week, I’d realized I’d held his attention longer than any other woman I’d known of, and that’s when the panic had set in. I’d instantly started to doubt my ability to keep him satisfied much longer and had begun obsessing over when, exactly, he’d start cheating on me. I’d had to end it before he did, or before he slipped. My fragile ego—thanks to The Lying, Cheating Bastard and my sister—couldn’t take another beating.

These memories were like throwing water on a fire. I moved away from Michael. Unfolded my legs and stood. I grabbed my glass and took several sips of wine as I put both physical and emotional distance between us.

He scowled at me. “Running away? Really, babe?”

“Yes. And maybe you shouldn’t call me that. We’re just friends.”

“Are we?” he challenged. A legitimate question, but one I didn’t dwell on.

“Yes. Go be bad with someone else. My heart can’t take it.”

His scowl vanished. “You know I’d never hurt you.”

“Not on purpose, no. But let’s face it, you’re…into wo

men. A lot of them. Whereas I’m…in need of focusing on my career. Building my business.”

A hollow laugh from him told me what a crock he thought that excuse was. An easy scapegoat I’d created for myself. “You’re terrified to date. I get that.”

“We’re not talking about dating. We’re talking about sex. And I just can’t have it one time with you and not feel used.”

He stood as well and pushed a hand through his hair in apparent frustration. “You’re the one who believes it’ll just be a one-time thing. What if I want more than that? What if I want to try a relationship with you again? Only this time, you don’t get to step out of it simply because you’re afraid I’ll cheat on you.”

I stared at him, dumbfounded. My mouth even gaped. Not only did he stun me into silence with his talk of a relationship—this from Michael Houston?—but he also shocked me by calling me out.

I’d been perfectly honest with him come week three, when I’d explained I couldn’t continue to sleep with him because I was too fearful of winding up in the same boat as I had with Seth. Walking in on him and another woman would be the death of me, for sure. Knowing that had alarmed me back then—it alarmed me still. It meant, true to his point, he was more to me than just a friend.

But again, that was dangerous territory to navigate.

“Look,” I said as I crossed to the wet bar and poured more wine for myself. “I’m not sure what’s gotten into you tonight, but all I want is for you to attend a party with me tomorrow. In Napa. Three o’clock.”

He crossed his arms over his wide chest. “You realize you’re the one who’s always putting a wedge between us, not the other way around?”

“What does that have to do with anything? Are you available for the party or not?”

“Depends. First, answer my question.”

“Michael.”

He didn’t let me off the hook. “You claim I’m the one with the fear of commitment. Maybe it’s the other way around. With good cause, I’ll admit,” he was quick to say. “After Seth, and also knowing my track record with women.”

“Your track record, indeed.” I laughed. “What’s the longest relationship you’ve ever been in?”

“Nearly three weeks. With you.”

As I’d suspected. His affairs had a very brief shelf life.

He continued on. “Ever consider we might still be together if you hadn’t gotten cold feet?”

“Oh, please. Any day into week three, you would have decided you were bored with me. I did us both a favor. I gave you an out and saved myself from getting dumped. Again.”

Damn, that hurt.