Page 167 of The Moment You Know

“What part of ‘not referencing’ that do you not understand?”

“I’m not referencing it. I’m simply asking if Jules knows about our make-out session. Totally different thing.”

Paige leveled her best I’m going to punch you in the nuts look at him, knowing that even if she wanted to toss him out of her apartment, she wouldn’t be able to because he was too heavy. “I’m going to be as clear as I can, okay? No discussing what happened the other night. No referencing, no alluding to, no hinting at, no insinuating, no mentioning. At all.”

“What about our bowling game? Is that forbidden, too?”

“You know I’m specifically talking about our make-out session,” she told him, only to purse her lips together in aggravation. Jesus Christ, now he had her saying it!

He grinned and held up his hands as if in surrender, one of them still holding a fork. “Okay. No talking about our make-out session the other night, or referencing, or alluding, or hinting, or insinuating, or … what else? Oh, right. No mentioning our make-out session, either. I promise,” he said, lowering his hands and going back to his meal. “Besides, I’d much rather talk about our next make-out session, anyway.”

It took her a second to realize what he’d just said. “The next one? Are you out of your damn mind?” she burst out. “There isn’t going to be a next one. There shouldn’t have even been a first one!”

“But there was,” he said matter-of-factly. “And it was fucking fantastic. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it—how good it felt and how much I liked it. And, more importantly, how much I want to do it again.”

“You want to kiss me again?”

“Yes. For starters.”

“For starters? What does that mean?”

“It means I want to do a lot more than that.”

“More? What, more?” Paige asked, hearing the shock in her voice. “There is no ‘more’. Not for us, anyway. We’re divorced, David.”

“I know. But I don’t think we should let that get in the way.”

“Get in the way of what?”

He put a forkful of green beans in his mouth. “Your healing.”

“My healing,” she repeated slowly.

“The other night when I couldn’t sleep, I thought about you,” he said. “I thought about everything that you’d told me when we got together in your apartment, and it occurred to me I could help. That I want to help.”

She watched him eat like a ranch hand; apparently this conversation wasn’t affecting his appetite in any way. “You want to help with my … healing?”

“Yes. You said you were hesitant to get into a sexual situation and have it fall apart like it used to because it would be devastating. And you didn’t want to put a man through what I went through and feel like I did, right?”

She nodded slowly.

“Well, the way I see it, I’m the perfect solution. You know me and I know you and we’ve talked about your abuse in great detail. We’re comfortable with each other. We have respect for one another. Trust. Affection. And … if the other night is any indication, we have an abundance of chemistry.”

Paige grabbed her glass of wine and drank half the contents. “Are you suggesting I use you for sex?”

“Yes.”

The confirmation had her blinking rapidly as her brain started to melt down. “You’re serious.”

“Yes.”

She set her glass on the table and stared at him as a near silence settled over the kitchen.

“Okay,” she said, very slowly, as if speaking to a child. “Let’s pretend for one batshit crazy second, that your offer is real—”

“Oh, it’s very real.”

“I just don’t know if I could do that, because every generalized fear I have about sex becomes specific when applied to you, versus another man. With a different man, the worst that would happen is that he’d be disappointed if the sex was terrible. But with you, I’d be hurting you in a way I never want to again. And I’m sure this makes me a terrible person, but I’d rather disappoint someone else than hurt you again. I know I said finding out I still don’t like sex would be devastating, but hurting you again would be just as devastating. Maybe more.”

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