Page 83 of Long Shot

“Oh, no.” Sympathy floods through me, solidifying like a rock in my stomach as if I’m feeling his pain. I touch his face. “You’re okay, though. Obviously.”

“I am. It was a painful recovery. I didn’t handle it well when they told me I’d lost a nut.” He closes his eyes.

I have no idea what this means medically but I already know he functions absolutely fine as a man. Better than fine. “God. I’m so sorry. That must have been difficult.”

He bends his head in agreement.

“You have nothing to compensate for.” My tone is dry and a look of relief passes over his face. “Seriously.” I kiss his mouth, sliding my arms around his neck. “You’re the best lover I’ve ever had.”

“Really?” One corner of his mouth lifts.

“Hell, yeah. I’d think that was obvious.”

“Everything works now. For a while . . . it didn’t.”

“Oh.” I tighten my arms around his neck to hug him. Oh, God. That must have been awful for him. “You’re fine. And being a good lover is about much more than just . . . everything functioning. Which you absolutely do, but also . . . you’re considerate. Generous. And, well, controlling. But weirdly, in bed that’s a turn-on.”

He hugs me back, his arms tight around me.

“Is that why you didn’t want to go bike-riding with Beck and Marco?”

“Yeah.” He buries his face against my hair.

“Ah. But you did.”

“Yeah. After you told me about the shooting. You were so brave. And . . . I was being an idiot.”

“Fears aren’t stupid.”

“I know. I just . . . you inspired me.”

“Oh.” My chest fills with warmth. He’s told me stories from his SEAL days. Sure, getting back on a bike seems like a small thing, compared to some of them. But I know how irrational fear can be. And something that’s so deeply threatening to his manhood . . . I’m a woman, and I can’t exactly relate, but I understand that it could be devastating. “You’ve done incredibly brave things, Cade. You’re a hero.”

He lets out a shuddering breath. “No. I thinkyou’rethe hero.”

We stand, wrapped in each other’s arms for a few moments, silent, emotion pulsing around us. He told me this about himself . . . something so personal, something that makes him vulnerable. That means so much to me, that he trusts me that way.

I’m curious about whether he can still father children . . . but bite back the question. That isn’t my business. We aren’t getting married or anything; we’re just having fun together. He used condoms, but those were for more than birth control, because I’m actually on the pill, so that doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t matter to me. But for his sake . . . I hope he can.

“Thanks.” His is voice is low in my ear. “Thanks for not freaking out about it. I’ve never told anyone else I was with.”

I pull back, my chest filled with emotion. But I play it cool. “No one needs to know,” I say casually. “But thanks for telling me so I understand . . . what you were going through.”

Okay, he was a manwhore but he was trying to prove he was a man. I don’t condone it; it’s kind of misguided actually. The number of women you can have sex with has nothing to do with being a man. But I guess for a guy something like that is probably pretty traumatic.

“Just so you know, none of those women mattered. Not even Nerissa. However . . .” He captures my chin between thumb and forefinger and nudges it up. “You do matter. Which means no sweeping. Mopping. Carrying out the trash.”

I smile at him, shaking my head.

“Let’s go.”

“Uh . . . go where?”

“Your place. You’re done working tonight.”

“Man, you’re bossy.”

“Yes. Because I’m the boss.” He kisses my mouth, and my lips tingle as always. “Right?”

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