Chapter 8
I’m almost certain my heart is going to pump out of my chest. I gaze up at him through the low sweep of my lashes, and with the way he’s looking at me, the noise and worries rattling in my mind quiet a little. He leans in, and I close my eyes, feeling his lips meet mine.
It’s like slipping into a sun-warmed ocean. His kiss, soft and silken, turns my insides to liquid. For a moment, I let myself sink—not too deep, just enough to feel immersed while still keeping the shore beneath my feet.
His fingers gently tighten on my cheeks, his tongue teasing mine with slow, seductive strokes.
I exhale, my breath catching on a moan. I didn’t know a kiss could be this tender, this sublime, yet with a steady thrum of fire beneath it.
I’m shocked by just how much I crave the lick of flames, that hot demand to drown out my fears, my doubts, my insecurities.
His hands move from my cheeks to my waist and lower to the dip in my back, drawing me closer.
My mouth responds to his, letting him take the lead.
My tongue joins in to engage in an arousing game of touch and retreat.
My head swims. He feels so good against me, strong and solid with a soft, thick middle and a definite bulge.
A hushed sound of pleasure throbs at the base of my throat.
I curl my arms around his neck, desire pooling deep in my belly.
He explores the shape of me, his hands tracing the curves of my hips through the denim, his fingers skimming upward, climbing the ladder of my ribs.
I tremble with each pass of his fingertips, losing myself in the sensations.
The hardened tips of my nipples graze his shirt, aching to be touched—with his hands, his mouth.
Clinging to him, my urgency and desperation are too much, too fast.
I draw away and lick my lips, still feeling him there, like a tenacious temptation.
I open my eyes to find him staring back, his gaze dark and fringed by thick black lashes.
A random fact floats through my mind, grounding me: the average person has two hundred lashes per eye. Chaz seems to have more.
“Damn, Lex,” he murmurs, his voice husky and breathless. “What part of that was bad?”
“It was okay?”
“It was incredible.” His lips brush mine once more.
I might have doubted him—chalked up his reassurances to charm or kindness—if not for the hard evidence pressing into me. Still, I’m hyperaware of how much more skilled and practiced he feels. “I was nervous,” I admit, inching back.
“So was I.”
His confession makes me pause. “You were?”
He nods slowly, his gaze dipping to my lips, lingering as if memorizing them, before meeting my eyes again. “Yeah. First kisses matter. I wanted to leave a good impression.”
Warmth spreads under my skin at the sweet touch of vulnerability, giving me a boost of confidence. “Mission accomplished.”
He grins, his hands tightening on my waist just enough to make me swoon. “Good. Because I’m planning to make the second one even better.”
SISTAHS4EVER Group Chat
Jordyn: Happy Saturday! I’m watching Euro soccer and eating cold pizza for breakfast. Straight from the box. I’m in heaven. Whatcha doing?
I send back a laughing emoji and drag the towel over my face.
Lex: Working out.
Jordyn: Ooh, horny exercising after a night with the sexy singer.
Leave it to Jordyn to pick up on the vibe from a hundred miles away.
Lex: We kissed.
Jordyn: Holy shit, babe!! How was it?
Lex: Exquisite. Hot. Perfect.
As if I came with a how-to manual.
Jordyn: Yasss! I knew Chaz would bring it. So excited for you.
Dee: Me too!! Just catching up. So, how are you feeling?
Conflicted. How can I desire something so badly yet fear it just as much?
The idea of being intimate with Chaz presses all my panic buttons.
What if I freeze up like I’ve done before—or worse, go numb?
It’s not like I’ll be able to fake it. He’s too perceptive, too observant.
He wouldn’t be fooled for a second. That would be catastrophic—a humiliation of epic proportions that would send me spiraling.
Lex: I want to pump the brakes and hit the accelerator all at once. I’m supposed to be figuring out my future and taking care of my health, not getting in over my head with Chaz.
Jordyn: A hot, exquisite kiss, babe. Sounds like he’s just the man to offer you some sexual healing.
Dee: Marvin Gaye. I’m ovulating just thinking about that song.
Jordyn: Right?! After Dr. Snooze, you deserve someone who makes you feel desirable, who will bring out that little sex pot I know is waiting to break free.
My friends have no love for Richard, a.k.a Dr. Snooze.
But as bad as it was with him, my sexual issues started long before.
I didn’t feel the kind of desire other women talked about—not until now.
I lost my virginity at twenty-two to Winston Hughes in the penthouse suite of the hotel his father owned.
