Page 49 of Make Me Want it Too

I turn around. “No, you were not.”

“You didn’t even consider that as a possibility?”

“Never even crossed my mind.”

“Oh.” He walks into the bedroom and sits in the chair to put on his shoes, mouth downturned like I’ve never seen before. He always looks like he’s at least half smirking.

Wait—was he trying to hook up with me back in college?

I try to think back to that first night. I know I met him, but I can’t recall any of the details. That was also the night I met Spencer. I remember every detail of Spencer’s and my first conversation, from the way we talked about the pre-med anatomy and physiology professor to the color of his shirt—a heathered gray polo.

I join Wood in the bedroom, hanging back by the dresser to put on my earrings.

I still can’t quite believe that he was into me at any point, but I guess we were twenty and drinking—stranger things have happened. I was younger and cuter and better rested back then.

Still, I was never in his league. He’s an adonis. He doesn’t even look real. It’s like he was sculpted out of a fantasy. He’d never really want me.

“I’m sorry,” I say, because I don’t know what else to say.

He stands, ready to go to the wine tasting. “It’s okay. I was young and stupid—well, more stupid—I probably would have blown it anyway. But if things had gone differently, you would have at least gotten decently laid.”

“Are you implying Spencer’s bad in bed? He’s not.”

Wood chuckles. “Nah, that sort of guy has internalized issues—probably only does missionary.”

My cheeks heat.

“Now, don’t get me wrong,” he continues, “I love missionary. It’s actually probably my favorite position, but not how a lot of guys do it. They’re either like fish out of water flopping on top with no rhythm, or jackhammers only concerned about getting themselves to the finish line. The other person might as well not even be there.”

A little part of me shatters—the part that was cracked when Spencer broke up with me—the place where I hid away everything wrong in our relationship. Somewhere I could ignore it and make it easier to convince myself it wasn’t a big deal. But Wood just described my sex life for the last six years, and put that way, it sounds miserable. And it is a big deal.

Why did I do that to myself for so long? Why did I convince myself that Spencer was perfect, and I was the problem?

“Not me,” Wood continues, buttoning the cuffs on his sleeves. “It’s about the rhythm, moving together, taking cues from the other person, making sure they’re enjoying themselves, because when she’s enjoying it, it’s so much better. Mace?”

I tear my gaze away from his wrist, realizing I’ve been staring at it and zoning out for too long.

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

“Thinking about what?”

“About how good I’d be at fucking you.”

Air rushes out of my lungs. “I am not!”

He shrugs and purses his lips as if to say he doesn’t believe me.

“I was not…” I lower my voice. “I was not thinking about you f… fiddle sticking me.”

“Fiddle sticking?” He pushes his tongue against the inside of his cheek then smiles slowly, showing his perfectly straight white teeth and looking infuriatingly handsome doing it. “I can work with that. It’s time to go.”

CHAPTER 10

WOOD

She never even considered me an option.

Can’t say that doesn’t sting.

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