though he mostly knows those details.
“But more than that,” I finish, “I’ve never wanted to go there with anyone before. I never felt the desire intensely enough. Don’t get me wrong though—I have a lot of sexual desire.”
His eyes glint. “I can tell.”
“And there are plenty of things I want to do. There are plenty of things I fantasize about. And, hey, my toys get quite a workout.”
He drags a hand across his brow as if wiping off sweat. “You’re not helping with keeping rule number three tonight.”
I lean my head back and laugh. “Trust me, it’s hard for me too. Whatever the case before, I’m very interested in sex now. And I’m very interested in sex with you.”
He waves a napkin like a white flag. “I surrender.”
I swat his arm playfully. “What I’m trying to say is this—I wasn’t holding on to my virginity because it’s some precious thing, or because I have some notion that I’ll walk down the aisle in five years, or whenever, still a virgin.”
“Five years? Is that the wedding plan?”
A surge of embarrassment rushes blood to my cheeks. “I don’t have a wedding plan. I was just throwing that out there.”
“So no pressure, then, for you or your future hubs.” His grin is playful, but he catches my gaze on those last couple of words, almost like he’s testing them out.
I wince a bit, not entirely sure why that gnaws at me—future hubs. “Sure,” I say. “He can just deflower me on our wedding night,” I say, making a big old joke about whoever the future hubs might be because that’s easier than dealing with this nagging sensation. Instead, I turn more serious. “But yes, I do want, someday, what my parents had. Not now, but down the road. I want what your parents had. What Brooke and Eric have.” I draw a breath, letting it fill me. “Right now though? I have my work cut out for me with the team, so I like this thing you and I have. And I don’t want to keep having sex with myself anymore,” I say, our eyes locking with want flaring between us, like a shimmering heat mirage.
“Like I said, rule number three is very hard to resist tonight. But I can wait for you. I want to wait,” he says, his dark-blue eyes locked with mine, and I can’t look away. I don’t want to, because the way he says want to wait makes my heart catch in my throat. Another odd feeling I should truly ignore. Too bad it feels so good.
I take another drink, turning the tables on him, since these boomeranging emotions in me are a ping-pong game I don’t want to play. “And you? What’s your story? You seem drawn to dating. Not like you’re a player, but more like you enjoy having girlfriends. Fair to say?”
Nodding thoughtfully, he lifts his beer, drinks more of it, then sets down the glass. “I suppose I’m the same as you, Nadia. I’d like what my parents had. Hell, what my mom has now with Kana.”
My chest warms, my heart feeling glow-y from that lovely sentiment, one you don’t hear as often as you’d like, from women or from men. “Most people are afraid to admit they want that—love, connection, intimacy. I like that you just put it out there. In general. I like that you’re saying it in general,” I add quickly, since I don’t want him to worry that I have ulterior motives. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to get all clingy. I understand the rules. We stay friends. Rule number two,” I add, like I’m proud of myself for recalling the laws we laid down.
He gives me a reassuring smile. “I wasn’t worried. At all,” he says, lifting a hand to squeeze my shoulder. A sort of friendly squeeze.
Hmm.
Is it weird that I want a non-friendly squeeze right now?
But I keep going, glad he’s on the same page. Truly, it’s good that he’s not worried. I do want to stay friends after we work our way through the Virgin Rule Book. I absolutely want to remain buddies. I shake away any wayward notions that extend beyond friendship.
This plus-one plan is fantastic. Besides, I’m lucky to be friends with someone who’s so easygoing and so open at the same time. And someone who’s so . . . bangable.
“It’s kind of heartwarming when anyone admits they want what we all truly want,” I say.
Smiling in acknowledgment, he knocks back some of his