Page 39 of Screwed (Dad Bod Contracting 4)
“That sounds manipulative.”
“It is,” she agrees. “It’s totally manipulative. The problem is, in general, men often have trouble getting in touch with their emotions. After really great sex, though? They’re more open. You’re naked together, you just shared this really great experience, and it’s easy to sort of just feel…close. And you can tease that closeness out of him, try to keep it growing beyond sex. He starts to see you all the time like he does during and after sex, and suddenly he realizes he has these feelings for you…”
I can’t help but laugh. “Is that how you snagged Franco?”
She snickers. “Nah, that was a case of good old-fashioned can’t help falling in love, and I eventually just quit fighting it and embraced the mushiness.”
I frowned at her. “Yet you’re recommending that tactic to me…why?”
“I’m not necessarily recommending it. Just saying, it’s an option.” She taps her chin. “Now that I think about it, I don’t know if it would work on James anyway. He seems pretty emotionally locked down. It might take more than afterglow snuggles to get him to open up.”
My laugh was definitely bitter, now. “Wow. You are…not helpful today.”
She blows a frustrated raspberry. “I’m sorry, Nova. James is kind of opaque, to me. James is just…James. He’s a great guy—I have no doubt he’d give you the shirt off his back. If you could get him to open up, I think you guys could be amazing together. But losing Renée, when, like you said, he’d known her since third grade and had never been with anyone else in any capacity, ever? That’s a pretty big obstacle. Not absolutely insurmountable, but…definitely a biggie. And to be totally honest, Nova, you deserve to be loved. Everyone does, obviously, but my point is that if James isn’t willing to open up at all, I’m not sure what you’re gonna get from him besides a lot of noncommitment.”
“He flat out said he likes me, though.”
“I’m not saying it’s hopeless.”
“What are you saying?”
“You have to decide how much you’re willing to risk.”
“I don’t even know.”
“And neither does he, I’m willing to bet.”
I rake my hand through my hair. “I’m glad we talked, because it feels good to talk about what happened, but I’m not sure you really helped me figure out what I’m supposed to do.”
She laughs. “Well, sometimes you just need to vent, and eventually you’ll either know what to do, or the decision will be made for you.”
“Awesome. So I just sit on my thumb until something does or doesn’t happen, at some vague point in the future?”
“Well…how strong are your feelings for James?”
I think about the kisses we’ve shared, and the way he made me feel…up until he said the wrong name, at least. I look down and shrug. “Pretty damned strong.”
“Strong enough to be willing to risk getting hurt again? And possibly hurt worse than him accidentally saying his dead wife’s name at the moment you make him orgasm?”
I swallow hard—that had hurt, and it did still sting. Could I handle that happening again? Could I handle something even more painful happening?
“I guess I’ll have to think about that one,” I said.
Audra smirked at me. “The question is, will you be thinking with your brain, your heart, or your vagina?”
“I hate that you’re right about there being a pretty drastic distinction,” I said.
“We’re women, Nova—if it was easy for us to have head, heart, and body all in agreement all the time, we wouldn’t be so damn complicated.”
I laugh. “Now that’s the truth.”
Chapter 8
Another couple of days passed with no sign of James, which was just as well. Because I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I couldn’t stop thinking about the way he’d looked in my kitchen, shirt off, and heavy muscles rippling and shifting. How he’d looked with his jeans shoved down around his thighs. How huge he’d been—and not just his cock, but him. Every part of the man was enormous—his shoulders, his chest, his arms—even his hips, as narrow and trim as they were. His thighs were like…well, at the risk of sounding like a bodice-ripper, they’d been like tree trunks. And yes, his cock was…god, it was glorious.
So thick, so long. Pink, beautiful, soft and warm and iron hard as it slid and stuttered through my hands.
I find myself daydreaming about him at work, leaning against the desk in the neurology department, visions of James thrusting into my fists dancing in my brain.
Of course, every time my imagination got to the point where he was about to come, I heard him say her name, and my fantasy soured.
It got to the point of distraction where my boss asked me if I was okay, and if I needed a day off. Which was the last thing I needed—work was the only thing keeping me from breaking down and calling him just to see where he was about everything, and I really didn’t want to be the one to make the first move.
