Chapter 17 #2
“Look,” he continues, “I’ll be honest with you.
I don’t do relationships because I’m not interested in a serious future with someone.
I don’t want marriage, and I definitely don’t want kids.
So it’s not really fair of me to ask for commitment from someone when I have no plans to ever make something permanent.
Flings are just easier. The expectations are low, and usually no one gets hurt.
But just because I know I don’t want those things doesn’t mean I can’t act accordingly for a few months.
I’m not going to disrespect you that way, especially because we’re going to be intimate.
There needs to be trust between us, and I need you to know you can trust me while we’re doing this, okay? ”
Minutes pass as we stay quietly assessing each other.
The fire is still going. The Christmas tree lights blink softly in my peripheral vision.
Outside, one of Nora’s horses neighs in the distance.
He’s being honest about who he is and what he wants, and I can appreciate that.
Honestly, it makes this easier because we both want different things.
Different is good. It’s safer. “Okay,” I say finally.
He nods, satisfied, and his posture settles like it was important to him that I understood where he stands.
I’m not going to complain about the exclusivity, but I hate the little dip it causes in my stomach when I think about it.
I’ve just never been anyone’s priority in that way before, temporary or not.
“A few more things,” he adds, slipping into a more businesslike mode. “If either of us starts to feel like the arrangement isn’t working—for any reason—we say so. No letting it fester. No weirdness. We’re adults.”
“Agreed. Don’t make it weird.”
“And the lessons”—he pauses, treading carefully—”go at whatever pace you’re comfortable with. There’s no timeline. Nothing happens until you say so. That part is entirely in your hands.”
I nod, not trusting my voice on that particular topic.
“Can I ask what your experience has been?” His voice is soft, as if he’s trying not to upset me. “I understand if you don’t want to talk about it, because it’s really none of my business, but it would help me determine where to start and what you’ll be ready for.”
I figured he would probably want to know. And since I’m the one asking for this, it only seems fair to tell him the truth, even if it is something I try not to think about.
“I’m not a virgin, if that’s what you’re worried about.
” A laugh huffs out of me, though it’s anything but funny.
“There was this guy, and I really liked him, and coincidentally his friend was really into Layla. Somehow we all ended up hanging out at a party before everyone moved away for college. Layla and his friend really hit it off and ended up upstairs at the house we were all at. And then it was me, alone with the guy I really liked.”
Cole’s gaze darkens, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows roughly. I can see where his line of thinking is going, and that is not what happened.
“It was consensual,” I say quickly. “I was just painfully shy most of high school, so I’d barely kissed anyone.
But I really liked him, and I thought he liked me too.
It was a lot to happen all at once, and he didn’t know what he was doing either, so it wasn’t the most pleasant experience.
” I suck in a deep breath because this part is the hardest to talk about.
“Afterward, I found out he basically took one for the team so his friend could be with Layla and I wouldn’t be in the way.
I overheard him talking about ‘popping the chubby twin’s cherry.
’ It was pretty hurtful and mortifying, so you can see why I’ve been reluctant to do that again.
” My gaze darts to the floor, embarrassment burning my skin.
Cole sits up, spine stiffening like a rod, heaving exhalations coming out of him. “Is this the guy who was giving you a hard time when I came in to get ice that one time?”
I can’t believe he remembers that. Forcing my eyes to meet his, I nod slowly.
Sharp air hisses from his nostrils as his lips clamp down tightly.
He looks like a bull about to charge the matador.
“If I ever see that fucker come in again and so much as look at you, I’ll smash his face into the cobblestone sidewalk out front and then sue him for the blood splatter negatively impacting my business.
And I’m not fucking kidding.” He takes a deep breath, trying to compose himself.
“He knew you were out of his league and wanted his friends to think he was cool. Trust me, it was you doing him a favor, and he’s well fucking aware of it.
Weak boys say shit like that, and you deserved so much better than that for your first time. ”
“Thanks.” I swallow the bundle of emotion in my throat, yet my eyes still fill up with tears.
I blink them back, but a few stray ones roll over the ledge and spill down my cheeks.
I swipe them away quickly, trying to erase the vulnerability of it all.
It’s been so long, it shouldn’t still be this hard to talk about.
Cole gives me a moment to compose myself, and I’m grateful when it seems he’s going to move on from the subject. He stands without a word and crosses to the fireplace, crouching down to add another log. He takes his time with it—adjusting it, waiting for it to catch.
I really shouldn’t notice the way his back muscles pull taut beneath the fabric of his shirt as he works at the logs.
It’s not my fault. It has to be something primal.
A man making fire—that’s about as primal as it gets.
I can’t fight biology or science or whatever it is.
It’s probably just my brain clinging to something else so I don’t have to think about everything I just told him.
Yeah, that’s definitely what it is. Definitely.
By the time he straightens and picks up both our glasses to refill them in the kitchen, I feel better. Relaxed, maybe even relieved.
Taking a breath, I press my palms flat on my thighs. “Okay.” I let out a small, slightly embarrassed laugh when he comes back and sets my glass down in front of me. “That was sufficiently mortifying. What’s next? Twenty questions? Should we schedule the first lesson?” I joke.
His expression teeters somewhere between amused and curious, illuminated by the soft glow of the fireplace. Almost no one looks bad bathed in the radiance of fire, but Cole is already inconceivably handsome, and certain of it too.
Something tells me I am very unprepared for what this man has in store for me.
“The wedding is in March,” he starts, “which gives us a few months. Between now and then we figure out the rest as we go.” He leans forward, forearms on his knees. “Questions?”
I think about it, trying to focus on his question and not his face. “What do we tell people about how we got together? People are going to ask.”
He shrugs. “The truth, mostly. We’ve known each other most of our lives but got closer when I opened the tasting room next door to Novel. It happened gradually from there. Easier to keep it close to reality than to make up something complicated.”
That checks out. The best lies always have a kernel of truth in them. “I think that covers it then.”
“Almost.” He runs his index finger slowly around the rim of his water glass, eyes dropping to it for a moment before lifting back to mine. “There’s one more thing we can actually work on tonight. If you’re up for it. Sort of a pre-lesson.”
I shift slightly, my stomach clenching. “What do you mean?”
“Getting physically comfortable with each other. Most couples touch, show affection in public.” He holds my gaze. “Sometimes they kiss.”