we start toward town.
“Have fun!” Nancy waves from the vegetable garden, where she’s camped out on a tiny portable bench pulling weeds. “Call if you decide you want a ride back.”
I lift a hand, and Colette calls, “Thanks so much! Will do.”
As we disappear down the tree-lined path, moving into the cool shade, she adds in a whisper, “But I want to walk back if that’s okay with you. I want to walk a ridiculous number of miles.”
“I thought you said you were tired.” I peer down at her, searching her face.
“I did, and I am.” She shakes her head with a heavy sigh. “But if I’m going to be able to fall asleep without pouncing you tonight, I’m going to have to be really, really tired. Like a bone-deep level of exhaustion.”
“We can pounce all you want,” I say, my cock thickening for the twelfth time since this morning. This woman is turning me into a sex fiend, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. “I can’t come, but you can, and I insist you do. Preferably on my mouth while I’m playing with your—”
“Stop!” She reaches up, covering my lips with her hand. I nip at her fingers, making her laugh as she pulls them away. “I told you how I feel about coming without you. No. We’ll both be good and abstain. It’ll make tomorrow morning even better. Delayed satisfaction can be fun.”
“Isn’t that what you were just teasing me about?”
“No, you said boundaries could be fun. I don’t like boundaries.” She scrunches her nose. “Or possibly I just don’t like talking about them. My mom dated this guy named Chad when I was fourteen.” She rolls her eyes. “He was always talking about how important boundaries were, but only when it came to people inconveniencing him with their needs. Like if my mom needed a ride to the grocery store because her car was in the shop, he’d remind her that they weren’t dating exclusively and that taking her shopping infringed on his boundaries. Meanwhile, dating a woman he was supposed to be sponsoring through her recovery was fine. And of course, anytime he needed a favor, my mom was supposed to come running.”
“Sounds like an asshole,” I say.
“Totally.” Colette shrugs. “But all my mom’s boyfriends were assholes in one way or another. Growing up, I thought getting mixed up with a man was the stupidest thing a woman could do. As far as I could tell, it just made you a miserable, insecure wreck who couldn’t be trusted not to turn on your daughter when she clashed with your Dickhead of the Month.”
I hug her closer to my side. “I’m sorry about the dickheads. But I’m glad you decided to give guys a chance.”
“Once I was older, I realized my mom was the problem. Gram always said her chooser was broken.” She glances up at me. “How about you? Did you want to get married when you were a kid? Or have a serious relationship or whatever?”
“I didn’t think about it much,” I answer honestly. “I mean, I liked girls—really liked them,” I add, making her grin. “I wanted that kind of connection. But I’ve always been a ‘live in the moment’ type, even when I was young. I figured if the opportunity presented itself, I’d see where it went, but I wasn’t daydreaming about it or out hunting for it. Does that make sense?”
Her brow furrows. “It does.”
“But?” I prompt after a moment, sensing she has more to say.
“But I think the universe gives us what we’re looking for,” she says, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “And if you don’t make a conscious choice to move toward what you want, you’ll end up asking for something subconsciously, which can be dangerous. The subconscious shouldn’t be behind the wheel, you know? Especially unsupervised.”
I ponder that a moment, unsure of what to say. I’m embarrassed to admit that unless I’ve just woken up from a crazy dream or something, I don’t think much about my subconscious.
“I know it sounds kind of out there,” she adds, holding up a hand, “but think about it. Every day, we’re making choices that impact the rest of our lives. Those choices are informed by lots of things, but mostly, we tick along on autopilot. Habitual, unconscious behavior is the human default. I can’t remember the exact number, but only something like five or six percent of our choices involve conscious thought and willpower.”
I nod. “Yeah,