Given everything I’ve learned about Bo so far, I’ll have to take the lead. He’s so completely unaware of his own charm it’s comical. He’s shy, almost. I could see him asking for my number, but I doubt he’d be bold enough to ask me back to his place. Which, I’ve decided, is what I want to do.
“Is this a wig?”
I don’t notice until I feel the back of Bo’s finger brush my cheek, but he’s holding a strand of my hair between his thumb and pointer finger, twiddling it mindlessly.
“No, that’s all me.” I gulp as his thumb grazes the underside of my chin.
He continues twisting my hair through his fingers, curling it around the backs of his knuckles as if it’s a snake he’s charmed. I fight the urge to crawl into his lap and purr.
“Sorry,” he whispers, wetting his lips. I notice that he doesn’t let go, however.
“I don’t mind,” I answer softly. What I should say is: keep touching me. Anywhere you’d like.
“It’s beautiful,” he tells me, looking at me with an unsteadying lack of humour. He releases my hair and leans back, taking a long breath that flares his nostrils. “I’ve had too much punch, probably.”
“I really didn’t mind.” I lean in, trying to catch his gaze. Attempting to plea with him, silently, to ask for more. But it’s no use. He’s so gorgeous, yet clearly oblivious of that fact. It’s as endearing as it is frustrating.
So I decide enough is enough. I can take charge. I’m a modern woman, dammit. I can go after what I want, even if I don’t exactly practise that concept in my daily life. I can do this.
“Bo, would you like to go upstairs with me?” I ask, my voice a touch louder than intended after forcing myself to speak with confidence.
His eyes widen in surprise, and his head tilts. “Upstairs?”
I didn’t count on having to repeat myself. Or clarify. I feel like covering my face with a couch cushion, but screw it. I’m in it now. “Would you, maybe, like to go have sex with me? I have a room here,” I explain, trying my best to keep my spine straight in order to not shrink into myself. The illusion of confidence is key.
“Here?” His brow twists in confusion.
“Yes?”
“Do—do you live here?”
“No, I just stay here a lot.” I wait a few seconds, hoping he’ll put me out of my misery, but he appears far off and a little stunned. Was I truly misinterpreting all of this? I’ve been off before, but never this much. This seemed like a sure thing.
He laughs nervously, his head hanging. “Uh, actually, um—”
Blame the neon punch, I tell myself. “Sorry. Forget I said anything.” I will lie to myself in order to move past this. Bo is a virgin. Celibate due to his solemn lifelong vow. I’ve been the most tempting offer he’s ever had, but he must stay strong. It’s not me. It’s not me! It’s not—
“No,” he says a little too forcefully. “Don’t—don’t forget it. Uh, sorry, it’s just”—he shakes his head—“I haven’t since…” His eyes fall to where his hand rests on his knee, right above where his prosthesis begins.
Ah.
I should think. I should absolutely think before I speak. But I don’t. I rarely do, unfortunately. “Did something happen to your…？” I finish the sentence I never should have spoken by pointing to his lap.
Winnifred June McNulty, you cannot ask people if their junk is broken. What is wrong with you?
“Oh, no. Nothing. Top shape.” He winces at his choice of words. Or perhaps just the conversation overall.
I have to fix this. I’m not this person—the one who pries and fumbles and makes someone feel uncomfortable about their body or its differences. I cannot be that person. That’d make me a massive hypocrite.
I approach gently, resting my hand on top of his. “Then I’m sure it’s not all that different.” I hesitate, waiting for him to make eye contact with me. “I’m willing to try, if you are. It could be a lot of fun.”
He turns to face me, and his eyes are darkened, enlarged pupils and tight-knit brow. “Why was that so hot?” he asks, whispering, his voice near disbelief.
There it is, I think. A sliver of my pride returns.
“The moment you shook my hand with your left, I was ready to do this.” I bite down on my smile. “I imagine it’s something similar to that? Knowing I get the holdup, to some extent?”
His eyes dip down to my lips again as he nods, eyes entranced and glistening.
“So what will it be?” I ask, leaning close enough that I can count the exact number of freckles on his cheeks that spread across his nose like a bridge between them. “Because if I have to inquire again, I may attempt to drown myself in the punch bowl.”
Without hesitation, Bo closes the distance between us and kisses me, tender and brief, with his hand across my jaw. His lips are plush and warm and damn near intoxicating. “Yes,” he says, inhaling hungrily, his forehead pressed against mine. He laughs lowly, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear before letting the same hand drag down my neck, shoulder, and arm. “C’mon,” he says, taking my hand in his as he moves away to stand.
“Wait,” I say, pulling him back. “I’m going to go upstairs first. I’ll make sure no one else has gotten the same idea and is defiling the guest bedroom. You go to the kitchen and get us some water or something. It’s the last door on the left.”
“Okay.” He nods eagerly, a few too many times for my liking. It reminds me of Caleb’s puppy-dog willingness, causing a quick thrill of panic to course through me.
I can’t handle one more guy being too nice in the bedroom. I need to know that all this chemistry between us won’t fizzle out the moment we get upstairs.
“Bo, can you promise me something?” I ask.
His bottom lip pushes out as he nods again, less eagerly. “Sure?”
“I need you to promise me that we’ll both enjoy tonight. I’ve had a string of lousy hookups this year, and if I have to fake another orgasm, I think I’ll be legally required to become a nun or something.” I bite my lip, anxious that I perhaps am asking too much from him, a near perfect stranger.
He doesn’t bat an eye, but his boyish grin comes back in full, brutal force. “Win, if you walk out of that room sturdier than me, I won’t be happy.”
A leg joke? Be still my beating heart.
I cover my mouth as I gasp, a singular laugh breaking through. “You did not.”
“I did,” he says, relaxing back on the couch. He raises his hand back to my hair again, playing with it as his eyes fall yet again to my lips with equal measures of desire and amusement. “Now… go upstairs and wait for me.”
CHAPTER 3
“That feels so good,” I sigh out blissfully, letting my belt fall to the floor of the en suite bathroom. I open the drawer under the sink that Sarah keeps stocked with an obscene amount of toiletries and find everything I might need for a quick refresh.
I fetch floss, mouthwash, deodorant, and a few makeup wipes for a quick downstairs clean. It may throw off my pH balance, but that’s Win of tomorrow’s problem.