Page 81 of The Accidental Dating Experiment
“Same here,” I say.
“Wait for me,” she urges.
For a fleeting second, I want to say the same to her. Wait for me. To be ready, to fix myself, to be the man you want.
But the thoughts skitter away as lust grips me. I blurt, “Always,” as I fuck her through her orgasm, which rattles the walls, the desk, and my goddamn heart.
Seconds later, I follow her into bliss, the world blurring away.
Later, after a shower, we lounge on the back deck. She’s ditched the schoolgirl outfit, and she looks damn good in leggings and a comfy T-shirt. I’m in shorts. We’ve finished dinner, and once again I’m thinking of those words.
Wait for me.
Would she wait for me? Could I ask her to? Is that the next step after this third date? I’ve been weighing all day how to broach whatever this thing is between us, but I’m not sure I have a handle on it yet. I’m about to ask something safe like how’s your dinner, when she says, “I need your advice, professor.”
Oh. Okay. We’re back to the roles. Fair enough. “Yes, Miss Dumont?”
She takes her phone from the pocket of her purple leggings, then clicks on her texts, swiveling it so I can see the screen and the last one from her Mom. What happens next with him? Will you see him next week when you return to the city?
My shoulders tense. Shit. She wants to do this now. She’s readier than me.
“That’s interesting,” I say noncommittally. I don’t want to screw this up.
“See, I don’t want to lie to my mother, but the situation is kind of sensitive.”
“How so?” I ask carefully, letting her lead.
She nibbles on the corner of her lips. “I don’t know what’s next. I work with this guy, so I don’t know what to say to him about what happens…well, next week.”
My pulse speeds. My instincts tell me to shut down this conversation, but I try to push past them. I fight against them, as I open my heart a bit, cracking the door a little. “I bet it’s hard for him too.”
There. That’s a start. That’s being open, right?
“Maybe he’s thinking about next week too?” she asks, sounding so vulnerable as she finds a way to ask me what happens when we’re back in the city, back in the studio, back in the real world. When we’ve left this make-believe land in the rearview mirror.
She’s always been so much braver than I am. I try to meet her with the same emotions. “He doesn’t know what’s next either.”
Her lips flatten, and she dips her face. “Oh.”
Shit. That wasn’t the way to be brave at all. No more role-play. I reach across the table, lift her chin, make her meet my eyes as I try again. “I want to see you again, Juliet. So badly. You have to know that. Please know that.” I sound desperate. I feel desperate. There’s something else, too—something deep and powerful, something like forever—as she gazes at me with hope in her eyes. I want to run to that something else and run from it. “But I don’t know how to be a good…partner.”
Even saying the word scrapes my throat.
“Right. Because of…” She waits for me to finish the thought.
If I could tell Sawyer, I could tell her. At the very least, I need to be honest with her about my fears. “I wasn’t there for Elizabeth. I’m not sure I know how to be there.”
“I wasn’t suggesting that,” she says. It’s prickly, but in the way an animal bristles its fur in self-defense.
“I know you didn’t mean marriage,” I say gently.
“I just meant next week.” There’s hurt in her voice, but she tries to keep it at the edges as she clears her throat and adds, “That’s all, Monroe.”
It’s like she’s saying: Can you do even a little? Can you see me next week?
But with her, there’s no just next week. There’s no halfway. My chest aches as I look at her. I can’t test out a few more dates with someone I feel this much for already. What if it doesn’t work out? “Relationships are like…” I cast about for an analogy. “The piano. I like the way it sounds. I want to play it. I can tap out Chopsticks. But you deserve Ode to Joy.”
She’s quiet for a long, painful spell. “I get it.” She picks up the plates from the table, saying in a soft, sad voice, “Goodnight, Adam.”