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“Don’t feel obligated. I’m a big girl.”

“It’s not obligation. I forgot what it was like to have someone at home waiting for me,” she states, finally looking elsewhere.

Unsure what to say back to that that wouldn’t be too heavy for this moment, I change gears a bit. “Just try to save a day for your newest client.”

Her choppy chuckle is a welcome sound after the previous few minutes. “Any day is yours, Sunshine. Just tell me when and make sure you’re absolutely sure first.”

“You got it.” Smiling softly, I pull my hands back toward me and fold them. “I thought that maybe you’d gone to your parents’ house and spoke to them without me.”

“I’ve been dodging my mother all week. I wanted to talk to you first before I dragged us into that fucking mess for real. Give you one last chance to back out.”

The invisible arms that have been wrapped around my middle for the last few days loosen inch by inch. “I think it’s too late for that. And I want to meet them.”

“Youwantto meet my parents?” she asks, visibly taken aback.

“Well, not because I think they’re nice people but because I want to make sure they know the way they’ve been treating you isn’t right.”

“My mother is a lot to take in. She’ll curse you out in French simply because she knows you won’t understand, and then she’ll drive her point across in English. I can’t promise that she won’t try to hurt you as a way to get to me. I’m not planning on letting her do that?—”

I interrupt her rambling with a shake of my head and soft words. “I can handle myself. I’m not someone who lets others walk all over me.”

And after missing my chance to stand up for Bryce in Peakside, I made a promise to myself that I wouldn’t miss another.

Bryce keeps narrowed, curious eyes on me for a few moments after I’ve spoken. I don’t try to sneak out from beneath them and let her stare for as long as she needs to believe me.

Finally, once I’ve grown a bit fidgety, she leans back in her chair and blinks, shutting down the intense connection.

“What about tonight?”

My eyes bulge. “Tonight?”

“Unless you’re not ready,” she adds, giving me another chance to back out.

Her doubt jabs a sensitive spot inside me. I’ve never been someone with a hard shell, and because of that, yeah, I’m gentle natured. But I’m not afraid to use my voice when need be. I grew up with too many siblings who loved to hear themselves speak not to have grown a backbone over the years. It was that or grow comfortable in the shadows.

Yanking my spine into a straight line, I inject as much power and confidence as I can into my voice.

“I’m ready. I’m your girl, and I’ll make sure they know that you won’t be accepting another from anyone else. Let alone them.”

Disbelief floods her eyes. It’s there and gone so suddenly that I wonder if I made it up, even as I struggle not to chase after it.

I could have clarified that I’m not really her girl . . . but when it sounds so good the way I said it, it would be a waste to change it now.

I’m such a horny freak.

My two-year sex detox has affected me way more than expected. That’s the only excuse I have for why I’m walking half a second slower than Bryce, just so I can catch a glance at the bare curves of her inner thighs as they appear below her short jean skirt when she sways her hips.

My belly is on fire, something forbidden gaining in intensity the more she walks and the higher her skirt shifts and climbs up her butt. I’m being the opposite of respectful right now as I ignore the desire in my blood and look up at the sky, begging for it to swallow me.

Ever since I was smacked in the face by how truly attracted I was to Bryce, I’ve been obsessively aware of her beauty and all the little things about it that won’t seem to let me get one moment of peace.

She’s so pale that every scar and imperfection on her body stands out like it’s been circled in red marker. The thick mass of black hair that she hardly ever puts up appears heavy, and while I’ve never been interested in wrapping anyone’s hair around my knuckles and using it for leverage during sex, suddenly, the images are there in my mind. The outright craving to try it just once to see if I’ll enjoy it after all.

There’s so much endless ink on her body, from her ankles to her throat, and holy, I’ve never been so intrigued by art before. The memory of what I know hides beneath the shortly cropped band tee she’s wearing lingers in my mind like a stubborn cold.

She’s so damn confident in herself and her bodythat it’s that much harder not to gawk at her and wonder what it would take to replicate the same feelings within yourself.

I consider asking her to strip me bare and teach me how to embrace those things, but if I did, I don’t trust that it wouldn’t lead to other things.