Page 43 of What I'm Looking For

I nod. It’s on my stomach, just like it was after the juggler incident.

“See if you can relax these muscles and let your body breathe.”

I can do this. I’m in charge of my mind. And my body.

Banishing Jonathan, I put all my focus on Will’s warm palm.

Finally, my belly relaxes. My ribcage expands. My throat opens.

For the next few minutes, all I do is breathe, cocooned by Will.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” My voice sounds scratchy. I pat his hand.

He shifts, withdrawing that warmth. I maybe whimper.

A glass of water appears in front of me. “Sorry, this has been sitting here since last night, but it’ll probably help.”

I nod gratefully and take a sip, trying to swallow my embarrassment. “Thanks,” I manage.

After emptying it, I set the glass on the floor and ease myself onto my back. He’s on his side, head resting on his hand. His face is full of concern, not judgment.

“Sorry about that.” My hand cradles the front of my neck. “Something got stuck in my throat somehow.”

His brow furrows.

“But I’m fine. Really.”

“Okay. Good. That was a little scary.”

I resist the impulse to cut my losses and run. It’s awkward for a few moments, but the embarrassment slips away and is replaced by a cozy feeling. “This is a small bed. Thoreau would be proud.”

He pats the wall behind him. “Yep. Maids don’t get a lot of real estate. Nor do starving actors.”

I turn to face him and stroke a muscled shoulder. “Doesn’t feel like you’re starving.” Maybe I can get things back on track here.

He brushes a hand over my hip. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

I shrug. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Seeing the skeptical look on his face, I close my eyes. “Well, maybe not totally fine. It’s just… I think I’m a little nervous. It’s been awhile since I’ve had a… um… an audience for my… sexual adventures.”

“Ahhh, I completely understand. I try not to have too big of an audience for that myself.”

I brave a peek at him. His face is creased with a smile. “You know what I mean.” I push him, but he doesn’t budge. There’s no room.

He sits up and crosses his legs, back against the wall. “Yes, I do.” He brushes a strand of hair away from my face. “Listen, we can pause this if you want. I mean, I’d love to get to know you more?…” He strokes my hip slowly. “But, honestly, I don’t know if I can be, like, dating someone right now. So, I get it if you want to just say goodnight.”

His words say one thing, but the heat and energy in his voice say something else.

I grab his hand, interlacing our fingers. When I push against his palm, he pushes back and our hands do a little dance in the air between us.

“‘And palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss,’” he says softly, his eyes following our hands.

How many girls are lucky enough to have a guy that quotes poetry to them, on top of making dinner and cleaning it up? I do want to go further—right now—but I’m also afraid. Of getting attached and then losing him and losingitall over again. I’m not quite ready to tell him all that, but I don’t want to close the door on things with him either.

I sit up, release his hand, and scoot back to sit against the headboard. “I don’t know if I have room in my life for dating, either.” I blow out a breath and talk to the ceiling. “Anyway, part of me really wants to go further with you right now, but part of me thinks we shouldn’t. That it’s too fast. So… I don’t know.”

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