Page 67 of Last Chorus

She laughs. “So you didn’t hammer in every nail?”

“Only a few thousand of them. But I did lay all the flooring and tile and installed most of the drywall.” Far too pleased by the impressed look on her face, I smirk. “I don’t know why you’re surprised. According to you, I have skilled fingers.”

I love that she doesn’t hide her blush.

“Stop it.”

I feign innocence with raised brows. “Stop what?”

Evangeline rolls her eyes and stands, taking her coffee with her into the living room. “Let’s go, Mr. Fancy Fingers. Time to tackle the hard stuff.”

At my laugh, she throws a disapproving look over her shoulder.

“What did you expect? I know I’ve changed a lot, but some things never will. Especially around you.”

Adorably flustered, she sits on the couch facing the water and pulls a nearby blanket over her legs. When I approach her, she points to the other couch.

“For my vagina’s peace of mind, you’re sitting over there.”

I veer around the coffee table and sit. “If you’re trying to make me stop thinking about sex, it’s not working.”

She hides a smile behind her mug. “Given the conversation we’re about to have, it would be pointless to try.”

“I’ll show you somethingnotpointless.”

She groans. “Horrible. Really horrible.”

Smirking, I toss my legs onto the coffee table and cross my ankles. To my satisfaction, her gaze drops to my groin—namely, the tent in my sweats.

“Yep, still hard over here.”

Her eyes flash up. “Since we’re all about honesty these days, why did you never let me give you a blowjob when we were together? Was it because you thought I’d suck at it?”

My lips twitch and she glowers.

“I wasn’t trying to be punny.”

I sigh, allowing the gravity of her question to settle inside me. “There isn’t a simple answer.”

“Then give me the complicated one.”

Despite literal years of wanting to have this conversation with her, now that the door is open, I can’t decide where to start. There’s too much I want to say all at once.

When the curiosity in Evangeline’s eyes shifts to apprehension, I give up and pick a random thought.

“Do you remember the day I sat in on the music lesson with one of your students?”

“Yes.” Her blush conveys that she remembers what happened after the lesson. How she was so turned on she forgot where she was and almost went down on me in the classroom.

“I had every intention of letting you… you know, later that night. But then we had dinner with the guys.”

As the words pass my lips, a wave of anxiety crashes over me. My throat closes. Imaginary fire ants march down my arms.

“Shit,” I mumble. “Give me a sec.” Closing my eyes, I focus on my breath.

“If you don’t want to talk about this…”

“No. I’m okay.” I force myself to look at her—at the woman I hurt. “I do need to back up a bit, though. Or a lot. I’d like to explain from the beginning.”

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