Page 64 of Happy After All

I drop the robe, and I feel his gaze burning into me as I make my way over to the closet and pull out a dress. I retrieve some underwear and a bra from the stacked drawers I have in the closet, and I retreat into the bathroom to put them on, because my boldness has reached its end.

When I emerge a few moments later, I’m dressed, with my hair arrayed into a more decent shape, a small amount of makeup on my face.

“Breakfast it is,” I say.

“Really, that’s what you’re going to play now? Like you didn’t just take your clothes off in front of me?”

“It wasn’t a lot of clothes,” I say. “I didn’t know you were a prude, Nathan. Many places in the desert are clothing optional.”

He moves toward me, intent in his green eyes, and lowers his head like he’s about to kiss me, but then he stops. Maybe he’s waiting for my permission. I decide not to give it to him. To see what will happen.

He moves away from me and then steps to the door. “I can drive us,” he says.

I feel a little giddy rush because I’ve never ridden in his car, obviously. Even though I’ve seen it. A hunter-green classic car with a rounded shape that reminds me of a British spy movie.

It is deeply him, somehow. Not just because it matches his eyes.

I follow him out to the parking lot, and I get into the passenger side, brushing my hand over the cognac-colored leather as he makes his way around to the driver seat.

“Why breakfast?” I ask as he buckles his seat belt and pulls us out of the parking lot.

“Because I thought we should talk, not fuck,” he says.

I didn’t think real men talked this way. I just thought I wrote them saying hot, dirty things like that, but he’s killing me.

“Fucking sounds like more fun,” I say.

Why not be this person? Why not be brave and say exactly what I want?

Or at least, all the things I know I want.

“Agreed,” he says. “But I think if it’s going to happen again, there need to be some ground rules.”

“Ground rules?”I ask, looking in his direction. He isn’t looking at me, though, because he’s driving. “That sounds more like a military school than a fling.”

I’m the one who introduces the word first.Fling.

I’m the one who tries to name it. I’m not sure it fits. But it seems like the right label. Light, but not contained to one night. Something that’s easy.

I’ve never had one of those before. Just a college boyfriend, a one-night stand who left me unsatisfied and sad, and a relationship that scooped me out like a melon and left me hollow and alone.

Maybe it’s time for something I haven’t done before. It seems like a step in my development, maybe.

“Games aren’t fun if you don’t know the rules,” he says, but his voice is not light.

“Oh. Well.”

“It’s best to be clear, I think.”

“Well, you’ll have to forgive me—I don’t know the protocol for ... flings. It’s a fling, right?”

“I think that’s the discussion that needs to be had,” he says.

I wrinkle my nose and rest my elbow against the window as we make our way into town. The diner is painted a bright aqua color, with a large neon sign that stands proudly beside it, pink and yellow and retro.Get Your Kicks!

“It’s a tourist attraction,” I say as we pull into the parking lot.

“Oh good. I was hoping to get some tourist action in.”

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