Chapter 4
Chastity
Hugging Hank is a bad idea.I’m in his arms, and he’s talking directly into my ear, his breath tickling along my neck.
He makes me laugh and he turns me on. It’s a dangerous combination.
I pull away, flustered. “So what is it? Lesson one?”
“If a guy texts you ‘what’s up?’ don’t answer.”
I stare at him blankly. That’s his big advice? “Why not?”
“Just don’t answer. At all. No response. Don’t ever allow a man to be that lazy with you because it sets a precedent. Trust me, if you ignore him, it will get under his skin, and he’ll try harder. You ignore the ‘what’s up?’ and the next day he’ll be texting you, asking you what your favorite book is or what you love to do on a Saturday afternoon or if you’re big on Christmas.”
He seems very adamant about this. “Isn’t that playing some kind of game or being manipulative?”
“No. It’s not about playing at anything. It’s about not allowing him to be lazy in how he dates you. Don’t engage with lazy, because then that’s what you’ll always get.”
“Are a lot of men lazy?”
“Very. Women are too. It’s easy to just meet someone on an app, send a couple of messages, and hook up. It creates bad habits.”
“Are you lazy?”
“I am when I’m not that interested, but there’s nothing else currently going on. Some women put up with it, some don’t. Then, if something better does come along, I go silent until whatever the new thing is fizzles out. and then I might go back with a “what’s up?” See if I can get her talking to me again.”
His honesty is appalling. “That’s horrible.”
“It’s the truth. Women do the exact same thing. If you want casual, it’s all too easy.”
I sip my sweet tea. This is going to be harder than I thought. I don’t know how to read the signals. At all. “But isn’t it rude not to answer a text?”
“No. It’s rude to send a generic text that puts the burden of conversation on the receiver. It’s basically a guy asking you to entertain him.”
I don’t say anything. I’m thinking, questioning if I really have it in me to ignore someone’s text.
“I can practically hear what you’re thinking. I know it seems rude, but trust me on this. You can do it. Ignore him.”
I make a face, but I nod.
“Lesson two. If he does ghost you and comes back around, block his number. Because that means he’s doing exactly what I just described to you, and he’s only sort of interested, and it’s never going anywhere. He’s just filling time.”
I nod again because I do see his point. “Block him. Got it.”
“If he makes plans with you and flakes at the last minute, also block him. He’s just messing around, and that’s not going to change.”
I’m starting to sweat in my sweater that is too small. I haven’t had the budget to buy a lot of clothes, and I’m feeling like I’m being squeezed by a boa constrictor right now. “It seems to me like you’re assuming something better than me will always be coming along.”
Hank waves his hand. “No, no, that’s not what I mean. I mean that you’re looking for something real. Relationships seem like a great idea in theory to people, but then they get scared when it seems like it might actually happen.”
“Are you talking about yourself?” I ask, curious. Hank has to be thirty. I wonder how many serious girlfriends he’s had. Not that it matters, but I’m still curious. He also admitted he’s afraid he’ll fuck it up, and I wonder why he thinks that.
“What? No. I try to be honest and forthright. I’ve had a couple of serious girlfriends. I just…like to try new flavor combinations.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Sometimes I wonder if you actually hear the things that come out of your mouth. Also, Porte French isn’t exactly bursting with ingredients, so good luck with that.”
“I’m too busy right now to have a girlfriend,” he says. “My restaurant is opening in March.”
“Restaurant?” I’m caught completely off guard. “You’re opening a restaurant here?”
“Yes. That’s why I moved back. I bought the old courthouse on Main Street, and I’m converting it.”
“You moved back?” I realize I just keep repeating what he’s saying, but I had no idea he’s actually here permanently. The thought makes all my girl parts flutter. The ones I thought had been buried deep under a layer of responsibility. “I thought you were in town visiting your family, seeing your grandfather. I didn’t realize you were moving here. Where do you live?”
“Court Street. I got an apartment next to the coffeeshop.”
That’s close to my house. Only a few blocks away. I don’t know how I’m supposed to sleep night after night knowing he is a two-minute drive away from me. “That’s…wow. You moved here. You’re opening a restaurant.”
“Yes. Does that bother you?”
“What? No. I’m just surprised.”
“Ah, I see. You want to be seen around town with me for a week or two, then I will disappear, and you’ll be free to date whoever you want. With me living here, that might be awkward.”
I haven’t even thought that far ahead. I shake my head. “That’s not it. I just…”
His hand is somehow suddenly on my knee. “What? You can tell me. You can tell me anything.”
“I want to have sex with you,” I blurt out.
Hank doesn’t even miss a beat. He immediately stands up, pulling his wallet out of his pocket to pay his tab. “Let’s go then.”
That makes me laugh. “I didn’t mean right now. I mean that I can’t have sex with you, and it’s going to be really darn hard to resist you if you’re always around. It’s a challenge I didn’t know I was facing, but don’t worry. I feel confident I can stay strong.”
Mostly. My confidence level is hovering around eighty percent.
