“Neither. No one.” This conversation had to end before it turned to…anyone else. But she wanted to end it without insulting Izzy, who had originally come to town with the unsentimental secret agenda of going wild in Captivity, sexually speaking, or Bridget, who had, for a period of time, designated sex her favorite sport in an effort to forget about Archer. For herself, sadly, it wasn’t so easy to separate act from emotion. Maybe her single encounter with Shay had mostly been an impulse on his part and an act of rebellion on hers, but she’d had special feeling for him, and those had mattered. A lot.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I know you’re both trying to be helpful and logical, but I don’t look at Wing that way, either. I guess don’t look at myself that way. Shay was my first, and my only. Just the one time—and yes, I know every girl in my position swears it was just the one time—but for us, it really was. I don’t know how to put this, but I don’t think I’ve…evolved…to the point I’m ready to tap a handy guy on the shoulder and, say, ‘Hey, want to—’”
“Don’t apologize.” Izzy leaned over and patted her knee. “You put it just perfectly. You prefer sex to be about more than scratching an itch. You’d like it to be supported by how you feel about the person and how he feels about you. Neither way is wrong, as far as I’m concerned, but having experienced it both ways, I can tell you, I agree. It’s better with the feelings. If that’s what you need, you should hold out for the whole package.”
“How about Ford?” Bridget went on, obviously determined to solve this problem for her.
“Oh, no…no, no.” A kind of fizzy panic exploded inside her, making it impossible to stay still. She got to her feet, paced right, turned, paced left, and caught the look Bridget and Izzy exchanged. What she should make of it, she didn’t know, except they’d definitely shared some sort of unspoken accord. “Ford’s extremely nice, but—”
“Nice”—Bridget documented the trait with an extended index finger—“smart” —she extended another finger—“hot, reliable, funny”—her fingers ticked off his finer qualities. “Shoot, he takes two hands,” she complained and brought the fingers of her left hand into play. “Protective, as you’ve already noted, not immature, hard-working, solvent, and…” She raised her last finger. “Did I already say hot?”
“Uh, yes. Yes, you did,” Izzy confirmed. “But with Ford, it bears repeating.”
“Agreed. Also, I should add, an excellent kisser.”
Lilah’s mind time-traveled back to the night Bridget and Ford had kissed in front of God and everyone at The Goose and wished the memory didn’t make her want to tackle her lifelong friend.
“So,” Bridget continued, and Lilah became the target of a razor-sharp gaze, “what about Ford?”
The geyser of panic went off again, forcing an awkward denial to her lips. “Not Ford. He…I… He let me stay with him, yes, and he’s so…” At a loss for words, she instinctively moved her hands and embarrassed herself further by tracing an imaginary set of broad shoulders. Ack. She was out of control. Yanking her hands back and lacing her fingers, she shook her head. “No.”
“Why not?” Bridget pressed, but Lilah saw what looked like compassion in her expression.
“Because.” She shook her head again but finally resorted to the God’s honest truth, or at least one part of it. “He’d never think of me that way.”
Was that the right answer? The wrong answer? She didn’t know. All she knew was Izzy and Bridget exchanged that look again. A look that made her insides jittery. Very jittery.
Boy, did she wish she understood that look.