Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 70376 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70376 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
“Right.” He nods. “So I say we add sex-friend to the roommate title and see where that gets us for now. What do you say?”
“Sure.”
“Now tell me what you’re thinking about. It’s good to share. And you know you’re safe with me.”
Guess he has a point. Sharing in any kind of relationship is necessary. It’s quite possibly one of the areas where I let the team down in the last one. Because despite the divorce not being my fault, I can definitely do better in the future. I hope. So I sit up straighter, pulling myself together. “I knew it would be different having sex with someone else, it just kind of surprised me is all.”
“In what way?”
“I don’t know . . . it’s hard to describe exactly. And some of it kind of sucks to own up to,” I admit. “Like, I might have been married to Ryan, but in a lot of ways I’m more open with you.”
“It wasn’t the thing I did with my . . .” He wriggles his pinkie finger. That finger had done things to me. Rude things.
“No. Though that was a little surprising.”
“You’ll tell me if there’s anything you don’t want me to do, right?” he asks.
“Right,” I say. “But I wasn’t talking about physically so much as emotionally. Which is odd considering we’re not exactly in a relationship.”
“Eh. We sort of are.”
“We just agreed to be roommates with benefits.”
He raises a brow. “That’s not a relationship?”
“Not really. Not in the way most people would think of a romantic relationship partnership sort of thing.”
“Good God, this is complicated,” he says. “No wonder I steer clear of this shit normally. Can’t we just enjoy being together? Hanging out?”
“We can do that. We are doing that.”
“Phew. All right then.”
I give him my practiced polite smile. Only he’s too busy contemplating his chocolate cake to notice.
“You think maybe you trust me more than you trusted him?” he asks eventually after swirling the frosting around on his bowl with his spoon for a while. “Or do you think the accident and subsequent bullshit sort of broke you down and opened you up a little?”
“I honestly don’t know.”
“It was a hell of a thing to go through. It wouldn’t be surprising if your view of the world and your place in it had undergone some changes.”
“Is that what happened with your accident and . . . everything else?” I don’t want to bring up the ex who used and abused him and tried to kill Clem. But it is relevant to the topic of conversation.
He thinks it over for a moment. “I was bitter for a long time. Maybe I still am a bit. It made it hard to trust people, you know?”
“Yeah.”
“But I’m getting there,” he says. “How about you?”
“I hope I’m getting there. It hasn’t really been that long. Makes it kind of hard to say.”
“Hmm.”
“Guess I’ll have to think about it.”
“I’m sure you will,” he says with all due seriousness. “In the meantime, how do you feel about me smearing chocolate frosting on your tits and licking it off?”
“Sounds messy.”
“But fun, right?”
And the dude is grinning like it’s Christmas. How could I possibly say no?
Monday is spent having sex, watching movies, and doing laundry. Frosting and body fluids are a sticky combination. We watch more Twilight because Twilight, the eternal battle between Edward’s poetically floppy hair and Jacob’s muscles, must go on. Leif also talks me into watching an awesome Indonesian action-thriller called The Raid. Food-wise, our lessons in the kitchen include making pasta carbonara from scratch since I got the pasta machine in the divorce. This was also an excellent excuse to open a bottle of Pinot Grigio.
A very good day off is had by all. Tuesday and the workweek returns all too soon.
“A sternum tattoo?” I ask with a smile that’s as fake as can be. “Wow.”
“I’m ready for you, Courtney,” says Leif, standing by the back hallway. Because the room out back is necessary for work requiring some privacy due to the exposure of certain body parts. Like breasts.
Courtney is a perky blonde. I shouldn’t have used the word perky. Poor choice.
My roommate with benefits flashes me a smile before disappearing into said room with the girl. Woman. Client.
Meanwhile, Ed is watching me with a speculative gaze while he sips his coffee. His first appointment for the day cancelled due to illness. Though Ed doesn’t seem particularly upset or anything by the loss of work. Guess there are always other jobs to do when you own a small business.
He too receives my best fake smile.
“She’ll be wearing tape over her nipples if it makes it any better,” he says in a quiet voice.
So I really am an open book. “Not particularly.”
“It’s just part of the job, Anna.”
“I know. It’s fine, really.”
He does not appear convinced. “Doctors have to look at body bits all day long, too.”