“Yours are pretty nice, too,” I retort.

He stops dabbing and stares at me, our eyes locked, heat seeping up my body and blanketing my face. But I’m not embarrassed. I’m . . . turned on. These last few weeks have been incredible. Vick has been patient, attentive, and hasn’t once crossed a line with me. And although Connor and our heated . . . night still lingers in my mind. I can’t deny I’m attracted to Vick. But there is something . . . something I can’t put my finger on that keeps me from wanting to throw myself at him. I’m excited to see him every time we meet. I love his smile, and he always makes me laugh like crazy, but that feeling of . . . zha-zha-zsu is missing. When I fell in love with Blake, I craved him. He devoured my every thought. There wasn’t a night where he wasn’t the last thought to drift through my mind or a morning I awoke where he wasn’t the first thought to enter my mind. I was smitten. Maybe you only get that one time in your life? Maybe we are all only promised one true love? Maybe I’ll never feel that again?

But deep down I know that’s not true.

My love for Blake could never be compared, but I know I can still feel those kinds of feelings for someone.

I know this because I feel them for Connor.

Add in the tortured dynamic of forbidden love and I’m your modern day Juliette.

“I’m still waiting,” Vick whispers as he softly brushes his lips against mine.

“Waiting for what?” I mumble against his mouth.

“For you to be ready. I’ll wait until you tell me you’re ready, okay?”

I kiss him quickly and pull away, turning to the sink and washing my hands. I don’t want to discuss sex right now. I don’t want to even think about it, so I don’t answer. Vick watches me for a long moment, waiting for my response, but to his credit lets it drop and starts teasing me about my painting skills. We turn on some music and share a bottle of wine in the living room before he heads home. But when I go to bed that night, I wonder if maybe I’m just scared. Is that why the thought of having sex with Vick feels so . . . foreign? Granted, I wasn’t scared with Connor the other night, but I was drunk, and alcohol can definitely take the edge off.

I roll on my side and punch my pillow a few times as if it’s the pillows fault I can’t sleep. The truth is, the Vick sex thing isn’t what’s keeping me up. It’s Connor. Of course, it is. He’s angry with me, and it bothers me so profoundly that my insides ache. I hate myself for playing dumb and acting like I was too drunk to remember what happened. After another hour, I jerk the blankets back and head downstairs to get a glass of water. Standing on my tiptoes, I peek out the kitchen window. Connor is cleaning up the garage, his shirt off, and all I can do is stare. His hands are tinted with grime and oil from working on the bike, and his face is scruffy with a few days old beard. I reach my hand up and rub my neck, feeling tension gripping my muscles. I gulp my water, my gaze never leaving him as he sweeps the floor, the muscles in his back flexing as he moves. I have no idea how long I watch him, but I can’t seem to look away, even when my hand drifts down and my thumb dances over my hardened nipple straining against the fabric of my shirt. He walks to the back of the garage, out of sight, and I close my eyes trying to remember the feel of him against me. Letting my hand drift down further, I slip it under the band of my shorts and panties until I reach my core. The moment I touch my clit a thrill so intense shoots through me it makes me lurch forward and moan. But it’s short lived as the glass in my hand slips and breaks in the sink. Cursing, I snap to and back away. Another glass lost to me fantasizing about Connor.

Shaking my head, I leave the glass and rush back upstairs. These feelings are insane. I shouldn’t want him this way. It’s wrong. I know it is. And I realize now, maybe I am in need of physical contact. Maybe I do need to feel a man intimately, and somehow in my desperation, I’ve warped thoughts into a fantasy that Connor is that man.

Lying back down, I take a deep breath. Vick is amazing. He’s incredibly handsome and funny. Maybe I’m not in love with him . . . yet, but that might come with time. And so what if it doesn’t? I’m not a mutant. We all need sex. Would it be so terrible to share that with Vick knowing he may not be my next great love? I don’t think so. And maybe, just maybe, he could sate me; scratch that itch.

Maybe if I make love to Vick, just maybe I will stop wishing I could make love to Connor.

I wake up with a new outlook and determination. I’m going to embrace my sexuality. I’m going to stop making sex about love and happily ever after’s, and I’m going to open myself up to the idea of fulfilling my physical needs. Tonight is the night. I’m ready. And I know Vick is too. Tonight I will make love to a man after three years of hardly any physical contact. My stomach is in knots, but that’s normal . . . I think. Right?

I spend the day cleaning my house and going through my closet and drawers, getting rid of old clothes, anything to keep my mind occupied, so I don’t overthink tonight. When the afternoon rolls around, I lay out my sexiest dress and pull out my laciest bra and panties. As I get ready, I take my time, hoping I can make myself look halfway as good as my sister would. Lexi would be ideal to help me with this, but I don’t want her to know I’m planning on going all the way with Vick tonight. She’d probably climb on my roof with a megaphone and announce it to the world. But even without her help, I manage just fine. In the end, my dress fits like a glove, my legs look stellar in heels, and my dark hair is curled perfectly, draping softly over my shoulders and down my back. I’m not sure what to do about the fear in my eyes. More eyeliner maybe? Saying the words, I want to have sex with you, to Vick, seems impossible. I’d probably choke on spit trying to. I’m hoping the outfit will be enough—that it will do all of the talking for me. Vick and I agreed to meet at a little restaurant on the edge of town tonight at 7:00 pm. Around 6:30 pm, I head downstairs and look out my kitchen window to make sure Connor was nowhere in sight.

Coast is clear.

My clutch pressed tightly to me, I scurry out the back porch and down the stairs. I’ve just rounded the corner of the house when I stop in my tracks. Connor is leaning against a white car, arms crossed as he stares at a woman who is flailing her arms and talking animatedly. I don’t know if I should just try to sneak around them or go back inside to give them privacy. She’s a beautiful woman with long blonde hair and a short, but thin figure. Is this an ex of his? Or maybe a woman he hooked up with giving him hell for not calling?

I shake my head and roll my eyes. I thought more of him than this. Is he sleeping with multiple women? What about Roxy? Would I have been another notch on his belt? My heart aches at the thought, but I thank God nothing more happened between us. At least I’m not this woman. With that thought, the blonde’s head whips toward me and her brows rise as she slowly looks to Connor.

“Is this her?” she asks, jabbing her thumb toward me. I narrow my eyes in suspicion. What has Connor gotten me dragged into? A jealous lover’s quarrel?

“Look,” Connor says, sternly, as he stands to his full height causing the woman to step back. “You’ve said your peace. I’m sorry for your troubles, but coming here isn’t the solution to them. I’ll pass along what you’ve told me. You should go.”

I’m standing like a statue, watching them, wondering what I should do. But however direct Connor’s statement to this woman might have been, she’s not taking a hint. She turns on her heel and marches toward me.