Page 13 of Instigator

I haven’t been able to be intimate with a woman since. I’ve tried. Countless times, I’ve tried. But as soon as it’s time to reach for a condom, my heart starts beating faster, too fast, and my erection wanes, and I’m left embarrassed with a wanting, willing woman in my bed.

So I stopped trying. I stopped putting myself out there. What woman wants a man who can’t fuck her? Sure, there are other ways to have sex. In theory, I could use my fingers and my mouth and a whole arsenal of toys, if that’s something she’s into.

But I can’t. My brain won’t let me. It’s gotten to the point where I can’t even kiss someone without my thoughts spiraling to what if, what if, what if, and then I melt down and have a panic attack, and… I don’t even attempt it anymore. It never works out well for me. Why bother with all that heartache? It’s easier to be alone.

Lonely, yes. Still easier.

Taryn stabs at her strawberry-pecan salad. Another reason this could never work. I’m allergic to strawberries. Even if I wanted to kiss her—which I definitely don’t—I wouldn’t be able to now.

“Have you and Hailey been friends long?” I force myself to ask.

They met through a support group for POTS patients, arranged by their doctor’s office. I like that she has friends who are going through the same thing she is. That she’s finding a community for herself.

“About two years. Right before she started dating Ryan,” she says.

I grunt, swirling my fork in the salmon on my plate. They’ve been dating a lot longer than I expected them to. Not that I thought they’d crash and burn. More, I thought they’d tie the knot already. He proposed after three months, and they talked about going to the courthouse, but for one reason or another, they haven’t made things official. I’m not sure why.

If I had a woman wearing my ring, I’d want a matching one of my own. I’d want to proclaim to the world that I’m hers just as much as she’s mine.

The woman at the other table laughs, the sound drawing my attention again as she pats the arm of the man across from her. Something tickles at the edge of my memory. She looks familiar, but I can’t place her.

She’s not wearing a ring. Neither is he.

Are they dating? Friends? More than friends?

I’m not sure why I’m so fixated on them. Why I’m so drawn to them. I can only see the side of her face, obscured by her hair and the angle. He’s gazing at her in—is that adoration? Fondness? I’m not quite sure.

He’s undoubtedly interested in her, though. I don’t blame him. I’m intrigued by her too.

“Aidan?” Taryn prompts.

Right. The date. I blink a few times, trying to clear my thoughts as I refocus on her.

“Sorry,” I mutter yet again.

“You know, I think I’m going to head out,” she says, dropping her fork onto the table. “Tell Hailey I say hello.”

A lump forms in my throat, and I swallow hard around it. Sure, there’s no spark. And yes, I’m distracted. And yes, I don’t want to be here.

But to leave in the middle of our date?

“Okay.” What else is there to say?

She looks at me with pity. “See you around, I guess.”

It takes her a minute to stand and gather her things. I rise from the table as she pulls on her coat and picks up her cane, but once she’s gone, I flop back onto the uncomfortable metal bistro chair and bury my head in my hands.

Why, why, why?

Why am I so awkward? Why am I so uncomfortable around people I don’t know? Why can’t I move past this mental block?

The scent of caramel and bourbon fills my nose, and I inhale deeply, the tension easing from my shoulders. Normally, strong perfumes overstimulate me, but this one, the light notes of sweetness and bourbon, is actually… relaxing me?

I look up in time to see the woman from the other table float past me toward the exit. She’s dressed simply in tight black leggings, tall boots, and an oversized sweater, with a computer backpack slung over her shoulder. Something about her face is familiar, though I can’t imagine where I’d have seen her before, only that I have. She’s even more beautiful up close, rich brown eyes and a tempting berry smile on her lips, and fuck, a bolt of want rushes through me.

I don’t know her. She doesn’t know me.

But for the first time, I wish I did.