“Enough,” he answered, his lashes dropping as his gaze rested on her mouth. “You. Your hair. Your lips. The way you felt against me.”
She exhaled hard, skin prickling, nerves stretched taut. He’d felt amazing, too. But then her brain turned on and wouldn’t turn off. “I got shy.”
“I didn’t mind.” His voice was low, and the deep husky note scraped her senses. “But then you were gone.”
“The conference was over. It was time to go.”
“Everyone else stayed on a couple days.”
“I needed to get home.”
He said nothing, and yet she could tell he didn’t believe her. Not then, not now. “I felt ashamed,” she admitted. “It was so out of character. I didn’t do things like that.”
“Sex?”
“I didn’t know you.”
“We’d spent two weeks together.”
“In a program, attending classes.” She pulled off her sunglasses and set them on the table. “Did you sleep with anyone else that summer, during the program?” she asked abruptly, not even aware she was going to ask the question until it popped out. And yet, it was something she’d wondered then . . . and after. It had driven her somewhat crazy in the weeks after she’d returned to California following the course. How many people had Jack slept with besides her? Had she meant anything to him, or was she just another body . . . another conquest?
“Does it matter?” he asked.
Disappointment rushed through her. “I wasn’t the only one.”
“You are so fast to jump to conclusions. But no, I didn’t sleep with anyone else in the program. Or during the program. But I had someone back in Melbourne. We’d broken off just before I left for Europe, and we got back together when I came home.”
She’d wondered. She’d thought there had to be someone, somewhere. He was too smart, too attractive, too . . . sexy . . . not to have someone. “Was she the one you married? Oliver’s mother?”
“No. I didn’t meet Oliver’s mother for another year.” His gaze again rested intently on her face. “What about you? When did you marry?”
“During my last year of grad school. He was finishing his MBA, and I was finishing my PhD.”
“And you were happy?”
“In the beginning, yes. He was smart. Ambitious. He liked to cut loose on the weekends and have fun. We made good friends in North Carolina and started our family. The rest is history.”
“When did it stop being fun?”
“When he wanted alcohol more than he wanted me.” Paige tapped her coffee cup. “For years we acted like everything was normal. At least, I acted like everything was normal, but things had deteriorated so much. Once Ashley was a senior in high school, I began thinking about the future, my future, and Elizabeth told me about a position in the math department at Orange. And here I am.”
“You’re happy now?”
She nodded, smiling faintly. “Yes. And you?”
“Yes. Even happier to see you.”
She didn’t know what to say, nor did she want to misinterpret his words. But suddenly she felt sentimental, and a little bit emotional. An ache filled her chest, the heaviness making her long to be young again. Innocent, unscathed, unscarred. Imagine being able to see the world as it once had been—huge and full of opportunity.
“Ready to go?” Jack asked.
She nodded, and they packed up and headed outside. But sitting next to him in his car, the energy was different. He felt different. Or maybe it was her. Paige wasn’t sure if it was something they’d said, or just the fact that they’d finally acknowledged the past, and what it had been—sex, intimacy—but it created a different awareness now. He wasn’t twenty-five, and yet he still exuded the same energy and masculinity. She still found him attractive and appealing.
But as Jack drove south of the 5, she could remember how heartsick she’d been, leaving Jack’s room to return to hers. She remembered how sad she’d felt flying home. It had been a long flight back to San Francisco. She’d cried into her travel pillow, hating herself and yet not even sure why she felt so upset.
Maybe it was because she wasn’t good at casual sex. Or maybe it was because the sex hadn’t felt casual to her. She’d had a crush on Jack and the crush ended up with her naked in his bed and then . . . nothing.
She couldn’t relax and enjoy being together. She couldn’t stop thinking that she could end up pregnant or hurt. She couldn’t stop wondering what he thought of her, and her body. Were her breasts too small? Were her thighs too wide? Did he notice that her belly wasn’t perfectly flat?
Was he comparing her to others?
Did she even matter to him?
No wonder she couldn’t fully enjoy herself. In her twenties, Paige had liked her brain, but waged war on her body. She exercised relentlessly, all the way through grad school, trying to reshape parts that weren’t perfect, thinking that once everything was perfect, she’d be . . . what?
Happy? Relaxed? Secure?
She shifted restlessly, thinking she’d put far too much pressure on herself for all the wrong reasons, and at the same time, she was glad she hadn’t been raised in an era where social media influenced girls and young women so much.
Jack glanced at her. “You okay?”
She nodded. “Just thinking that there are advantages to getting older. I’m glad I’m not twenty anymore. I like being my age. I like having some perspective.”
They arrived at her apartment complex soon after, and, climbing from the car, Paige thanked him for the ride. She watched as he did a U-turn and pulled out of her building’s cul-de-sac. It was so strange being with Jack again. It had stirred up old memories, including memories she wasn’t comfortable with.
Having been raised in a stable, loving home, she’d been naive about people and relationships. Neither of her parents drank very much, and they’d always worked hard, mom in the house, dad on the property. They each had their own area of responsibilities, but their work complemented each other. They complemented each other. Every time she dated someone, she’d wondered if this was the one. If he was the right one. She’d never dated just to date. She hadn’t thought she’d been all that conservative, but looking back, she hadn’t taken a lot of risks. Jack had probably been one of the biggest risks. Sex on a first date. How very daring.
Lips quirking, she unlocked her door and let herself into her apartment. It was dark, a little too dark. She moved around the living room, tilting the blinds on the windows, letting in soft afternoon light.
She’d liked Jack in Paris. She’d been almost dazzled by him. Heart-stoppingly handsome and impossibly interesting. He had more charisma than any man she’d ever met. She’d been flattered when he’d stayed at the brasserie to talk to her. She’d wanted him to kiss her. She’d wanted him to want her. But leaving his room in the early hours of the morning, she’d felt heartsick and confused, suspecting she liked him far more than he liked her. Suspecting she’d disappointed him. She wasn’t a sophisticate in bed. She’d fumbled around but didn’t know how to give a proper hand job, or blow job. Her lasting impression of their night had been one of incompetence. He was experienced. She was not. In bed, he was adventurous and playful. While she just . . . froze.
It’s why she’d flown home. Better to lick her wounds in private.
Jump forward thirty years and she still found Jack handsome, and oh-so-interesting. He still gave her butterflies, too.
But she also still wanted to run away.
* * *