Page 48 of Tempted Hearts
But it wasn’t.
I leaned into the boat to grab two of the provided towels.
“Marco’s apparently finishing a chapter,” I said, the boat gently swaying. “He said we could sit here.”
I handed her a towel. We each dried off and used damp towels as makeshift seats. I sat and held a hand up to her without thinking.
She took it. No hesitation.
“Don’t topple back in,” I warned, keeping my voice light, or attempting to anyway. The touch of our hands should have been nothing more than a polite gesture. Instead, it was a jolt neither of us needed. As soon as Juliette was sitting, I pulled back. Stared straight ahead. But I could feel her still looking at me.
“What?” I asked, turning to her.
“I kind of do want to know.”
It took me a second to understand what she was asking.
Earlier, when we’d been sitting on the rock. Our “past relationships” discussion.
I sighed, because she clearly wasn’t going to stop looking at me like she didn’t want an apology for pinning her hands above her head and nearly kissing her in that stairwell. While I knew it was wrong—would go nowhere—I also… liked it.
But she wouldn’t like my answer.
“I can’t tell you,” I said finally.
She opened her mouth to push back.
“Because I don’t know.”
Juliette blinked. Our legs were inches from each other. An awareness of that fact, that I was sure she also noticed, was a good reason to be honest. With her that close, lying felt impossible. Or useless. She’d see right through it anyway.
“I don’t do second dates, usually. And there’s been… a lot of women.”
But none of them I’d wanted to kiss this badly.
“So many, you can’t count them?”
“Enough that I’ve never tried,” I clarified.
“You’re telling me,” she said, “you’ve never been on a second date?”
“Not… never. Just not usually.”
“So mostly one-night stands.”
“Mostly.”
“Why?”
It wasn’t a question I had to answer often. The guys knew how I was, probably could guess at the reason too, but they never asked or probed too deep. My mother certainly had asked, many times, why she’d never met any of my girlfriends. (Because I didn’t have any, high school notwithstanding.) And the women I’d been with? They weren’t around long enough to ask questions.
“You don’t want to answer.”
“It’s not that.”
Thing was, I did want to answer. Sure, it was a good way to cool the fire between us, telling her what I just had. But I also didn’t want her to think badly of me either.
What the hell was I supposed to do with that revelation?
