Page 158 of Theirs to Desire (Club M: Boxed Set)

“Of course, some people change their minds,” he continues.

“Attitudes about sex aren’t carved in stone.

But when I’m sleeping with someone, I don’t want to be their therapist. I just want to have a good time.

It doesn't have to be whips and chains, stages and public performances. It could be as simple as a blindfold over your eyes during sex. An ice cube trailed over your nipples. Some light spanking, maybe. It’s not the specific sex act that’s important; it’s the attitude.

A willingness to explore your desires, uninhibited by society's many rules.”

He says ice cube, and my brain short-circuits. I had this exact fantasy less than an hour ago. There’s no way Hunter could possibly know that.

“Sexual compatibility is important to me,” he finishes. “It’s only one component of a relationship, but I know myself. I would not be happy in a relationship where my sexual needs weren’t being met, and I wouldn’t be happy if I wasn’t meeting my partner’s needs either.”

“Okay.” I wipe my damp palms on the napkin in my lap. “I think I understand.”

His gaze rests on me. “I answered your question. Will you answer one of mine?”

I manage a nod.

“What do you fantasize about, Dixie? What do you want?”

He’d asked me the same question Saturday night. I can’t meet his gaze. “I don't know.”

“Is that really true?”

A shiver runs through me at his firm tone. “There is something,” I whisper. I’d written it down in my Dare List. And then I’d torn out the page from my notepad, crumpled it, and tossed it into the trash because good girls did not do that.

“Tell me.”

“It’s outdoors.” I can’t believe I’m telling Hunter this. “A trail or something, somewhere anyone can walk past us. It’s late. Dark. I’m with a guy in a car, and we’ve pulled into this deserted area to make out.”

William and I had tried to do it in his car once. It hadn’t ended well. I push that thought out of my head.

“What happens next?” Hunter prompts.

“Someone catches us. Instead of stopping us, he watches.” I swallow past the lump in my throat. “The idea of someone walking in on me is…” My voice trails off.

“Hot,” Hunter finishes. There’s an odd note in his voice.

My hands are shaking. “Yes. It’s just a fantasy, of course.”

Ask me who I picture in the car with me, Hunter. Ask me who watches us. Make me tell you everything.

He opens his mouth to say something, but just then, the waitress comes up to us. “How was everything?” she asks cheerfully.

Hunter smiles up at her. “Delicious as always.”

The spell snaps. The anticipation heating my blood drains away.

Hunter isn’t volunteering to participate in my fantasy.

He expressed interest Saturday night, I turned him down, and he’s probably figured it’s for the best. He knows what he wants, and I’m not it.

I’m too inexperienced. I have too many hang-ups.

Sex with me is, as Eric so bluntly put it, missionary with the lights turned out.

For a few minutes though, when Hunter had listened to my fantasy, his entire attention on me, I’d believed otherwise.

None of this is real, I remind myself again. I described a fantasy, that’s all. Something to keep me warm at night. I’m not going to do anything to make it come true.

May brings us the bill. One bill. Hunter reaches for it, and I protest. “You don’t have to pay.”

“It’s not a big deal, Dixie,” he says. “You can grab the next check if you’d like.”

What next check? There isn’t going to be one. I grab a couple of bills, a twenty and a ten, and hold it out to him. “Please.”

“If you insist.” He doesn’t look thrilled, but he takes the money from me, and for some inexplicable reason, that irritates me even more. (Yes, I’m aware I’m being ridiculous and irrational. Toddler-like, even.)

We go outside. The sun has set, and the parking lot is dark. There are only two cars left—the Datsun and my VW Beetle.

“Nice car,” he says appreciatively. “What year is it?”

“Nineteen seventy-two,” I reply. “Yours?”

“Seventy-three.” He circles the car. “No rust?”

I shake my head. “It’s my mother’s car. One owner and she basically drove it once a week, to church and back.”

“And there’s no snow in Mississippi. Are you planning to drive it in winter? They put a ton of salt on the roads here.”

“I doubt it.” I love this car, and I’d be shattered if anything were to happen to it. “I’ll probably buy something more practical.”

His eyes gleam. “If you’re thinking of selling, give me a call. I’ll be happy to take it off your hands.”

I make a scoffing sound in my throat. “Are you planning on selling the Datsun?”

He chuckles. “Fair enough.” He takes a half-step toward me and then stops in place. “See you around, Dixie.”

I get into my car; Hunter enters his. I go right; he goes left.

So much for that.

I take a deep breath inward and then let it out in a long exhale.

I didn’t really want them, I tell myself.

I don’t want Hunter, and I don’t want Eric.

When I described my fantasy to Hunter, I wasn’t picturing him in the car with me.

I wasn’t fantasizing about Eric coming up to the window.

Shining a flashlight in our direction and staring at me a moment too long.

I wasn’t imagining him opening the car door and joining in.

Liar, liar, pants on fire.