It wasn’t good—certainly not earth-shaking.
After the initial burst of pain, all I felt was numb.
I wanted to believe it was first-time nerves, but subsequent encounters proved otherwise.
Lex: What if, despite the hot kiss, I still can’t have an orgasm?
Jordyn: Oh, babe. Just because you haven’t with other men doesn’t mean you won’t with Chaz.
Dee: It’s true, Lex. You obviously have a strong connection that goes beyond just attraction. Most women experience more pleasure during intimacy when there’s an emotional element involved.
This is a sad commentary, given that I was nearly engaged to Richard, and yet it’s true. There is just something about Chaz that makes me feel different. That makes me just feel. But—
Jordyn: I can practically hear you freaking yourself out. I bet you’re rolling your lip.
I release it from between my teeth.
Lex: There’s just too much that could go wrong.
Dee: My suggestion is to talk to Chaz. Be honest with him about your experiences and worries. From everything you’ve told us about him, he’ll be patient and understanding. That might take the pressure off.
Always the voice of reason, what Dee said makes sense. I just can’t imagine having that kind of conversation with him. What would I even say? Hey, Chaz, I’m frigid, but I’m hoping you can thaw me out.
After ending the chat, I toss my phone aside and put on another Pilates video. I push through the movements as if my actions can somehow force away the nagging thoughts and lingering desires.
Initially, I’d misjudged him as a smooth, tatted playboy too charming for his own good.
He proved me wrong on that first non-date and ever since.
He’s funny, emotionally deep, and thoughtful.
He’s the first man who truly wanted to get to know me.
He caters to my interest in photography, freezing his butt off so I can geek out over angles and lighting.
He listens and supports me. He makes me chocolate-flavored lattes topped with adorable foam art. He looks at me like I matter.
I can’t bear the possibility of disappointing him. It’s assumed that most adults enjoy sex of some kind. I just don’t. I loved kissing him, but that will eventually lead to intimacy, and that’s when he’ll discover I’m . . . broken.
Tired of the litany of thoughts that do nothing but exhaust me, I put on my noise-canceling earphones and blast my Fuck-It playlist. Music is often my mental salvation when other strategies don’t work.
While it doesn’t stop the intrusive thoughts, it immerses my brain in the lyrics and rhythm, filtering out the rest.
I open my laptop on the kitchen island, pulling up a blank document.
I title it “My Future” and frown. Too onerous.
Deleting the words, I try again. “Career Options.” Better.
The music pauses in my ear, announcing a text message from Chaz Delgado, Airbnb host, the name I’d given him when that’s all he was to me. The electronic voice reads:
Hey, Blue. I’m whipping up a new latte with a secret ingredient. Need your expert opinion. When can you get here?
I feel an automatic smile tug at my lips. I know I should stay here and get some productive work done. But he’s like a drug, and I’m already hooked. Afraid of where this is heading but too addicted to stop.
Lex: Be there in 15.
Barely a second passes before the next ping.
Chaz: I’ll be waiting.
When I arrive at the Acoustic Café, I’m greeted with the familiar hum of conversation, the clinking of mugs, and the smell of espresso.
Chaz is behind the counter wearing an apron over a Henley shirt, open at the collar and pushed up to reveal those thick, inked forearms, his afro a mass of curls.
He’s not the clean-cut preppy type like Richard or any of my prior suitors.
His piercings and tattoos alone would have my mother clutching her Mikimoto pearls.
He catches my eye and flashes that deep-dimpled grin as he prepares a customer’s order. It’s an unfair advantage that never fails to release a swarm of butterflies in my stomach. I offer a modest smile and a finger wave.
“Hi, Lexie.” Sophia greets me at the counter. “C said you’re coming to dinner tomorrow.”
“Only if you don’t mind me crashing your birthday party.”
“I’m glad you’ll be there. It’ll give us a chance to talk outside of the café.”
“I’d like that.”
“Grab a seat. C’s working on something for you.”
“Can’t wait to try it,” I say, reaching for my wallet.
“He won’t let you pay.”
“I feel bad, though,” I admit, not wanting to take advantage.
“Why? Doing something nice for you makes him feel good. C is all about acts of service for the people he cares about.”
I nod, unsure how to respond, and put my wallet away. The people he cares about. A big statement said so simply. Of course, it plays over and over in my head as I find our spot by the fireplace. I straighten the sugar packs, waiting for him to finish behind the counter.
He stops at a nearby table first, dropping off a drink. “Here you go, Miss Arlee.”