“She hasn’t called me either, and we always binge-watch a show on Thursdays. I texted her but got nothing back.”
We stop at a crosswalk. Kinsley pulls her phone out of her pocket and swipes across the screen.
“You doing okay at Nate’s?” she asks. “You didn’t text me a status update last night, so I assume you’re still in possession of your V-card.”
“Yeah.”
She laughs at the look on my face—one of sadness and despair.
Except that face is for her. Not me.
Every pause in a conversation today, each moment of silence has been filled with Nate.
I shiver at the memory of my finger in his mouth. The softness of his tongue, the warmth that traveled from his mouth all the way to the apex of my thighs.
Remembering the look in his eye—the look that contradicted the words he spoke as he left me in his kitchen in a pool of lust—sends a delicious chill down my spine.
“That’s the only time my mouth will get anywhere near you.”
I spent all night trying to figure that mess out. How can he look at me like that, touch me like that, and then come at me with that line?
When he told me that I had no idea what he was capable of, he might’ve been right.
“Are you all right?” Kinsley looks at me curiously. “You’re over there shivering. It’s not that cold.”
I haven’t told her about last night in the kitchen. I think it’ll come out wonky and not nearly as sexy as it was. So I decide to keep it to myself. Just for now. At least until I work out what it means … and doesn’t mean.
“So,” Kinsley says after we crossed the street, “are we one-wording answers about Nate? Or was that an anomaly?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I asked how things were going, and you said ‘yeah.’ You don’t give one-word answers to anything, so I’m trying to decide whether that’s because things are okay or if they’re not.”
We stop at the opening of the public parking area central to all the apartments we looked at today. The breeze catches my hair and whirls it around my head. I gather it at the crown and twist an elastic from my wrist around the locks.
Kinsley narrows her eyes. “So …”
“So …” I look at my car in the distance. “Things are fine so far. Great, actually.” Confusing, but great.
“Great, huh?”
“His kid is cute—”
“I didn’t know he has a kid! Ew.”
I laugh. “Ryder is adorable and better behaved than that dog you had last year. He takes himself to the toilet, hasn’t stolen food out of my hand yet, and doesn’t whine.”
She cringes. “I’m so glad my dad fell in love with that dog because I couldn’t manage him. It was like having a baby, I think. He cried at night. Wanted up and down. Had to pee then didn’t. Then peed on the floor.” She shakes her head. “Nah, I’m good—with kids and dogs.”
“I love dogs. Kids? Eh. That’s case by case.”
“Anyway, you were saying his kid is cute when I cut you off.”
“Oh. Right. So yes, his kid is cute. Very well-behaved. Oh! He makes dinner with his kid. Dude, seeing him as a dad?” I place a hand on my heart and bite my lip. “Hot as fuck.”
“I’m not into the dad vibe, but I’m glad it’s working for you.”
“You’re not into the dad vibe? How?” My eyes bulge out. “What’s not hot about a big, strong guy being all tender and sweet to their child? That’s super hot.”
She nods like I’ve lost my mind. I shrug.
“I guess maybe I just look at the guys I sleep with and think, I hope you’re never my kids’ daddy.” She laughs. “That’s not funny, but it’s true. Men are great until they have to behave that way.”
“Maybe you need to hook up with better guys.”
“Oh, definitely, I do. For sure. One thousand percent. Just point me in the direction of where they hang out, and I’ll trot my ass down there and gather numbers. Hell, I’ll get you numbers too, and you can avoid the upstanding citizens you usually go out with.”
I give her a look.
“What? Do you enjoy getting all of your dates from the parole board?” she asks.
“You are not funny.”
“You’re right. I’m not because it’s no laughing matter.”
I roll my eyes, but we both know she’s onto something.
It’s not like I don’t know this about myself. I routinely pick guys I would never take home to my parents.
I know I do it, but I don’t know why. It’s a vicious cycle that I find myself in.
Do I want to pick the asshole that will inevitably treat me like a piece of shit and I’ll have to break up with him in some dramatic fashion?
No. No, I don’t.
Do I always seem to be in that situation?