Page 7 of Longing for the Mountain Man

“That’s surprising,” I said, sliding into the seat across from her.

The truth was, I wasn’t the most romantic guy in the world. I wanted her all to myself, and a restaurant wouldn’t have given us that kind of privacy. The courthouse was shut down until they could order furniture and replace the boarded-up windows.

“I would think you’d have guys lined up around the block,” I said.

She laughed. “Yeah, right.”

But I wasn’t laughing or smiling. I was dead serious.

“There weren’t many guys in my hometown,” she said as she unscrewed the cap on her bottled water. “Growing up with the same people from kindergarten to twelfth grade, you kind of start to think of each other as family. Then I grew up and moved to Nashville, but my job had me working with people who were either married with kids or my parents’ age. Now, I meet all kinds of people, but not many guys want to date a twenty-three-year-old virgin.”

I nearly choked on the bite of french fry I’d just taken. I had to chew, swallow, and uncap my drink, and by then she’d already taken a bite of her burger, as though what she’d said had been no big deal.

“Mmm,” she said as she returned the burger to the container. She pointed to it and nodded, then gave me a thumbs-up.

But food was the last thing on my mind right now. “Did you say you’re a virgin?”

By then, she’d swallowed and reached for her water again. She gave a nod.

“It becomes like…” She looked off to the side thoughtfully. “What is it they call that? An albatross? It’s like an albatross.”

I didn’t know what that meant, and my confused look seemed to get that across all too well.

She laughed. “I don’t know what an albatross is either. It’s a term I’ve heard all my life. I picture it like this big weight I carry everywhere with me. Maybe an albatross is a really heavy animal.”

“A bird?” I asked. “Sounds like a bird.”

All I was taking from this part of the discussion was that I liked the banter between us. I had a feeling conversations between us would always be this fun and interesting. Even the hard stuff in life would be easier if we could tackle it together.

Crap. Since when did I start thinking like that? At any other time in my life, if a woman had told me she was a virgin, I would have run. No woman had ever told me that.

“I’ve only had two serious relationships in my life,” I said. “One in high school, the other in my twenties. I thought I was going to marry that one.”

I didn’t want to talk about past relationships with her, but it felt like I should get this out. It was important to discuss it.

“We dated for seven years,” I said.

Presley sucked in a breath and stared at me, eyes wide. I knew exactly what she was thinking. Seven years was a long time. I definitely reeked of commitment phobia. In fact, she was the one who should be running at my words.

“Looking back, I realize things weren’t right between us,” I said. “I didn’t feel this.”

I looked pointedly at her as I said that last word. I wanted to make it clear that I was talking about her and this undeniable attraction between us. It couldn’t be one-sided. It had to be mutual. If not, it was probably best I know now.

“I know, right?” she asked. “I thought it was just me. This is different.”

I nodded. “I don’t want to scare you off, but?—”

“I want you to fuck me.”

Those words interrupted whatever I was about to say. I wouldn’t have been able to remember my train of thought if my life depended on it. All I heard was the “F” word coming out of her mouth and the fact that she wanted me to do that to her.

“I have protection in my tote bag,” she said. “Condoms.”

I set down what remained of my burger and stared at her. “You have condoms?”

“I stopped by the drugstore to get them.”

She gestured toward the back of her chair, where she’d hung her tote bag. That damn tote bag. She took it everywhere with her. I hadn’t even noticed she had it tonight, and I’d been the one who pulled the chair back for her.

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