Page 23 of The Southern Thirst Trap

“I was getting a little worried that you hadn’t called me to come over in weeks, not since before your car accident. You sure it’s just your schedule? Nothing else?”

This is one thing I both adore and hate about Knox. He asks the questions that others would politely ignore. He checks in. His perception and persistence are some of the reasons I finally agreed to go out with him a couple of months ago, after we ran into each other at the stadium where I was treated to a VIP experience, thanks to Callie’s husband. We had met previously at a gala, so we were familiar. When he saw me outside of the locker room after the game, he’d insisted he should take me out, saying he’d been watching my channel and wanted someone else to cook for me, for once, but since he couldn’t, he’d pick a restaurant and really go all out. Callie had prodded me in the back, nodding with big eyes when I turned to look at her for help, so I reluctantly agreed. True to his word, Knox had picked a delicious restaurant in a trendy neighborhood and had talked my ear off and had me going in turn. So I agreed to see him again, and that turned into what we have now, a very casual, comfortable relationship of sorts where I don’t call him my boyfriend, but he’s everything that could be.

Except… well, he’s never once made a move on me. We make out a little, but he’s never even felt me up, or gotten so carried away by passion that he’s tried to take it further. At first I thought he was being a gentleman. Or maybe he wasn’t that interested in me. And yet, he keeps calling, wanting to see me, showing his interest. It’s a little confusing and definitely not something I have any experience with, as I was either pawed relentlessly by a handsy date, or I knew exactly what I was getting myself into when I let a relationship progress physically.

So, what’s Knox’s deal? Am I not attractive, or have I lost that spark now that I’m a mom?

“Do you want to stay the night?” I ask, rather than answering his own question that got my head spinning needlessly.

His fingers still on my foot and a brief look of discomfort flits across his brow before it’s smoothed out, and he turns to look at me with his trademark wide smile.

“I think me staying over would upset your routine with Hendricks in the morning. This is new, and making sure I don’t mess anything up with the little man is my highest priority. Let’s take it slow.” He pulls me by the knees so I’m stretched out flat on my back and he turns to hover over me. My heart rate quickens as his eyes stray to my mouth, then lower. “I’d love to spend the night with you, but I can wait.”

My stomach dips with the rejection. He may have just given me the nicest rejection I could have hoped for, but he still told me no while saying all the right words. I tilt my head to the side and study him. His shoulders are set with a tension his easy smile masks, and his touch is warm, but almost clinical where he holds the backs of my knees. There is no soft brush of a thumb along my bare skin, no tentative slide up my thigh like I would expect. His body language doesn’t seem to match his words.

No. I have to stop analyzing his every move and word. I’m just looking for reasons to not trust his ability to be patient and take it slow like he said.

He’s different from the guys I’ve been with before, and that’s good. He’s dependable. That’s new for me. So, if he wants to wait, to not get physical or take our relationship to that next obvious level, I can accept it. It’s the least I can do for someone so nice and caring, for someone who actually wants to be with me. It’s the bare minimum I should expect and accept.

I nod at him and smile softly. “Thank you.”

He chuckles. “What are you thanking me for?”

“Being a gentleman, I guess, and for prioritizing my son over sleeping with me,” I admit. It feels far too vulnerable to say it out loud, to really bring sex into the conversation for the first time without just hinting at the prospect.Real mature of me to not even be able to talk about sex with the man I just asked to stay the night.

Knox grabs my hands and pulls me into a sitting position. His thumbs gently rub across my knuckles. “Your relationship with Hendricks will always be a priority. Don’t settle for any man who doesn't respect that.” His sincerity just about breaks me down completely.

Before I can start ugly crying in front of him, I pull my hands away and swiftly swipe under my eyes for any excess moisture, and stand. “Okay, you’ve officially made me a total mom mess, so I should say goodnight and take my sappy self to bed.”

“Get some rest and kill that talk show tomorrow,” he says, following me off the couch, again showing me how much attention he pays to my schedule and life. “You can call me whenever you want. You know I’ll always make time for you. My schedule is just practice, training sessions, and games. Nothing too important,” he jokes, kissing my forehead.

I walk him out and wave goodbye from the porch when he drives away in his entirely too practical SUV. The man doesn't even have an ostentatious car.

And so my unfortunate celibacy continues.

As usual, when I’m feeling a little overwhelmed, I take control the only way I know how. I pull out my phone and open Instagram, posting a photo of me, head tipped to the side, taking a bite of a Korean Bulgogi taco as it falls apart on my face. It’s another recipe fromAt Home with Harloweand a super fucking hot titty shot that I look way too good in. It’s another obvious thirst trap, but I write a caption that saysit’s okay if we fall apart, tacos fall apart and we still love them—even if our bulgogi tacos wanna recreate a bukake video, we’ll slurp that shit up to the last drop, we ain’t wasting the good stuff. I hit post and close the app before I can even see the engagement numbers. I didn’t do it for anyone but me. I like the way I look in the photo, I enjoy writing a bit indecently for the audience I’ve built, and those are good enough reasons to post it, even if it helps with other things in the process.

thirteen

Harlowe

Five Years Ago

Somethingshiftedbetweenusin the bathtub. It was seismic, and we both felt it, but didn’t talk about it. Not last night when he scooped my still trembling body out of the water, plumeria flowers clinging to my skin, wrapped me in a fluffy towel, and carried me to bed. He dried us both off before we crawled naked between the covers, into each other's arms, legs entwined like we couldn’t stand to have even an inch of our bodies apart. Not this morning when he woke me up with his head between my legs, eating me out with a slow and deliberate sweetness that brought me to awareness, then had my back bowing, fingers clawing at his hair as I came against his mouth.

We don’t say anything at all as we tentatively feel out the other in this new space we entered when I asked him to touch me like he owned me and he responded that he already did. We’re not talking about it now as we feed each other pieces of fruit with our fingers for breakfast on the deck with the ocean breeze ruffling our hair and cooling the heat in his searing gray gaze. We probably won’t talk about it at all, because what changed was what we both want from this trip, no matter what he said about it going into the vacation. The bridge to casual, no attachments, no repeats, was absolutely scorched last night, with no hopes of returning that way.

“Do you like lobster?” Zander finally asks, pulling my attention away from this new connection—thisattachment—between us, and back to him in the flesh.God, he’s beautiful.

I smile, knowing he wants me to go on pretending that everything is back to the way it was before, and I can do that. I can play this role, no matter what it means, or even if it breaks a little bit of me to do it.

“Of course. I’m sure it’s incredible, caught fresh here, just like all the fish and seafood we’ve had.”

“We can catch it, if you want. You up for a little adventure, Lowe?”

And my challenging Zander is back, here to see if I’m willing to meet him on his latest quest for adventure.

I scoff. “Like I would turn down the opportunity to catch my own dinner? Show me where and how and I’ll catch enough for the both of us. Give me a kitchen and I could cook it, too, and your mouth would water.” Confident. Brazen. I’m the Wildcat he has taken to calling me who taunts him, challenges him, and is his equal in all his playful pursuits. Right back into the role I will play for him.

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