he meant it but I’ll take it as one. When he kisses my hand, I get another glowy, sunshine feeling in my chest. For a rebound sex thing—which is what I’m going to label our encounter as—this doesn’t feel so dirty.
“This is good sauce,” he says.
“You like it?”
“I like it very much. I’ll have to thank the chef.”
“It’s bottled pasta sauce,” I say, giggling.
“I still have to thank the chef.”
We get back to eating.
“No telling Jamie,” he says, after a while, surprising me that he’s still thinking about Jamie.
“It would complicate things for both of us.”
“Why? Were you and him ever together?”
“No!” The idea is absurd. “He’s nothing more than a good friend. He’s getting over a recent breakup too.”
Ward is silent.
“You won’t want Rob to know,” I say.
“It’s none of his business.”
How long will we keep this up for? “Boundaries,” I say, thinking out aloud. “We’ll need rules. I don’t want you getting all pissy with me again.”
“Do I get pissy with you?” he asks, as if this is news to him.
“All the time. It’s like walking on eggshells, being around you.”
“I’m that bad?” He seems genuinely shocked.
“You really haven’t been around people much have you?”
He says nothing which makes me think he’s going to be like this, choosing only to speak when he wants to.
“Your study is off limits, except when I’m cleaning.”
“I wouldn’t say its off limits,” he’s quick to reassure me. “I enjoyed your midnight visit last time.”
Ah. So, he doesn’t mind me interrupting him like that.
“But I can’t be disturbed when I’m writing.”
I snap my fingers at him. “Gotcha.”
He chews his lip. “And it’s probably better, you know,” he coughs lightly, “uh … for us to stay in our own rooms, after.”
This is a slight downer for me, but he has changed so much since I first met him, I let him have this peculiarity. He is, after all, a man of many boundaries and rules. “Sure.”
“Don’t get upset.”
“I’m not,” I lie.
“I have a book to finish and submit to Rob before it goes to the editor.”
“I understand.”
We look at one another, and I don’t know about him but my mind has just blown through a montage of everything we did in bed earlier. When his eyes twinkle, and a smile plays on his lips, it’s clear to see that he’s thinking the same thing.
“Did you reach your goal for today? The pages written or whatever you need to do?”
“I have a goal of writing five thousand words a day.”
“And did you?”
“Given the fact that we spent most of the day having sex, then no.”
“You didn’t write anything?”
“Three thousand words. It’s slow going.”
I’m impressed. “Not bad, given the physical exercise you’ve undertaken.” I lean towards him, reaching for his plate. “If you get five thousand words written, we can have dessert.”
“Dessert?” It’s takes a moment for him to get it.
I take our plates over to the sink. “In your room this time.”
“Five thousand it is.”
Chapter 33
MARI
He got his word count in, and we ended up in his bed later that night. Not long after, I left the warmth and comfort of his body and returned to my room even though I was tempted to stay. It’s better if I just put up with his rules and conditions.
This new turn in our situation makes me happy. It puts a spring in my step, and I see the change in Ward, too.
I still have my chores to do, and he still has the pressure of the book weighing on his shoulders. Although, as he told me, when he stripped my clothes off me slowly, now that he has the motivation and a reward at the end, he’ll get the book finished quicker.
And then we’ll be over. He didn’t say that, but I know. It’s a fact of life. This is temporary.
Ordinarily, I would never have gotten into this type of arrangement. I have friends who have friends with benefits and hookup type arrangements, but that idea doesn’t appeal to me. I’m a romantic fool. It’s also why my breakup with Dale hurt me so much. If it had only been about sex, it wouldn’t have mattered as much. For me it was about love. I loved him. For him, it was just about the sex.
“There you are.” Jamie has found me. He steps inside, and pushes the door shut, but not completely. “You’re hiding in here.”
I laugh. “What? Why would you say that?”
“You’re acting weird.”
I laugh again, thereby acting weird. “I’m not acting weird.” I forgot to