“Oh, goodie,” Hanks says, sitting back down with a hard plunk. “Just what I wanted to hear.” He lifts his glass. “Explain to me one more time, slowly, just to make sure I understand this fully because I’m struggling, but why can’t we have sex? We’ve already had sex. We’re not breaking some kind of seal here. We done broke it, Chastity.” He’s turned up his backwater drawl. “We crossed the line, we got carried away, we went overboard. All in. I know what you look like naked. I’ve tasted you.”
That makes me suck in a breath. My nipples tighten. Hank looks grumpy as hell and he keeps glancing at my mouth. He’s tall and muscular, but on the leaner side, unlike his brothers, and right now he’s in a T-shirt that displays his multiple tattoos. He has dimples,and blue eyes, and brown hair that’s shorter now than when we were younger. Back then, it had fallen forward and tickled my thighs when he went down on me. Long hair, short, in-between, it doesn’t matter. I’m not sure he could actually be any hotter.
When I was in middle school, he was the high school quarterback, and I had a crush on him. A big, swelling, irrational crush where he was going to take one look at me, fall madly in love with me, and take my virginity in a glorious haze of pleasure. It’s half the reason I went out for cheerleading, because his high school girlfriend was a cheerleader. I thought that made me a lock for winning his heart.
But then he went away to college and I grew up, though I didn’t gain any sense, and when I was eighteen, I got a quarter of the equation. He didn’t fall in love with me, and he was four weeks behind my virginity being taken, but it was a glorious haze of pleasure.
I’ve already explained to him why I can’t have sex with him. I’m not sure what saying it again will matter. “I shouldn’t have brought up sex again. This is why I need a dating coach. I can’t say things like ‘I want to have sex with you’ and then follow it right up with ‘Oh, but sorry, I can’t.’”
That’s not fair to Hank or any other man I might be attracted to at some future date. It’s clear I have no idea what I’m doing and I never have.
“The horse already got let out of the barn,” he adds. “And we can’t shove him back in.”
“Are you sure?” I ask. “Every day, people put their horses back in the barn. They just open the door, and the horse goes right back on in. We can do that too.”
He makes a face. “But wait, are you the barn? Am I the horse? The metaphor is getting muddled, and so is this damn conversation.”
“I’m so sorry,” I tell him. “I shouldn’t have said it like that, that I want to…you know. It just caught me off guard that you’ve moved back home. I didn’t know that when I asked you to help me.”
When he doesn’t say anything else, I glance at my phone, feeling awkward. “I should go,” I tell him. “It’s late, and I have to work at eight tomorrow.”
“Sure. I’ll walk you to your car.” He stands up but he leaves his phone and drink on the bartop.
“You’re not leaving?”
He shakes his head. “Nope. I’m going to hang out with Conway.”
“Right.” I stand up and pull my purse off the back of my chair. I pull my wallet out to pay for the sweet tea.
“Don’t worry about it,” Hank says. “I’ve got it.”
I wave to Conway, then we start across the bar. Hank puts his hand on the small of my back, but then immediately drops it.
He opens the door for me, and I go through, grateful for the cool air. There’s a new bite in the air that indicates we may eventually get something that mimics winter. I unlock my car.
Hank opens the door for me. I slip behind it but hesitate. I shouldn’t say anything because I can’t seem to open my mouth without making it worse, but I want him to understand. I can’t stand the thought that he’s annoyed with me.
“Hank, it’s just that I’m scared because bad things happen when I…get carried away. The first time with you, well, Faith and all the other girls hated me afterwards. Then, after New Orleans, Miss Loretta, who’s been like a surrogate grandmother to me, wound up in a nursing home.”
He just stares at me, silent, though his eyebrows shoot up.
“So, who knows what would happen a third time?” I finish, instantly realizing I should have kept my mouth shut. It sounds ridiculous out loud. Like an excuse. “Bad things come in threes.”
Hank cups my cheeks and stares down at me intently.
“Chastity. I won’t bring up sex again, I promise. You have my word. I’m just going to be your friend and help you out. A friend helping a friend, that’s what this is.” He kisses the top of my head. “But maybe you don’t bring it up anymore either.”
I shiver as I nod. I want more. Which makes me feel guilty. “Thank you. I promise I won’t bring it up again either. You’re a good man.” I get in the car.
“I’m a fucking saint,” he says, giving me a grin. “That’s what I am.”
Then he turns and walks away, throwing his hand up in a wave without looking back. “I’ll text you tomorrow.”
“Goodnight, Hank.” I pull my car door shut. “Sweet Jesus,” I whisper in the dark interior. “What have I gotten myself into?”
Bad things happen to naughty girls.
The dire warning rings in my ears.
“Oh, zip it, Granny,” I say, frustrated, as I turn on my car. “Maybe you wouldn’t have been so cranky if you’d been getting railed on the regular.”
I drive home, go to bed, and lay awake for an hour trying not to picture getting railed on the regular by Hank Young.
It doesn’t work. It’s all I can picture.
Hank, over me in the dark, kissing me while he strokes inside me steadily, making me ache and moan and come…
I roll over and yank open my nightstand drawer. If this keeps up, I’m going to need to add batteries to my monthly Amazon order.