remind me of someone from high school or someone I met on the road.”
Xavier knew she’d given him an opening, an opportunity to make real conversation—something he’d never done with any woman except Pam since moving here—but he couldn’t get his mouth to work. And the Burned Man’s suggestions were getting even more vulgar and nasty, morphing into bugs that wiggled through his ears, ate at his brain, and tried to put words in his mouth. If he talked, he feared what might come out.
That’s right. Years ago you would have just told her you wanted to fuck her and she would have let you. Weak women love that, when you take control. Do it now, 267X.
Caterina was no weak woman. And that realization nearly pushed him off his chair.
Suddenly she frowned and reached into the pocket of her jeans. She pulled out a buzzing phone. “What does he want at this hour?” she mumbled, reading whatever it said on the screen. Then she turned it off with a “Sorry about that,” and lifted her eyes back to his. “My sponsor, I guess you could call him. Double checking on a dinner we have tomorrow. Apparently he doesn’t sleep.”
First Ryan, then this “him” on her phone…and she was paying attention to Xavier.
Talking
to him.
Maybe talking to a woman was good. Maybe, instead of fleeing from the threat of sex and constantly trying to hide, he should stop. Plant his feet. Face it head on.
“So…” His throat dried up, closed. He swallowed, tried again. “So are you going to see any of the festival movies?”
Her eyes darted side to side in thought. “I don’t think so. That seems kind of pathetic to admit, doesn’t it?”
Oh, holy stars in hell
, said the Burned Man.
You’re boring the shit out of me. You’re only making yourself miserable. It’s been
years.
She’s begging for you. You deserve her. You deserve a good, old-fashioned, guilt-free orgasm. Like the kind you used to have.
What Xavier deserved was freedom. True freedom that had nothing to do with escaping a physical cage. Running hadn’t done anything for him. His past always caught up. He’d runfrom the Burned Man for three years, ever since Xavier had left him behind in San Francisco, but time hadn’t destroyed the ghost. Xavier’s completely whacked-out, funhouse-mirror view of relationships had just skewed even further away from normal.
He was really fucking sick of it, and it was going to end. Starting tonight.
“Would you like to go?” he heard himself say, and didn’t quite recognize the voice. “To a film? With me?”
The second the question came out, panic swept in, tilting the pub, making him grip the edge of the bar for stability. The strangest thing set him right: her clear, sunny smile. And it had absolutely nothing to do with sex.
“Which one?”
He shrugged. He didn’t even know how to get tickets. Maybe Pam could help. “Hey, Ryan. Do you have a festival schedule?”
The bartender reached behind the cash register and handed him a folded brochure. There was a screening tomorrow at 9:00 a.m.
Cat pulled out her phone again. “I’m free tomorrow morning. Well”—she gave him a wry grin—“later this morning, that is. Are you?”
He glanced at the clock. Nearly 1:00 a.m. He didn’t have to be at Shed until eleven. “Yes.”
He slid from the stool. In the tight space his body suddenly pressed against hers, and holy shit, he could feel her heat, smell her scent, made all the more sweet by the melted snow. She slowly tilted her face up to him, her shiny lips forming a lazy O, as if she, too, had felt that zing of energy. That ripple of desire.
She was a foot shorter than he, but in those tall heels her mouth drifted closer. He could already tell she’d be soft. Wet. He could tell she wanted him to grab her. He could tell that everything the Burned Man had said about her was true, that she’d open for him if only he’d ask.
His whole body went rigid. Goddamn, he was such a fool. How had he managed to trick
Xavier knew she’d given him an opening, an opportunity to make real conversation—something he’d never done with any woman except Pam since moving here—but he couldn’t get his mouth to work. And the Burned Man’s suggestions were getting even more vulgar and nasty, morphing into bugs that wiggled through his ears, ate at his brain, and tried to put words in his mouth. If he talked, he feared what might come out.
That’s right. Years ago you would have just told her you wanted to fuck her and she would have let you. Weak women love that, when you take control. Do it now, 267X.
Caterina was no weak woman. And that realization nearly pushed him off his chair.
Suddenly she frowned and reached into the pocket of her jeans. She pulled out a buzzing phone. “What does he want at this hour?” she mumbled, reading whatever it said on the screen. Then she turned it off with a “Sorry about that,” and lifted her eyes back to his. “My sponsor, I guess you could call him. Double checking on a dinner we have tomorrow. Apparently he doesn’t sleep.”
First Ryan, then this “him” on her phone…and she was paying attention to Xavier.
Talking
to him.
Maybe talking to a woman was good. Maybe, instead of fleeing from the threat of sex and constantly trying to hide, he should stop. Plant his feet. Face it head on.
“So…” His throat dried up, closed. He swallowed, tried again. “So are you going to see any of the festival movies?”
Her eyes darted side to side in thought. “I don’t think so. That seems kind of pathetic to admit, doesn’t it?”
Oh, holy stars in hell
, said the Burned Man.
You’re boring the shit out of me. You’re only making yourself miserable. It’s been
years.
She’s begging for you. You deserve her. You deserve a good, old-fashioned, guilt-free orgasm. Like the kind you used to have.
What Xavier deserved was freedom. True freedom that had nothing to do with escaping a physical cage. Running hadn’t done anything for him. His past always caught up. He’d runfrom the Burned Man for three years, ever since Xavier had left him behind in San Francisco, but time hadn’t destroyed the ghost. Xavier’s completely whacked-out, funhouse-mirror view of relationships had just skewed even further away from normal.
He was really fucking sick of it, and it was going to end. Starting tonight.
“Would you like to go?” he heard himself say, and didn’t quite recognize the voice. “To a film? With me?”
The second the question came out, panic swept in, tilting the pub, making him grip the edge of the bar for stability. The strangest thing set him right: her clear, sunny smile. And it had absolutely nothing to do with sex.
“Which one?”
He shrugged. He didn’t even know how to get tickets. Maybe Pam could help. “Hey, Ryan. Do you have a festival schedule?”
The bartender reached behind the cash register and handed him a folded brochure. There was a screening tomorrow at 9:00 a.m.
Cat pulled out her phone again. “I’m free tomorrow morning. Well”—she gave him a wry grin—“later this morning, that is. Are you?”
He glanced at the clock. Nearly 1:00 a.m. He didn’t have to be at Shed until eleven. “Yes.”
He slid from the stool. In the tight space his body suddenly pressed against hers, and holy shit, he could feel her heat, smell her scent, made all the more sweet by the melted snow. She slowly tilted her face up to him, her shiny lips forming a lazy O, as if she, too, had felt that zing of energy. That ripple of desire.
She was a foot shorter than he, but in those tall heels her mouth drifted closer. He could already tell she’d be soft. Wet. He could tell she wanted him to grab her. He could tell that everything the Burned Man had said about her was true, that she’d open for him if only he’d ask.
His whole body went rigid. Goddamn, he was such a fool. How had he managed to trick
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