Page 87 of The Spring in My Heart

My eyes roll to the back of my head with the memory.

“No. God. It was good.” I think of the way he ate me with his open mouth and the pressure from his tongue on my clit. My nipples begin to tingle. “So good.”

“Why are you so touchy, then?”

I sigh. “I dunno. Things got weird.”

“Things?” she asks.

“Oliver got weird. He asked me to hang out with Ayla and him, and we can bring Bron so it’s not so obvious, and I said okay. He got odd, like I’m clingy.”

“He said that?”

I lean my head against the same hallway wall he had pressed me against. I can still feel his dick pressed against my apex. “No. It’s how I interpreted it. He had that body language, like when you get clingy, and they need to make an exit.”

“Running doesn’t sound like him.”

“I dunno. It’s just a feeling, and it wasn’t my idea. If it was, I would have been like okay, I made him uncomfortable. But he came up with it.”

“Maybe you’re both still learning your way around each other. This is also new and big for him.”

“Or maybe it’s something else.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, Lo.” My tone is testy and bothered.

“Okay, let’s go in parts.” How is her voice so soothing right now? “How was the evening before that?”

“Yum,” I say in a whisper, remembering the way we tore at each other and riding him on the floor of my family room. The way he held me after, the tender way he stroked my back. And our conversation.

“Why don’t you give it more time, then? This is a big step for you both, and you need to get used to it.”

“Is that what you would tell yourself?”

She’s silent for a bit. “No, but I didn’t use to give men much of a chance. I was hung up on your brother mostly.”

“But he was hung up on you too.” My voice is softer than I mean it, and maybe that’s the issue. “What if he’s hung up on his ex-wife or that other woman he was dating before and can’t give himself a true chance?”

“I don’t think so. Not when he looks at you the way he does, and he’s making plans to let you hang out with Ayla.”

“Maybe.”

“Lux?” she asks.

“Yeah?”

“You know the best way to find out what happened with him?” I don’t get to answer her because she starts talking right away again. “Ask him. You’re not shy. Put him on the spot, make him talk.”

“I don’t want him to think I’m a stage-six clinger.”

“No, you’re a woman and have every right to ask. One thing I’ve learned is that not asking the right questions breeds insecurity that will doom any relationship.”

She’s right. I know it is. All the time I could have spoken up for myself with Mateo, and I let shit go because of dumb reasons. I could’ve saved myself so much heartache.

We hang up a few minutes later, and I jump in the shower. When the hot water hits my skin, all memories of him flood me and my senses, and I end up against the wall with my hands sliding over my breasts, down my belly, picturing his face between my legs as he laps me into an orgasm that makes my skin shrink around my body.

I sigh and lather, thinking of when I’ll see him again. But if I am, I need to clear up last night. I need to talk to him.

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