27. Jess
It’s working! I am flirting and it’s totally working!
I lace my arm through his offered elbow and walk out with him, my head on his shoulder. And I try so hard not to be half of the couple that makes out in the back of the Uber.
I really try.
The driver has zero interest in talking to either of us, so the only sounds in the car are the loud heater that may or may not be on its deathbed, and the faint sound of 90s RB playing through the speakers.
The sedan is still roomier than the car we took to my holiday party, but small enough that my leg is touching Connor’s in the back seat. His left hand is resting on my knee, his thumb gently drawing circles in a way that makes my stomach flip in anticipation. In response, I let my fingers skim the still exposed skin on his forearm. The touches are small at first, but grow more intense, neither of us looking anywhere except straight ahead, immersed fully in the sensations without the visual. My heart beats faster as his hand edges higher and I still my palms completely. When the car jostles over a speed bump, I grip his forearm and cover his hand with mine, directing him to meet the junction of my thighs. His breathing shifts as his fingers flex into the denim.
In a move that’s uncharacteristically bold for me, I decide to return the favor and reach over into his lap. The impressive bulge underneath his jeans encourages me to palm his erection in a hungry bid for more.
His head falls back and a small groan escapes him. He removes his grip from between my legs and removes my grip from between his, taking my hand in his and bringing it to his lips for a gentle kiss.
By the time the driver pulls up to my house, the windows of the poor guy’s car look like someone installed a sauna in his backseat.
We all politely exchange “thank yous” before Connor takes my hand and helps me out of the car. The air is crisp and our breath is visible as we silently walk to the front porch. Before I can have even half a coherent thought, my back is against the door, his hands are cradling my face, and his lips are on mine in a searing kiss. Like, no one has ever kissed me this way and I’m pretty sure no one else ever will. I think I hear my keys fall with a clang to the frosty concrete, but I am far more focused on the faded smell of his cologne and the taste of the leftover rum on his tongue.
How many times had I dreamed of this moment when we were in school? If I’m being honest, how many times had I dreamed of this moment since Thanksgiving? Not that it matters, because nothing compares to how good his lips actually feel on mine. A sigh escapes me involuntarily, which seems to drive him more, as he answers it with a growl of his own. My hands become restless, moving over his broad chest, down the planes of his stomach, gripping his biceps.
He responds in kind, gripping my hair before hoisting me up so my legs wrap around his waist. His length presses into me and I grind my hips against him to get closer.
He swears under his breath. “Jesus, Jess. We’ve got to stop.”
“I’m so sorry. Is it too much? Am I overdoing it?”
He stares at me in total confusion. “I feel like you can tell you’re doing everything right,” he smiles and moved his hips for effect. “Really right. Like, I’m-five-seconds-from-having-sex-with-you-in-your-front-yard-right.”
“Then why did you stop?”
“I’m sorry, did you want to have sex in your front yard?”
Oh my god, I was going to have sex in my front yard. Get it together, Berringer! You’re ridiculous to think he has any respect for you now.
I slowly release my grip on him and slide back down until my feet touch the ground. Without a word, I lean over to grab my keys and let us into the house.
“I can’t…” I stammer, “I mean, I don’t know if I can do this. I-I’m so sorry.” I don’t even bother turning on the lamp, so the only light streaming in is from the street post outside.
The lust drops from his face and I fully expect him to be angry with me. But as my eyes adjust, I see he looks more concerned than angry. “Talk to me,” he says, and sweet holy crap, he actually sounds genuine when he says it.
“I just…we said this is real now and that’s good. That’s great! It’s amazing. But it’s also terrifying because I haven’t been with anyone since Alex and also I haven’t…been with anyone since Alex.”
“I didn’t pressure you into anything, did I?” The distress in his voice breaks my heart.
“No! God, no, Connor. I was actually the one who kind of pounced on you in the back of a stranger’s car.”
His shoulders relax and a grin slides into place. “It was a mutual pouncing, I promise. And it was incredible. But you set the pace here, okay? I want to make sure you’re comfortable.”
“I am, I swear. I mean, mostly. I used to be better at this. Alex just...it got to a point where he stopped having sex with me altogether.”
Connor’s facial muscles are going to revolt after all the exercise they’re getting tonight. From lust to concern to relief to, well, he just looks dumbfounded now. “I’m sorry, what?”
“I know, I don’t even like to say it out loud because it’s so embarrassing. I don’t know what I did, or maybe didn’t do, but he obviously got bored or I was too eager. It wasn’t even like the sex was that great, but we were married, you know? He was my husband, I thought all men wanted to do it all the time and he just…he just stopped touching me. And when I would try to talk to him about it, he’d say that our marriage was about more than just sex. Like I was being superficial.”
I can see the gears turning in his head.
