Page 22 of Don't Call Me Sweetheart

That wasn’t an answer. Not at all.

“Okay, tell me this,” I said. “I know what I’m getting from our arrangement. But what are you getting out of it?”

“The same thing as you.”

“No, what I’m getting from it is easing back into sex.” I put the knife down and leaned forward. “Learning how to do it without crying. Somehow I don’t think you have the same goal.”

“You think sex isn’t enough of a reason for me?” He shook his head wryly. “Kate, I’m a man. Sex is always enough of a reason.”

I looked at the man seated across from me. A stranger. Frustration welled within me. I knew this wasn’t about sex. Not for him anyway. If it were, we would have gone straight to his bedroom after I propositioned him. Instead, he had suggested this. A relationship.

I wasn’t going to let him hide behind some damn cliché about gender roles.

“I can’t do this. Relationships require communication, honesty, and trust. Even practice relationships. But you won’t communicate, you’re not being honest with me, and I can’t trust you.” I pushed back my chair with a loud scrape and stood up. “You should go.”

“Wait, wait.” He held up his hands in surrender. “This isn’t easy for me. I don’t know how to do…this. Any of this. I know I’m messing up here, but you can trust me, Kate. Just tell me what you need.”

Looking at his pleading expression, I softened. Maybe I wasn’t being fair. I had been born and raised in a small town where everyone knew my business. I hadn’t told him anything the whole town didn’t know. And the things Hart’s Ridge didn’t know…well, I’d kept those secrets from him, too. Was it so wrong that he didn’t want to spill his guts to a relative stranger? It wasn’t as if either of us was an expert in fake dating.

Practice dating, he’d called it.

And wasn’t that interesting, because I knew he didn’t need to practice sex. He was already damn good at that, judging from my limited experience with him. I was the problem there, not him.

I didn’t need to know about his parents or whether he had brothers or sisters. Not for a relationship with an expiration date.

But I did need to know this. I needed to know why.

“Just tell me why, Max. What is it, specifically, you need to practice with me?” I pointed a slice of Gruyère at him. “And you better not say murder.”

He laughed and shook his head. “It seems silly to say I’m not going to murder you. Isn’t that what a murderer would say?”

I frowned at him and tapped my index finger against the counter. “Stalling.”

“Right.” He scrubbed his hand through his hair. “I can do this,” he muttered to himself.

The whole thing was so endearing that I almost felt bad for pushing him out of his comfort zone. Like I should let him off the hook.

Almost.

“Here’s the thing,” he said carefully. “I am not good at relationships. Of any kind. I don’t have parents. I don’t have siblings. I don’t have friends. I’ve never had a romantic relationship last longer than three months. What I have is colleagues. I have friendly acquaintances. Women I sleep with until they tell me it’s not working out. Which never comes as a surprise.” He rubbed his jaw ruefully. “The problem is, I want relationships. I want friends. I want a wife and kids. I just…don’t know how to do it.”

He looked up suddenly, the piercing green of his gaze pinning me in place. “But you know how. You have friends. You’re a good mom. You were married once. I need you to teach me.”

“That…” I swallowed hard. I couldn’t fathom it. The emptiness of it all. The loneliness. It broke my heart. I stood up. “Come here.”

He approached warily, his brow furrowed with confusion. He stopped an arm’s length from me, his gaze flickering over my face with obvious apprehension. I closed the distance, taking the final step that he had not, and wrapped my arms around his shoulders, holding him tight.

It was like hugging a rock.

Not because he was muscular, although he was.

But because there was no give to him. No softening. Just the opposite, in fact. I could feel him getting tenser by the second.

“What are you doing?” he asked. If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought he sounded almost afraid.

“My God, Max.” I laughed, the sound muffled against his chest. “I’m giving you a hug. You do know what a hug is, right?”

“Of course I know what a hug is. It’s just been a while, that’s all.”

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