Page 77 of The Savior

Liam returned, and Chelsea said a quick grateful prayer that he’d pulled on the pants and shirt that she gave him the day before.

The outfit was small, just as he’d pointed out. But she knew just how small now that she’d been up close and personal with his thighs, biceps, and chest.

“We should talk.” He sat down and patted the couch, which might forever be known as the scene of the crime.

She joined him and crossed her ankles and arms. “Yeah, we should.”

A dark cloud lingered over them. Somehow, that hurt. But then Chelsea remembered their common denominator, the reason they even knew each other, and that hurt even more.

“Last night…” he said but didn’t finish.

“Yeah,” she offered lamely.

“We messed up, huh?”

Yikes, that hurt. Even though it made sense, to hear him declare their night a mistake hit with the same sting as a slap might. “I don’t know what to call it. A doozy.”

Liam laughed, but it was nervous, then he rubbed a hand over his face. “Guess it comes down to how much of a doozy.”

Confused, she glanced his way.

His eyebrows arched. “We didn’t use a condom.” Then his forehead pinched. “What did you think we’d messed up?”

Oh, let me make a list.But she stopped short of spouting all her reasons and reassured him. “I get a shot,” she explained. “Like a birth control shot. Every few months.”

Relief colored his face as though he hadn’t inhaled since he’d stopped snoring. “Oh, right.” He nodded. “Okay.” The nodding continued. “That’s great.”

If she had to rank their awkwardness, she’d give it an eleven out of ten, and they hadn’t even broached the him-and-her talk.How would that even go?

Chelsea closed her eyes. Julia died more than a year ago but the guilt was suffocating. Time had passed, but had it been enough? Not that it would ever be long enough to allow them to knock boots.

“So, this guy.” Liam pulled the corner of his shirt as if to identify the sweatshirt’s owner. “He’s not running around, banging everyone or something?”

“What?” She stared blankly—then a blush smacked her. The sex talk. The partner talk. This was a perfectly logical, needed step to take, but she never had one-night stands, and it had taken her far too long to even think about STIs. “I wore the sweats home one day from work when an arrest went bad and the chase took me through a chicken coop.”

“A chicken coop?”

“You never know how a day might go. Some days, it’s all paperwork, other days…”

“Shit,” he offered.

She laughed. “We keep extra sweats in the locker room. Big on me, small on you. And—”

The corner of his eyes crinkled, almost as if he wanted to squint, and Chelsea didn’t know how to read that or his silence.

“And…” She pursed her lips. “I haven’t had any relationships since my last gyno appointment.”

“I’m clean too,” he offered.

For a split second, she protectively thought,He’d better be. But what did she know of how he’d lived the last year? The idea that he had been with someone hung heavily in her chest.

“I haven’t—since…” His jaw tightened as if he’d read Chelsea’s mind.

“I’m not sure what to think right now.”

“Same.”

At least they were on the same honest, confused page.

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