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Chapter thirteen

Anna

M y lengthy post-hike shower is well deserved. The amount of huffing and puffing I had to do to get up that trail was embarrassing. Chris, on the other hand, didn’t even sound like he was breathing. I knew the guy worked out, but the fact that hiking is a regular part of his post-construction work routine makes me feel like a lazy blob. A vision of him shirtless, striding toward my bed, laying down next to me like he had earlier swirls around my head. For someone who’s never had sex, I sure think about it a lot. While I used to contemplate the act of sex in a practical and abstract way, this week my life is turning those thoughts technicolour. The star of the show? Chris, of course.

Slipping into bed naked with a box of prawn Pad-Thai delivered from the place around the corner feels anticlimactic in comparison to our mountain-top makeout. The man has some serious restraint. And I know it’s not because he doesn’t want me. I haven’t been able to get the memory of his hardness right under my clit off my mind. Is he replaying it over and over too? Maybe he’s sitting alone at his place eating a meal naked too? I swallow, picturing him in his bed, a thin sheet pulled up to his waist. A trail of hair disappearing beneath the covers that slowly rise from his big—

I clear my throat, searching frantically for the remote. Distraction. I need a distraction. I twist my wrist to get the right angle so the remote will work and begin flicking through the movie channels.

Fifty Shades of Grey.

No.

Magic Mike.

Nope.

The 40-Year-Old Virgin.

Oh, for the love of…

I stab a particularly slippery prawn with my chopsticks, eyeing my phone on my nightstand. If I’m so interested in what Chris is doing, I should ask. I gather a bit of courage and type out a message.

What are you wearing?

Chris:

Have you been drinking?

Does my weight in water count? Somebody overestimated my physical abilities.

Chris:

You lived, and you said you wanted to do it again. Don't wimp out on me.

You didn't answer the question…

I give up on trying to snag the last few grains of jasmine rice from the corner of the container with the chopsticks and tip the whole box into my mouth. My phone buzzes and I glance down to see an image loading.

Holy mother of…

I stare at the glowing screen and gulp, nearly choking on a solitary piece of rice. I set down the container and reach for my phone, reverently, like any moment the shirtless image will run off like a frightened animal. Breathing deeply, I tap the photo to make it full sized. My skin flushes at the sight of Chris’s body. A heavily muscled torso dominates the frame and a strong hand rests across a grid of prominent abs. Tanned skin is covered with short brown hair that, as I’d envisioned, tapers off as it disappears beneath a blue blanket. There’s no hint of arousal beneath the covers but there is a very furry and long...tail?

Is that a cat?

Chris:

Ouch. I send you a sexy shirtless photo and you're checking out the background? Yes, I have a cat. Her name is Yogi.

To be honest, the cat was the last thing I noticed. Didn't take you for a cat guy. And you… you look very… healthy.

Jesus. Am I diagnosing him or trying to get him into bed?

Chris:

I take care of myself. Your turn.

My turn? I glance down. My hair is half wet and there’s a bean sprout stuck to my boob. Wow, eat your heart out, Chris. Grab a piece of rice while you’re at it. You’re a growing boy.

Okay. But I'm warning you… it's spicy.

I watch the bouncing dots appear and disappear a few times while I laugh and arrange the take-out container to cover my bare chest. I give a winning smile, snap the pic, and send it before I can wonder whether I’m certifiable or not.

Chris:

Wow, did you just send me a picture of your box?

I mean… you sent me a picture of your pussy.

I’m giddy from our banter. Is this sexy? No. It’s better.

Not only is Chris committed to taking time with me sexually, but he also seems to want to get to know each other outside the bedroom too. After we say goodnight, I recycle my take-out containers and turn off the overhead lighting, the glow of the nightlights shedding enough light to guide me. While I’m brushing my teeth a seed of doubt works its way into my mind. Should I have sent him an actual sexy photo? Darren’s cruel words come rushing back and tears sting my eyes. I thought telling him off the other day would rid me of this pain, but that would be too easy. Chris said going slow was fine, but he must have other options. Women who know what they’re doing in the bedroom and take no issue with a break-neck pace. The minty foam tingles in my mouth as I become more concerned that I’m not enough for a man like Chris.