Page 37 of Claim Me

Before we pull out, Indigo exhales and reaches for my hand. “I don’t know when we should fuck.”

“I’d prefer if you called it ‘making love.’”

He frowns hard, making me laugh. “I don’t know when we shouldmake love,” he says when I won’t stop giggling at his expression.

Glancing at his crotch, I ask, “Why can’t we do it now?”

“I’m being serious.”

“So am I.”

“I want it to be special, like a real relationship thing, not just a hookup.”

“You’re putting too much pressure on yourself,” I say and pat his thigh. “We’ll just run our errands and then go to Natasha’s place for a late lunch. Afterward, we’ll head back here and hang out. At some point, I’m bound to rub all over you. If you want tomake loveto my horny body, have at it. We’re together, right? This thing is real, isn’t it? Well, then, sex doesn’t need to be more complicated than that.”

“I want it to be special.”

Pressing his hand against my cheek, I sigh. “I know what happened at the clubhouse didn’t feel special to you. It wasn’t howyou imagined we’d be together. But it felt really good. Not only the sex part but how you wanted me. It awoke something new inside me. That made it special.”

“But it wasn’t romantic.”

“Indigo, I want you. Last night, we both came just from rubbing up against each other. It was crazy hot. Why can’t that be enough? You’re starting a relationship with someone you plan to bang even when I’m old and saggy.”

Indigo grins at that last part. “I hope I keep my hair,” he says and touches his head. “Your dad still has a lot of hair.”

“And my mom looks great at sixty. But if I get droopy and gray, you’ll love me, right?”

“Always,” he says with complete certainty.

Smiling, I lean over and kiss him. “The way you see me is the only romance I need. I mean those flowers yesterday were lovely, but I was happier spending time with you than smelling them.”

Indigo gets pensive on the drive to the grocery store. I never realized how much he doesn’t understand about people and life. He hides his confusion well. In fact, many times, he acts as the calm voice when everyone else is freaking out.

However, Indigo didn’t grow up normal. Years ago, Mom told me how some of the boys were so busy trying to survive that they never learned to do the most basic things. She had to teach them to stay clean or eat more than whatever tasted good. Many never learned anything in school since they were too young, tired, or nervous to pay attention.

“They were twelve-year-old boys with the knowledge of toddlers,” she told Carys and me. “But they seemed functional. Only after I asked questions and pushed them a little did I realize how little they knew.”

With her words in mind, I decide the best way to help Indigo is to explain what’s happening and why. Simply be honest and never play games.

That’s why I ask him a million questions at the store. I want to know what he enjoys eating and what he might consider trying.

“I thought you didn’t like to cook,” he says when we’re in the meat aisle.

“I used to enjoy it, but the girls were too young to care and Sync would react the same no matter what I made.”

“I don’t care what you cook for me.”

Sighing, I shake my head. “Iwantyou to care. When my mom would make her special casseroles or her orange chicken recipe, everyone would get excited. It was a big deal if she grilled burgers or made pizza. I want what I make to be important, too. If not, I’ll just make buttered noodles all the time.”

“I like your buttered noodles. I also enjoyed that roast beef sandwich you made me a few months ago.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I like how you toasted the bun.”

Smiling now, I nudge him as we walk down the aisles. “I want to be like my mom. She always knows the right thing to say. Carys has that same ease with her family. But I fumble at what seems so easy for them.”

“That’s only because of Sync,” Indigo says and runs his hand down my back. “You were more confident before things ended with him.”

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