Page 26 of Aim for Love

Nora and Sophie mean well. But they’re much more certain about everything than I am. When I’m around them, I often adopt whattheywant because it’s so much easier than figuring out what I do.

I want to sleep with Hunter. I do.

But I’m still second-guessing my choice of seat. Because what if my own closet is filled with feelings and they all come pouring out, turning this into an impossible situation for both of us?

Hunter picks up one of his books and sits down on the bed beside me. “This is going to sound like a line, but I can’t help it. I haven’t had a woman in my room in a long time, so I’ve gotta ask. A couple of months ago I tried to find a book to read that portrayed the female perspective, and it involved a lot of trial and error and I eventually read this. Do you think it fits the bill?” He holds the book up, allowing me to read it’s title:We Should All Be Feminists.

“I haven’t read that,” I admit, ignoring the tingle in my lady parts. “Are you sure thisisn’ta line? Did you take that book to the bars and wait for women to approach you? Because I feel like it would work.”

“No.” He grimaces. “Although, Scott suggested it. So I thought about it. I never did. I was too interested in actually reading the book. I didn’t want to be interrupted.”

“That’s fair.” My heart squeezes from how adorable this man is.

“In complete transparency, after I finished the book, Scott tried it out and he said it worked really well.” Hunter puts the book back on the stack on the floor by his bed.

“Could youhearit working really well?” I gesture at the walls of his bedroom. “How thin are these?”

“Yeah, you called that. They’re pretty bad,” he admits. “Usually nobody’s here during the day.” He winces and looks at his hands as he adds, “If you’re worried about that. Not that you have any reason to be.”

His darkening cheeks make me want to be the bold one. It’s not Nora and Sophie urging me on in this moment, it’s the fact that foreplay with Hunter involves a literary discussion.

“Hunter,” I say. “Let’s be real here. We want to have sex. And I’d rather no one be listening to us.”

He meets my eyes. His blue ones are surprised only briefly, then turn thoughtful. “I guess I shouldn't be surprised you are so straightforward about this.”

“No? Most people would be.” The truth is, Hunter’s one of the only people I wouldbeso straightforward with. It’s easy to be brave around him.Sweet and daring.The gentle way he coaxes her out of me makes it easy for me to be the woman he seems to see.

“No,” he says. “You’re spicy, remember? And daring. You’re one of the only people I know who doesn’t, you know, grandstand or coat everything with a layer of bullshit. Even my friends—even though I love them—they can’t have a heart-to-heart conversation without pretending they’re joking around.”

“I just coat everything with a layer of failure instead.” I laugh, then wince. “Sorry. That was bullshit, like you said. I know I fail a lot but noteverytime.”

“So long as you keep trying, anyway.” He grins. “Success is the result of as many fails as you’re willing to give. Remember when I taught you about sessioning, on the bike? That’s the same thing. You repeat it over and over, breaking it down into achievable parts, until you succeed at the whole thing.”

“That seems like a life approach.” I mean it. I’m not agreeing only because Hunter’s nearness is getting to me. And despite being brave, despite my personal determination to live withoutbullshit, I’m still struggling to reach between us and touch him. I need him to make the first move.

“What if we approach this like that?” he murmurs, twisting toward me. “When I look at you, there are a lot of parts I want to…well—alotof things I want to do. And touch. So maybe we break it down and take it slow?”

Slow is not what I’m used to, and I should have expected it from this man. His care—the way he waits for me to answer before he reaches out—makes me bold again. “And maybe you could start by touching me here?” I rest my hand on my thigh.

“I like a map.” He puts his hand there.

“More like a guidebook, I think,” I reply, laying down on my back with my legs still dangling off the bed. “I didn’t give you the contour lines.”

He grins, leaning over me propped on his elbow, one hand still tracing the seam of my jeans. “Look how well you listen.”

We both know I wasn’t actually any good at the contour lines. This is something I can do, though. I can present my own body to explore. There’s nothing else I want more in this moment. “Anything else you want to teach me?”

He pauses, looking down at what his hand is doing. “I’d like to learn the contour lines of your body. Is that OK?”

Mutely, I nod, because I’m holding my breath for what I think is going to happen next. And then, Hunter puts both hands on me. He slides them up my body, over the swell of my breasts, where he pauses to feel my nipples perk against his palms.

Oh my god, so this is what elevation gain is really like. The rush goes straight to my head. Every part of me is attuned to his hands, to the next turn they might take as they explore.

He runs his hands over all of me, from my collarbones to my toes after he takes off my shoes. From the look of concentration on his face, I think he really is learning my dimensions. It feelsas if he’s not just touching me, but every inch of me onto the map he’s creating with his hands.

His hands study me. And I study back, sensitized to every pressure change, to the way his hands caress around my breasts and then firmly grasp my hips. The way he maps me tells me he knows what to do with my body, from my flesh to my bones, and I keep forgetting to breathe with the anticipation of it.

By the time he’s traveled the length of me twice, I can’t wait for him do it again with less clothes. My heart is beating so hard I can hear it in my ears, and my throat is so dry I keep swallowing.

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