Page 96 of I'm Your Guy
“Not sure what’s more surprising,” he mumbles. “The mind-blowing sex or the cuddling.”
“Eh,” I say, my voice a rasp. “I’ve never blown anyone’s mind before. But I’m a very experienced cuddler.”
He laughs into my shoulder. “That’s so unexpected.”
“Why?”
He gives his head a little shake and then slides a muscular leg over mine, moving us even closer together. “I had the wrong impression of you when we met. I thought you were a rich, cold grouch.”
“I’m rich, and I’m a grouch. You were two-thirds right.”
“Nah.” His thumb traces a pleasing arc across my pec. “You’re the strong, silent type. But kind of a teddy bear.”
“If you say so. I got nothing against cuddling. It’s probably why my marriage lasted two years instead of one.”
Carter raises his head and meets my gaze. “You never talk about your marriage.”
“Because it’s embarrassing. Jessie is a great girl. We spent a lot of time together in college, and I loved her. But not in the way she needed me to.”
He puts his head back down. “I’m sorry. That sounds painful.”
“It was,” I admit. “And also totally avoidable.”
“Confession—I googled it. She was your college tutor, right?”
“Yup. She always made me laugh, and she was one of my favorite people at Princeton, where I never really fit in. The guys kept asking me when Jessie and I were going to become a couple. So I invited her out to dinner.”
Carter props his head on his hand and just listens. There’s no judgment in his eyes.
“We started dating. We took things slow. Jessie knew I was busy with school and spring training. She didn’t seem annoyed that I never escalated things physically. Not much, anyway. I told her that I was a traditional guy. That tracked for her because I wasn’t much of a partier, either.”
“Maybe she appreciated that about you,” Carter points out.
“She did,” I agree. “When summer rolled around, I was sent to Trenton’s training camp, so we didn’t see each other. I was playing good hockey, and the franchise asked me if I wanted to go professional the following year.
“And it was becoming increasingly clear that I’m not a scholar. So I told the franchise yes. Jessie cried, and I’m not built to withstand female tears.”
“Is anyone?” Carter asks gently.
“Probably not. But most guys probably don’t solve the problem with a marriage proposal.”
Carter winces.
“Yeah. I know. It was the dumbest thing I’ve ever done. I realize that now. But it didn’t seem like it at the time. Jessie cried again. Happy tears. Swear to God, I’d never made anyone so happy in my life.”
He kisses my jaw. Like he knows this story is about to turn sad.
“So that was the high point. We got married in a hurry and made plans to move. My uncle was suddenly less awful. Marco, too—all look who bagged himself a pretty wife.”
Carter groans. “I hate that guy, and I’ve never met him.”
And you never will, I silently add. “It wasn’t just them. My sister cried, like I’d done something amazing. And my mother was so excited to have a daughter-in-law. I felt like I’d solved a riddle—how to fit in better with the whole world.”
Another kiss from Carter. He doesn’t comment, which I appreciate. He doesn’t need to tell me how awful this story is, because I already know.
“Our honeymoon was a weekend on the Jersey Shore, because hockey waits for no man. The sex was, uh, functional but awkward. I joked that I’d get better at it. Like I’d gotten better at geometry the year before. But then I didn’t.”
Carter runs a hand through my hair. “I’m sorry.”
