Page 42 of Burning for Alexander
I reached for his arm and stopped his forward motion. He blew out a breath of frustration like he was expecting me to ask more questions. Instead, I simply said, “I’m sorry.”
“Me too. Anyway, now you know why the mixed signals.”
We started walking together again down the next aisle. “Have you hooked up since your breakup? You said you tried to pick up my cousin. Was that before or after? Before, right?”
He shook his head.
“After?” I asked in surprise. “Your breakup was a long time ago.”
“Yes, I’ve been with other people since. But only for sex.”
I couldn’t believe we were having this conversation in Costco, next to an industrial-sized box of granola bars. “Then why… why can’t we…” I couldn’t get the question out because it would put me right in the crosshairs for another rejection.
“You’re looking for more than that. You’ve been saving yourself for someone special, and I’m not him.” Kincaid’s long legs stalked down the aisle, pushing the cart so hard it nearly took out a display of early bird Halloween candy before he yanked it back on track.
This was so fucking frustrating.
I rushed to catch up with him. “It’s not like that. I was a late bloomer, okay? And then I was busy getting multiple degrees while also working full-time. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to screw around; I just didn’t have the time. And then…”
Kincaid lifted an eyebrow without slowing down. “And then?”
I blew out a breath and dodged around some clearance patio furniture. “And then I was into someone. Someone I did wait for. But he… disappeared, so.”
I deliberately avoided telling him the man had died since the snack foods aisle didn’t pair well with awkward and morbid declarations.
“So here you are?”
“Here I am. Ready. Beyond ready. I just…” I glanced around to make sure no one was listening. “I didn’t exactly want to give it up to a random guy in a bar bathroom, you know?”
He slowed, finally, as we reached the toiletry aisle. “I’m glad you didn’t. That shit can be dangerous.”
“You should take me on,” I blurted. “Show me the ropes. Like a teacher.”
As I spoke, Kincaid’s eyebrows shot up. “Like a teacher?” he asked in disbelief. “A… sex teacher?”
I thought about the best way to play this. “Well, not everyone’s cut out for teaching, and you did say you were kind of old…”
His eyes narrowed. “Don’t reverse-psychology me.”
I shrugged. “Maybe it’s for the best. You seem very dom-toppy, and I’m more of a bottom. At least, I think. You probably wouldn’t be the best teacher in my case. I’ve read that bossy tops can be insensitive or oblivious. Not the most patient. And I don’t want to be rushed or pressured.”
“I would never rush or pressure you,” he ground out, in a voice low and fierce as if forcing himself to stay calm and not throw me across the toothpaste aisle.
I shrugged. “We’ll never know. I’ll have to find someone else. Would Monroe be patient, do you think?”
Instead of waiting for his response, I turned around to search for lube.
12
KINCAID
IndexEcho:If you had to save one sentimental thing from a burning building, what would it be?
DrunkenPoet:I have a wine key that’s been in my family for generations. It means a lot to my dad and his uncle before him. Over the years it’s come to represent family and home.
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Everyone knewa Costco run made you pick up things you didn’t need.
