Page 64 of The Comeback Summer

I go still.

“I knew you were beautiful,” he goes on. “I remember it well. But my memories didn’t do you justice. Not even close.”

His hands rest on my shoulders, his fingers slippery and wet, sending shivers down my arms.

“I need to confess something,” he says.

My heart pounds, and I want to turn around, but I’m frozen, the shower hitting the front of me, Josh behind me.

“You said in the lobby,” he goes on, “that I always come up with plans and expect you to go along with me. You’re right—and I’m working on communicating better.”

He runs his hands across the tops of my shoulders to my neck. I bite my lip to keep from sighing.

“So I need to tell you, Hannah. About what I’ve been doing this summer.”

“Okay?” I’m not sure where he’s going with this.

“I’m trying to win you back,” he whispers, and presses his lips to the curve of my neck. Warmth spreads down my body, lighting me up like a candle.

“Oh,” I say faintly. “Why?”

He slides his hands down my arms until they reach my hands, and he threads our fingers together. He doesn’t bring his body against mine—there are still several inches betweenus—and judging by his shallow breathing, there’s a reason for that. A big, thick, hard reason.

“Why?” he repeats, sighing. “Because you’re the standard.”

“What does that mean?”

“You are the standard by which I measure every other woman I’ve ever met. Not just women—everyone, period. Does this person make me happy like Hannah Freedman? Is this person as interesting as Hannah Freedman? Can I be myself around this person, like I could with Hannah Freedman? Everyone gets measured against you.”

“And how do they measure?”

“They come up short. Every time.” He kisses my neck again, making me shiver. “So, I realized: if I’m comparing everyone to Hannah Freedman, maybe I should go back and get the real thing.”

I tilt my head, inviting him to kiss more, which he does. A soft cry escapes my lips at the feeling of his warm mouth, his rough stubble against my skin.

“Don’t make that sound,” he says, his voice strained. “I’m barely holding myself together as it is.”

“Maybe I want you to fall apart.”

He sighs but doesn’t make a move, so I suppose that’s a no.

After a beat, he speaks. “I’ve been thinking about something you said the other day. That you haven’t had an... orgasm since me.”

I give an embarrassed laugh, my cheeks warming. “Oh god. Josh. That’s—ugh. Ihavehad an orgasm since you. Just not with anyone I’ve dated. I’ve had plenty on my own.”

He groans, and I feel him rest his head against the back of mine, holding it there, his fingers tight on my shoulders. “That’s... fuck. Don’t put that image in my mind.”

“You’re the one who brought it up.” I grab the bottle of conditioner and squeeze some in my hand, then in my hair.

I feel Josh’s hands joining mine, helping me work the conditioner through the tangled strands. The rasp of his fingers against my scalp nearly makes my knees buckle.

“Why haven’t you been able to... come,” he says softly, “with anyone else?”

I take a steadying breath as he continues to massage my scalp. “I’m not sure. I have a hard time relaxing, I guess. And then I get self-conscious that I’m taking too long, and then I feel anxious and it becomes this vicious cycle. Like there’s something wrong inside me, like my body doesn’t work like it’s supposed to.”

His hands stiffen in my hair. “Did someone say that to you?”

“Not in so many words, but—”

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