Page 20 of Broken Chords

Damian’s expression can only be described as horror. “Oh my God.” He leans toward me, his eyes scanning my face, concern mixing with the horror. “Were you …?” He looks all around, like he wants to make sure no one can overhear us, then widens his eyes meaningfully. “Were you … forced?”

My own eyes widen. “No. No. Not … like that. No, it was more that I didn’t want to deal with the fallout of making them mad.”

That does nothing to lessen the horrified concern in his eyes. “So they threatened you?”

Reviewing what I said, I can see how he might’ve gotten that. “No. They didn’t threaten me.” At least not physically. A couple of them hinted that they’d sell stories about me to the tabloids and tell the world that I’m a sex addict or any number of specific sexual things I prefer. Most of which are not things I’ve tried. Though one guy said he’d tell the world what a terrific cocksucker I am. His words. The memory of that has the heat rising to my cheeks again.

“Charlie.” Damian’s voice is soft, inviting. “Charlie, if—“

But I cut him off with a quick shake of my head. Not wanting to talk about this anymore. “No. It wasn’t like that. I swear.” And most of the time it wasn’t. It was more that things would progress, physically, and I wouldn’t stop them. I knew the score. The expectations. And I know that it’s easier to get along, not rock the boat, because the consequences of noncooperation are worse than just doing what it takes to get through it as soon as possible.

Not that they were all that way. There were a couple of guys that I liked. That took their time and made sure I enjoyed myself too. But they were exceptions, not the norm.

Damian studies me for several long moments before finally nodding. “Okay. I believe you. But I promise that when we … take that step, it’ll be because we both want to. Because we’ve fallen for each other, and we’re ready for that kind of emotional connection. Okay?”

I stare at his serious eyes, his earnest expression, and place my hand in the one that he’s reached across the table. No one has ever talked about sex like that before. Not to me, anyway. It sounds like something out of a movie or a romance novel. But I kind of like it.

“Okay.”

His fingers close around mine, giving my hand a quick squeeze before lifting it to his lips and brushing a kiss across my knuckles. And I melt.

Opening my door. Kissing my hand. Wanting to take his time getting to know me—to fall for me. Believing sex is an emotional connection and not just a physical one. Can he be any more perfect?

He gives me a smile, the small dimple appearing on his left cheek.

Nope. I don’t think he can.

An hour and a half later, Damian takes me back to the music building to get my car. His kiss goodnight is hotter than ever. He presses me back against my car, the cool breeze playing with our hair as he slides one hand along my jaw to tip my face up before covering my mouth with his. His lips move against mine, opening, sliding his tongue inside.

Maybe he hasn’t been with a lot of girls, but man can he kiss. I guess you get a lot of practice being in a relationship with one girl for over a year. Plus, he only told me how many people he’d had sex with. Not how many he’d kissed. For all I know, he’s kissed a billion girls.

“Goodnight, Charlie,” he says when he pulls back. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” We finally exchanged numbers when we left the diner.

The smile on my face when he steps away is impossible to hold back. Even if a million paparazzi were surrounding us, taking our picture, and shouting questions, I couldn’t disguise my happiness—no—joy. “Talk to you tomorrow.”

My smile stays in place the whole way home. And I can’t help doing a little happy dance when I park my car.

I make a point of being quiet when I open the front door. It’s almost midnight. Lauren might be out with her friends still. But she might also be in bed.

The answer is neither. She’s watching TV on the couch in what she calls her lazy clothes—lounge pants and a cami—when I walk in, so I let the door close normally.

She mutes the TV, looking me down and up. “Have you been practicing in the recital hall this whole time?”

I bite my lip, trying and failing to stifle my smile. “No. I ran into Damian.”

Her brows jump up her forehead, and her mouth curves in a knowing smile. “Oh? Do tell.”

Sitting on the couch next to her, I kick off my shoes and pull my feet under me. “He found me in the recital hall after everyone had left.”

“What’d he say?”

I give Lauren a stripped down version of our conversation in the recital hall and the essentials from the diner, leaving out the implication that I may have been raped, or at least coerced into having sex in the past. I’m happy right now, and that new perspective on my sexual history is … disturbing, to say the least.

Lauren’s smile grows wider as I tell my story. When I’m done, she claps her hands and bounces a little. “Yay for you! I was so bummed when it seemed like things weren’t working out. You were having fun together, and it seems like you really like him.”

“I do.”

“And from the sounds of it, he really likes you. I don’t think he would’ve cornered me for your number if he didn’t. But I’m glad you guys worked it out between yourselves.” Her face turns serious. “I’m not sure I’d be as on board with the whole falling in love before having sex stipulation, especially in your shoes, but if you’re happy, then I’m happy.”

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