But the truth was all that was there.
He was with a gorgeous blonde just two months ago.
I hadn’t had an orgasm in eight months and hadn’t slept with anyone since Oscar.
He was the most popular boy at school and I was the girl with glasses, braces and a funny wardrobe.
It just wasn’t ever going to work.
His hand twisted, dislodging mine from his wrist and his fingers laced in mine.
“Un-unh, Jet. You can’t switch off on me just like that,” he said, and looked at me closely.
“I have to go to work,” I told him.
“Talk to me,” he returned.
With my other hand I pushed at his shoulder, using my body to push at him too.
He didn’t budge.
We were full frontal, skin to skin, it felt good and all of a sudden I wanted to cry.
“I have to go,” I said, a little desperately.
He lifted my hand and held it between our bodies.
“Talk to me,” he repeated, quietly this time.
I glared at him.
“I have to go,” I repeated, a lot louder this time.
He lifted our hands up to his mouth and touched his lips to them, his eyes never leaving mine. Then he held them to his chest and I had to remind myself to breathe.
“Did someone hurt you?” he asked softly. His eyes had gone funny, gentle and something else, something I couldn’t read.
I blinked, confused.
“Pardon?” I asked.
“Hurt you, touched you in a way you didn’t want?” he explained.
I blinked again then my breath caught in my throat.
“Do you mean rape?” I asked.
He didn’t answer, he just looked at me.
“Why would you think that?” I went on.
“One second, you’re running hot, the next, ice cold and near tears. It would certainly explain why you’re so guarded.Cariño, I’d like to understand,” he said it like he meant it and that pleasant feeling hit me again, but this time it was so powerful it knocked the wind out of me.
“I haven’t been raped.” I spoke quietly.
“You’d tell me?” he asked.
“I’d tell you,” I answered.