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I gave him a grateful smile. “Thank you for that.”
He nodded. “And your mom? Crazy. Although, I know a thing or two about difficult parents.”
“Yeah?”
He took another drink and looked down at his cup. “That might be a story for another day.” When he turned his sea-green eyes back on me, they seemed darker somehow. “I want to know more about Birdie Melrose.”
I set my cup on the counter and looked at him, feeling more vulnerable than I had before. Less brave. “I just got out of a relationship. We were actually engaged. And I don’t think I’m really ready to date right now.”
His lips quirked slightly, and he pinned me with those eyes, making me feel more naked than I’d been in the bar’s kitchen. Barer than I’d been in the skimpy dress.
“Tell me, Birdie,” he said, his voice husky. “What is it you want?”
I want to fall in love.
The words popped in my mind faster than anything else.
I wanted the fairytale wedding and a house with a beautiful window to perch Ralphie’s cage in and a husband to hug me from behind when he got off work. I wanted vacations on the beach and winters in the mountains and side-by-side headstones when we died. (Preferably, we’d go holding hands like they did inThe Notebook.)
Okay, maybe that last bit was morbid, but you get the point.
I wanted love.
But for tonight, I steeled my heart and said, “I want you, in bed.”
11
BIRDIE
Confession: I knowwaytoo much about sexually transmitted diseases.
His gaze on me heated, and he set his cup down on the counter. As he walked toward me, slow, purposeful, my heart pounded. If he couldn’t hear the rush of blood, it would be a miracle.
He sensually ran his fingers over my arm and slipped his hand in mine, leading me toward the back of his apartment. My skin tingled as we walked, and nerves fired through my body, every cell on high alert.
Sex with Dax had never been earthshattering. And even though I’d read enough of Mara’s romance novels to know my way around a metaphorical bedroom, I had no idea what would happen next.
Would I be bad in bed?
Did he have any STDs?
Oh god, what if I’d gotten an STD from Dax or his mistress? I hadn’t noticed anything different down there, but now I was panicking, thinking I should make an appointment just in case.
But talking about that with Cohen wasn’t sexy. How did one even bring that up?Um, hi, I think you’re hot and want to bang you, but my ex cheated on me and I haven’t been checked and I’d like to see the paperwork from your latest doctor visit, please?
This was a hot mess andoh my gosh we were getting closer to his bedroom.
I was supposed to be getting married to Dax this month! I was supposed to be a one-man woman for the rest of my life and here I was walking to a stranger’s bedroom. What was wrong with me?
He opened the door to his bedroom, to the perfectly made bed and the glowing lamp and the abstract art canvas over the bed, and I nearly passed out.
“Are you okay?” he asked, examining me. “You’re breathing hard.”
“I—” I gasped for air, and my peripheral vision clouded. “I need to sit down.”
Realization crossed his features, and he steered me to a chair by his bed, saying, “Sit. Put your head between your knees.”
I leaned over my lap, spreading my legs to make room for my stomach, and tried to breathe. But with my face against the dress, all I could smell was the store and new fabric anddear god, had someone tried this dress on without underwear before I bought it?