Page 97 of Putting Out
“You got married first,” she mumbled.
“Because I was trying to avoid you. I knew what we had was intense and at the time I didn’t want to risk losing myself in you. Golf was the only thing I cared about and you were like Delilah with a pair of scissors to me. Plus, I didn’t want to risk Kenny’s wrath – justifiably, as he’s got a hell of a right hook. Most of all, I didn’t want to date you and lose you, which I knew I would do. So I married Holly-one.”
“And I married Jamie.”
“He was safe.”
“He wasn’t you. He was the anti-you,” she admitted.
“Then I got divorced and you got divorced and we hooked up and it was too much again.”
“You married your tennis pro.”
“And you retaliated with a football guy.”
Reilly shook her head. “Did we really do that? Did we subject ourselves, but more importantly these other innocent people, to our twisted dance just because we couldn’t handle it emotionally?”
“Yes.”
“That sort of makes us scumbags,” Reilly pointed out.
“It makes us immature. It makes us more than a little cowardly. It makes us who we are. But we can change that.”
Reilly shook her head. “I can’t … I can’t do this now, Luke. I can’t tell you that I’m ready for something when…”
“Okay,” he said standing and facing her. He knew it was time to back off. Let her take away the idea and sit with it for a while. “Let’s put the brakes on the idea of living together. I can appreciate I’ve sprung this on you. And while I’ve been thinking about it for months-”
“Months!” she squeaked.
“Maybe longer,” he winced. “Probably since the ESPYs.”
“You got married to someone else after the ESPYS!” she reminded him.
“It took time to sink in. My point is we can take this slower.”
“Slower how?”
“First, we go back to doing it,” Luke told her. “Because frankly that whole part of my plan was stupid. I’m horny.”
“Okay. I’m cool with that. We can do it now.” Reilly meandered over to him and wrapped her arms around his neck, raising her face to his for a kiss. “I could seriously use the stress relief.”
“Oh, no.” Luke pulled Reilly’s hands from around his neck and set her back a step. “We’re not going at each other like wildcats.”
“But we always go at each other like wildcats,” Reilly pouted.
“Exactly. Where has that gotten us? No, the next time we make love it’s going to be in a bed and it’s going to be nice and sweet. No more in the car, behind the house, in the barn or backstage at an awards-show nookie. We’re going to do it like normal people who are considering a relationship. At night, in the dark, in flannel pajamas.”
“Do we get to take the pajamas off or are we talking just feelsies under the material?”
Luke considered that. “What’s more romantic?”
“I don’t know.”
“We’ll start with feelsies and take it from there.”
* * *
After dinner Kennysat on the couch between Reilly and Luke with his arms folded over his chest. His expression remained sour throughout the night as they watched an old movie on television.
