Big Rock (Big Rock #1) - Lauren Blakely Page 0,19

from that practice session on her couch. The final practice session. No more kissing rehearsals. Too dangerous.

“They’re having a good season,” she says as she yanks her purse strap higher on her shoulder, not entirely taking the bait.

“Good pitching will do that for you,” I say, pressing the button for the lobby and wondering when was the last time that we talked about baseball to cover up an uncomfortable moment. She’s a hard-core fan, due in no small part to the fact that she regularly crushes it in her fantasy baseball league. I’ve often told her if our bars fizzle, she should be a general manager, but she just laughs and tells me baseball is her love so she wants to keep it pure.

Right now, it’s not pure. It’s a goddamn metaphor for a true awkward moment. “Are you still killing it with your lineup?”

She turns to me, her brown eyes intensely serious. “I meant it earlier when I said no dating this week. I need to know that you’re okay with that. Not even after hours.”

And we’re done with the baseball bullshit.

“Of course,” I say quickly, tugging on my tie and acting offended. “I can’t believe you think I can’t manage a week without sex.”

She shakes her head as the elevator chugs down. “This might seem silly to you, since this is a pretend relationship, but after what happened with Bradley…”

“Charlotte, I swear. I’m on the wagon for the next week,” I say, holding up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a boy scout.”

“True. But I also don’t cheat, whether I’m in a fake relationship or a real one.”

She arches an eyebrow. “Have you ever been in a real one?”

“Sure. And by real, you mean the type of relationship where I know her last name, right?” I say, deadpan.

She crosses her arms. “Let me amend that. Have you ever been in a relationship that lasted longer than a fortnight?”

I make a snooty sound. “Fortnight. Aren’t you fancy?”

“And Amanda from college doesn’t count.”

“Why not? I went out with her for four months. But yes. I have,” I say, though I’m pretty damn sure I haven’t. But my ability to sustain a long-term commitment isn’t the point of this conversation. The point is whether my dick practices serial monogamy. “And I’ll keep it in my pants for the next week, like I said I would. While we’re at it, the same goes for you.”

“You don’t even have to worry about that.”

“You mean this isn’t going to cramp your style?” I ask, as the elevator slows at the lobby.

She scoffs. “Like that’s possible.”

“No hot dates on the agenda for the next week?”

She raises her hands and lifts all ten fingers. “It’s been ten months for me,” she says sharply as the doors whoosh open.

We walk across the lobby and onto Lexington, where the Uber car I ordered is waiting. I open the door for her, and she slides across. I follow her, and we buckle in. Things feel normal again between us, like we’ve slid out of the tunnel of awkward, and it’s now just us.

“Ten months without a relationship, you mean?” I ask, since I know she hasn’t been involved with anyone since the split. But come to think of it, she hasn’t mentioned any dates either. Even though she doesn’t kiss and tell, she still probably would have said something if she’d had a good date.

She shakes her head. “No relationship. No dates. No kissing. Nothing.”

Ten months without sex. That’s like a lifetime. Not sure I’ve gone more than ten days. Maybe fourteen tops, but that was a rough two weeks. She must be working her toys hard.

Ah, fuck. Now, I’m picturing Charlotte in bed with a purple vibrating rabbit, legs spread, hand working the ten-speed controller, breath coming fast.

Thanks, brain, for putting that fantastic image in my head to derail any intelligent thought.

Some days I wonder how men get anything accomplished at all with sex on the brain constantly. In fact, I wonder how men have ever gotten a single thing done across the whole vast expanse of time. It’s a miracle we manage to tie our shoes and comb our hair.

Then it hits me. That kiss on her couch. That kiss on the street. Those were the first kisses she’s had in nearly a year. My kisses. It makes me kind of happy that I’m the first guy she’s kissed in a long time. Even though it makes no sense that I’d be glad about that. It also