Charmed by the Billionaire (Blue Collar Billionaires #2) - Lemmon, Jessica Page 0,59

any other relationships you’ve been in. I mean probably.” She picks at a loose string on the blanket. “I wasn’t like, tracking it or anything.”

“What does length have to do with it?”

“I didn’t have much experience before, but after tonight I’d say length matters quite a bit.” Her eyebrows lift into a saucy wiggle. Then the beautiful smartass lying across from me lifts up the sheet to inspect my naked body. That earns her a kiss. I can’t help myself. I’ve always enjoyed my ego being stroked, in addition to other parts.

She drops the sheet. “Most people measure successful relationships by how long they last. You dated her several months. Didn’t you think it was going to turn into more at one point?”

I’m already shaking my head. “No. Trish and I got along, but neither of us were anxious to take it further.”

Absently, Cris picks at the string again. Or maybe not absently. I have a feeling she isn’t meeting my eyes on purpose. “Why did she end it?”

“She didn’t. I did.”

She frowns, head cocked. “Really?”

“Sometimes things don’t work out. All the time, in my case.” I press my lips closed, willing myself to shut the fuck up.

“How is her mom?”

Sweet Cris. Always thinking of everyone else.

“Is this really what you want to talk about tonight?” I sure as hell don’t.

“Not Trish, no. I’m curious about you.”

Danger! Danger!

“Well, I’d rather talk about sex.” Sex, I can hide behind. Sex, I’m confident I can deliver to a round of applause. Sex…masks the unpleasant feelings fermenting in my gut. I shake off that disconcerting thought and shoot her a smarmy smile. “Do you have any sex questions I can clear up for you?” I deliver a smacking kiss to the center of her lips. She turns her eyes to the ceiling in thought.

I’ve successfully distracted her. Thank Christ.

“I have one,” she announces. “Now that I’ve experienced sex for the first time—”

“You’re welcome.” That earns me a poke in the stomach.

“I admit it’s mind-blowing. But…” A slightly embarrassed smile crosses her lips.

“But what?”

“Does it…” She wrinkles her cute nose. “Lose its excitement later?”

A disbelieving “ha!” leaves my lips because the first thought that lights my brain like the bulbs on a marquee is of course it never loses its excitement! Except I can’t say that. It’s not true.

The first time I had sex I was understandably nervous. I knew the basic mechanics but wasn’t ready for everything that came with it. The awkward closeness. The strange silence as we pulled our clothes on afterwards. The next time, or maybe it was the next, next time, I tried to avoid the awkward and the silence. Then sex became nothing short of awesome, which made me happy. Happiness doesn’t come easy to a kid with two dead parents and zero family members in this country. Granted, sex is a different sort of happy, but it sufficed. It was a duct-tape solution to a problem requiring complex machinery, but I accepted it at face value.

I lick my lips, debating how to answer. I sure as hell can’t say any of that.

“I imagine starting over with a new person each and every time would be strange,” she presses, not leaving room for a graceful exit out of this conversation. Her eye contact is unwavering. The walls surrounding me are more like mosquito netting. I have the uncomfortable feeling she can see straight through them to the ugly bits I’ve been trying to keep hidden. “Granted, your body is perfect, so maybe it’s not strange for you. I’ve been worried about how imperfect I might look to you. How much shorter and rounder I am than some of the women you’ve dated before.”

“What?” I shake myself out of my terror to address the very wrong impression she has of herself.

“I’m a woman. I have body issues.”

“Your body is perfect. Lush hips, beautiful breasts. Flexibility is important,” I joke, and she cracks a smile. Success.

Click.

“Well, no matter how ‘perfect’ you think I am, the idea of being naked in front of a veritable god”—she gestures to my body, and a choking laugh erupts from my throat—“has been overwhelming. And the idea of doing this every couple of months with someone new is a frightening prospect.”

She’s right. Picturing her naked with a different guy every few months is pretty fucking frightening. I don’t want to picture her naked with anybody but me.

“Women do not corner the market on body issues,” I say instead. “But you have a point. Intimacy comes