“I can’t believe I just dumped all of that on you, I am so sorry. See? That’s what you get for making me feel safe.” My feeble attempt to lighten the mood.
He walks closer to me and puts his hands on my shoulders. “You’re beautiful,” he says. “You’re stunning. You’re gorgeous. You’re sexy as hell.”
I shake my head, embarrassed.
“Why are you doing that? Do you not believe me?”
I’ve cried enough today, I really don’t want to give in to any more tears. So I stay quiet and stare at the floor.
“Hey. Hey, Jess, look at me.” He keeps his grip on my shoulders but leans down to get me to make eye contact with him. I eventually relent. “I had to physically restrain myself from dry humping you in the Uber like a horny teenager, and then I pretty much did dry hump you on your porch like a horny teenager. And more than that, you are smart and generous and funny. You care about everyone. Jessica Berringer is the total package, and that is why I am completely, totally, ridiculously happy to be her real boyfriend.”
I manage to smile a little at that. He’s not Alex. I know he’s not Alex. So why do I still feel so awful? “This isn’t a Connor thing,” I finally utter. “It’s an Alex thing. And I know that’s not your fault or your problem?—”
“It’s not about fault, Jess, and we can find a solution to every problem. Problem solving is actually just an additional turn-on for me,” he jokes. “I’m with you, okay? Whatever you need, I’m here.”
He’s impossible to resist. And even if I don’t fully believe this is real, I believe he believes what he’s saying. “For the record, I, too, am completely, totally, ridiculously happy that you’re my real boyfriend. I’m sorry I’m such a wreck.”
His hands move down my arms and pull me into a hug. “Jess, you’re not a wreck, you’re incredible. And I’m so sorry you went through that.”
“Is this an ‘I’m sorry, that sucks’ thing like earlier?”
“It is,” he confirms. “And if you don’t want to do the physical thing right now, then I understand. Whenever you’re ready. But you do have to watch Carnal Island with me, that’s non-negotiable.”
I lean back and look at him. I might never understand it, but this man truly wants to be with me. This smart, gorgeous man, who can have had his pick of any smart, beautiful woman, is choosing me. “Oh, I want the physical thing,” I promise him. “I really do. Being with you makes my brain happy. And kissing you makes other parts of me happy. I guess maybe I just need to ease into it.”
He looks at me for a beat before grinning widely. “Sooo you would be okay if I gave you one more kiss before we say good night?”
“I mean, I’d be upset if you didn’t.”
Our lips are centimeters apart. “Well, I wouldn’t want to upset you,” he murmurs.
“Then don’t.”
This kiss has a measured, more purposeful nature. He brushes my hair away from my face as he slowly claims my mouth again. Gone is the frantic need for release, and in its place is this. This feeling of tenderness, of being valued. It’s like he knows everything I was missing before, and this kiss is the first thing he’s restoring. He pulls back, and his eyes lock with mine. His smile is tender…he’s looking at me like he genuinely cares about me.
I’m starting to accept that he might.
“I’ll just sleep on the couch, if that’s okay,” he whispers.
“Not really,” I reconsider, licking my lips. “I might have been too hasty earlier.”
He runs his hands through his hair and I feel terrible for how frustrated he must be with me. He should be, I’m probably giving his poor penis whiplash. And not in a good way.
“You deserve something a lot more special than drunk sex after karaoke,” he finally states.
“I don’t though! I mean, maybe I do, but we can do that later. Let’s do drunk sex after karaoke, that sounds like fun!”
He grumbles in protest. “It sounds like a lot of fun,” he agrees, “But here’s the thing. I don’t want the first sex you have after that sad excuse for a man to be a hazy memory. I don’t want it to be something that just happened in the middle of the night.” He pauses for a moment and shakes his head. “I want you to be completely present and aware of every second I spend kissing, licking, and touching every inch of your body. Showing you how beautiful and sexy you are. Showing you how bad I want you. I want to worship you to the point that you don’t even remember his name.”
Is my thermostat broken? It’s like a million degrees in here. “Oh,” I exhale. “Yeah, okay, your plan sounds good, too.”
“Glad we’re on the same page, real girlfriend. Now if you’ll excuse me,” he gives me an all-too quick peck on the lips, “I need to grab myself a pillow from your linen closet and pretend that I didn’t secretly organize it a week ago.”
I laugh and wrap my arms around him one last time before pulling away and getting the couch set up for him. He pulls off his shirt and begins folding it neatly, placing it at the end of the couch. I need to get out of here before he goes for his pants. What is wrong with me?
“Good night.” I hear the smile in his voice without having to see his face.
“Good night, real boyfriend.”
I’m confused and a little out of breath and terrified and excited. But for the first time since my divorce, I feel like it’s okay I’m not single.