Page 7 of Protective

“They didn’t take nearly the effort you put into baking these delicious cookies. Do you like baking?”

“Sometimes. It goes in waves. During the winter months, I love to bake and crochet. In the summer, I like to be outside doing something in the garden, but I’m not nearly as talented as you. I kill everything I attempt to grow.”

I laugh and brush my hand back through my hair. “I let wildflowers take over my pepper plants. I’m not a successful gardener by any means. I keep workin’ at it, though. Livin’ off grid is the only way. I can’t go back to some of thisreal-lifeshit after being overseas that long, ya know? You see things that…” I swallow hard. “It’s a different life that puts our existence into perspective.”

“I bet. Has it been hard for you to acclimate?”

“It hasn’t been too bad. I listened to people tell me what helped them, and I took care to make those things happen. Livin’ off grid, away from the masses has been a huge help. Enough about me, though. How are things with the ex? Was he bothering you again today?”

I thought about this one too many times last night, between thoughts of the filthy things I wanted to do with the mystery woman on the other side of the box.

What the hell is wrong with me? One good conversation and I’m putting a ring on her finger.

She blows out a breath. “God. He’s non-stop. I finally texted him back this morning and told him I’d be getting the restraining order on Monday. I thought it would slow him down, but it only infuriated him.”

My blood boils and I lean forward. “How?”

“It’s nothing. I’ve got it handled. I just… don’t get it. Anyway, you’re lucky you don’t have a trashy ex to deal with.”

I want to press for more information. I want to know what he said or did. I want to find this fuck and strangle the wasted life right out of him, but I don’t want to scare Heather. I feel close to her, like I’ve known her forever, but reality is, we’ve only just started talking. I can’t start beating on my chest already.

The yellow light flashes, disrupting my thoughts. This is a new one for me. I didn’t even know there was a yellow light.

“What’s that one mean?” she asks, drawing in a breath. “Our time can’t be up already, is it?”

I flip through the notebook on the table to find the directions indicating what each light means.

‘Yellow Flashing Light: Sex talk is a topic that most people avoid when they first start dating. But here on the ranch, we want to set our couples up for success. Use these questions as a guide.’

“Fuck,” I groan under my breath, but she hears me.

“Yeah, I just read the booklet too. How can they prove we really did this stuff? I mean, we didn’t ask the conversation starters from the binder, and no one came after us.” She laughs, but the sound catches as though she’s nervous. “Then again, maybe we should just roll with it. I mean, they set all this up for a reason. We might as well lean into the full experience.”

I wrinkle my brows and stare back at the speaker on the front wall of the cabin. “Some of these questions are pretty deep. Are you sure?”

I’m not good at this stuff. Hell, I don’t remember the last time I had sex. And whenever that was, I sure as fuck wasn’t talking about it afterward.

“Yeah, I mean… I think it’s a good ice breaker if we’re going to spend a week in the cabins together.”

“Okay.” I pull out the notebook and settle back onto the couch with a business approach to the topic. It’s not the best way to tackle this subject, but it’s awkward as hell and thismethodology is what’s going to help me through. “Question one: How do you like to be touched?”

Fuck.My cock is hard just thinking about the topic of touching her, or her touching herself.

“Umm,” she swallows hard, “turns out, thisisawkward.”

My cheeks burn. “We can stop if you want. I don’t want you to—”

“No, no.” She exhales quickly. “I want to. I just,” another deep breath, “I, ugh, I like to be touched,” her tone slows, “softly at first, then harder and more aggressively as the moment progresses. What about you?”

Fuck!“I don’t even remember, but I’m sure your soft hands would feel good however you put them on me.”

Her tone lowers to a near whisper as she says, “Yeah? You think I have soft hands?”

I smile and brush my hand over the denim that hides my throbbing cock. “I imagine you do.”

“What makes you think that?”

“I think it’s your voice. It’s gentle and delicate. That, and you’re a school counselor, which doesn’t require much physical labor day in and day out. So… am I wrong?”

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