Page 96 of Lost Love on 6th Street

Luke places his hands softly on my hips. Not grabbing. His hips aren’t moving against me.

In fact, he’s not even hard.

That’s fine. Whiskey dick. Maybe. That happens. Doesn’t mean we can’t kiss and have a little fun. Penetration isn’t everything.

I pull his suspenders over his shoulders and lower my mouth to his neck. “You’re so sexy when you’re working,” I say.

“Eleanor, stop.”

That gets my attention. Oh my god, was that what he was trying to say this whole time? Trying to ask me to stop? And I just kept going. I lift my head and cover my mouth.

“I’m so sorry,” I mutter. I push myself up from the couch, stumbling back a bit, but thankfully catching myself. “I’m so sorry, did I hurt you?”

Luke pulls his suspenders back up. “No, Nor, no. Not—”

I fist my hands and bounce them against my forehead. “I’m so sorry, oh my god.”

“It’s fine, it’s not—”

“The last thing I want to do is push your boundaries or make you feel like I’m taking advantage of you, oh my god, was I taking advantage of you?” I clutch my chest. Is this a panic attack?

“Eleanor!”

The room snaps with . . . is that anger? Is he mad at me?

I look back at him. Luke’s eyes seem to be sizing up a task he thinks might be insurmountable, his jaw tight and mouth pursed.

“Just stop for a second,” he says, spreading his hands up.

Oh, I’m stopped alright. Frozen in place. Waiting to know what the hell he’s thinking. Or what I did wrong.

Fuck, did I screw everything up?

Luke puts his hands on his thighs and rubs them up and down. “Could you sit?”

“What’s going on?”

“Eleanor, just sit. Over there.” He nods toward the armchair across from the couch.

I sit in the wingback chair. The back is too straight for how I’m feeling. I’d like to slouch and curl my legs up under me to protect myself like a hermit crab.

“I need to tell you something,” he says.

He has another girlfriend. He’s married. He has kids. Oh my god, he’s going to die. He’s leaving Austin. He thinks this has all been a mistake.

My mind rushes through possibilities all at once, not able to land on anything except bad.

This is bad.

“Okay,” I squeak.

Luke’s tense expression softens. He leans toward me, elbows on his knees. “I want to preface and say that the last thing I’ve ever wanted to do is hurt you.”

He’s totally married.

“I never wanted to do anything to hurt you.”

I am now incredibly sober. Viciously sober. I could walk a straight line, touch my nose, and say the date with flying colors. “Luke, what’s going on?”

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