The Ex Talk

And of course that starts the slow-motion replay behind my eyelids. The adrenaline rush of those new touches, the incontrovertible fact that I have never had an orgasm as good as any with Dominic.

The incontrovertible fact that I have never talked so honestly with any man but Dominic.

“I only suggested it because you kept pushing to talk about it, and I figured it was because you didn’t want me to get the wrong idea. And I knew how important the show was to you—is to you,” he continues. “I didn’t want to risk ruining the show if I didn’t think you were on the same page.”

“What same page?”

“That it’s never felt casual to me.” His fingers dance along the edge of the bench, a couple inches from my thigh. “Not back on the island, and not here. It’s torture, sitting next to you right now and not being able to touch you. You’re whip-smart and sexy and fun, and spending time with you just . . . makes everything else a little less difficult.”

Now my pulse is roaring in my ears. I’m grasping for any bit of logic, all my defenses up. I want so badly to believe him. “But that time on the show, with that caller—you said you were interested in someone.”

He rolls his eyes like I am the densest human on earth, and maybe I am. “Yeah. You.”

A dam inside me breaks. Everything I’ve been holding in crashes out in one big emotional flood. I have been so tired—of making excuses, of lying, of trying to convince myself I can ignore these feelings for him.

“Oh,” I say, feeling like a complete idiot. “Wow, you are really hard to read.”

That makes him laugh, but it’s a nervous laugh. His fingers make their way to my knee, thumb rubbing a slow circle.

“I brought you to meet my family,” he continues. “You’re the first person I’ve been with since Mia. The only person other than Mia. I’ve been giving you sign after sign.”

“I told you how I tend to get too attached. And I’m older than you, and I didn’t know if you wanted something serious. I didn’t want to get my hopes up, I guess. I told myself that if we were just casual, then it wouldn’t hurt to hear that you didn’t want to be together for real.”

“Shay. I showed you my fucking Beanie Babies.”

I can’t help laughing at that. “I don’t know what to say.”

“It would really help if you told me you like me, too.”

I bite back a smile and scoot closer, leaning in to cup his face with my palm. “Dominic. I like you so much. I thought it was obvious. I like that the person you show me isn’t the same as the one everyone else sees. You probably already know that I’m ridiculously attracted to you. And you care so deeply about the things in your life that are important to you—work, your family, Steve Rogers Goldstein.”

“And Shay Goldstein,” he says, adding to the list, and I might never want to leave this bench.

“It felt too real, being there at your house.” I run my thumb along the stubble on his cheek. “That was why I had to end it. I didn’t want to be there and not be your girlfriend.”

One corner of his mouth quirks upward. I’ve missed his dimple. “You want to be my girlfriend.”

“More than I want Ira Glass to personally ask me if I’ll replace him on This American Life.”

He breaks into a real, full grin then. And we’re kissing, and it’s like I’ve lived my whole life without chocolate and only now, at age twenty-nine, am discovering its sweetness.

His hands come up to my hair, messing up my ponytail. “God, I missed you,” he says as I settle against his chest, pressing my ear to his strong, steady heartbeat.

30

Breaking news: Texas is hot. Texas in June deserves its own circle of hell. My poor Pacific Northwest body wasn’t made for this.

It’s been two weeks of keeping the kind of secret that makes me smile at random times: while spreading peanut butter onto a morning bagel, while brushing my teeth, while sitting in traffic on my way home.

Because most of the time, I am going home to him.

It’s an early flight, and we luck out that Ruthie and Kent are on a later one. While I downloaded plenty of extra podcasts, I must end up passing out as soon as we get up in the air. When my eyes flutter open, the pilot is letting us know we’ve landed in Austin, where the local time is 1:40 p.m. and the weather is an incomprehensible ninety-five degrees.

> “Were you watching me?” I ask Dominic as I return my seat to its upright position.

“You mumble in your sleep.”

“I do not.”