Page 151 of If Our Hearts Collide

My hand sweeps out in a half circle. “Than this? Because watching people have sex is pretty kinky to me.”

He gives a one-shoulder shrug. “There’s a spare room. We have the option of fogging or defogging the glass to be open or closed—if that makes a difference.”

But I don’t even know you. A thrill runs through me, and I can’t tell if it is from excitement or trepidation. He has been so kind to me all night, and we’ve been having a lot of fun just exploring this part of the club together.

Was this the ultimate expectation? Is this what the equivalent dinner and a movie eventually ends up with—a trip home for sex?

It seems selfish of me to end the night right now, without even seeing what some alone time with Neil involves. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a tad bit curious. This would be one way to cross off some items from my goal list in my journal.

But I don’t know him.

And I can’t tell if that is the problem or if my hang-ups are deeply rooted in how Mark Tanner violated my trust in all men.

Do I just force myself through the barrier that is holding me back from experiencing a real connection with a man?

Do I throw myself into the pool heart-first and flood my senses with the thing that scares me the most?

Neil coaxes me forward, toward the opposite side of the hallway where a little green light is lit up on the wall outside the door. I guess this is a signal that it is free.

I enter the room, gambling on some notion that my mind and body are collectively healed from the trauma of my past.

Taking initiative, Neil fogs the window, giving us some privacy. I’m not sure if that helps my nerves or just revs them up even more. I can’t tell what emotion is winning right now, I’m that mixed up.

I turn toward him, watching as he starts to remove his shirt. Unlike a lot of the men at this club, he has on a decent amount of clothes. It’s definitely a disproportionate feeling when compared to the scraps I decided to wear.

I clear my throat, trying to push down the knot forming. “I think I should probably tell you that?—”

“Shhh…”

My eyes grow big as his finger lingers over my lips, silencing me before I can even finish with a warning about my sexual experience. Maybe he has gotten the wrong idea with how I’m dressed. Perhaps just entering this club has already stereotyped me into being a certain type of woman. Shit. What have I gotten myself into?

I fidget with my fingers, as I pivot to take in the rest of the room. Like most of the space upstairs, the room is dimly lit yet fitting the theme with the option of turning on the black light.

It seems welcoming with all wrought iron furniture and linens in soft hues, yet sterile with the lack of any decor.

Can I even go through with this? It seems so out of character for me. I mean, it’s not like I have to do anything more than kiss.

I never was one to rush things in the past, despite giving my first time over to someone who didn’t deserve it at all. I don’t need to make more bad choices just to prove to myself that I can have a normal sex life.

I see a shadow on the wall in front of me, reminding me that I’m not alone.

All of these little details were missed by me when we first came upstairs together. I think my mind was just elsewhere. And maybe this whole time Neil didn’t find my naivete cute—he found it essential.

I quiver at the feel of fingers on the straps of my top, gently tugging each side down, causing my hands to grasp the material in front to keep it from falling. “Calm down and relax, little bird. Just trying to make you more comfortable.”

I’m tired of being a little forest animal.

A fawn. A dove. A bunny. A bird. An awkward squirrel…

I make some sound that registers as foreign even to my own ears. I can’t settle my mind.

My heart rate quickens, as Neil’s whisper tickles my ears. “If this is all too much for you, we can leave. But I think you just may enjoy yourself.” His fingers trail down my neck, fixing my wavy hair over my shoulders. A tingle runs up my spine, from either his touch or the anticipation of finding out what will happen next.

Then my vision blurs with flashes of Mark Tanner’s face. His sneer. His sinister laugh. They are the same visions I have rehearsed in my head on loop for months, guessing at how the night I was drugged went down. Did he touch me? Did he take pictures of me? Did he snicker and gawk over my inebriated state? Did he get off afterward to how helpless he had me?

Does he get off now in the cell of his prison with thoughts of me?

I shudder.

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