Page 34 of Fast Currents
After the haircut, I’d half-expected distance. Frustration. But he didn’t retreat or guilt me. He just went with the flow, matching my pace.
It shouldn’t have surprised me. That was who Clay was, consistent in a way I never knew I needed.
And tonight, watching him pretend to be nothing but a laid-back date while his hand settled warm and steady at the small of my back, I realized something: I wasn’t scared of him anymore. Just… scared of what wanting him this badly might mean.
But fear wasn’t going to make this decision for me. Not this time.
I wanted to take the next step. And I wanted him to know it was because of who he was, not in spite of what I’d been through.
Clay deserved the truth. Giving him all the information to decide what worked for him was the fair thing to do. Even if the idea of him rejecting me made me quaver inside. I was stronger now. I could take it.
“Do you mind if I put the last of this in your freezer?” I held up my unfinished carton.
“Sure. I can take that for you.”
He scooped up my ice cream and disappeared into the kitchen, returning a few moments later empty-handed. Clay dropped down next to me on the couch. I was instantly aware of his big body, the heat of his thigh pressing against mine as the couch cushions bowed, bringing us closer together.
“I haven’t been with anyone in a while.” I blurted it out before I could think anymore.
Clay’s expression was neutral, but he reached for my hand, tracing a finger over my knuckles. It gave me the courage to keep going.
“My last relationship wasn’t very healthy.” Beside me, he stiffened, his fingers clenching mine. “It’s taken me a long time to rebuild. And sometimes… sometimes things take me back to a bad place.”
“That’s the last thing I want to do.” He said it softly, but the sincerity was there in his deep voice as he held my gaze.
I sighed, closing my eyes to gather my courage. “It wasn’t physically abusive or anything, but he cut me down verbally, and I let myself become smaller. Take up less space.”
“I hate him already.” Clay’s dark tone, his stiff posture, communicated his feelings clearly.
“I used to lie to myself. Lie to him. About my feelings, my body, all of it. When we finally broke up, I swore I’d never do that again.”
“I like to think I can handle your honesty.”
“The reason I didn’t want you taking off my shirt the other night is because I was embarrassed. I have a birthmark. A big one.”
“Okay,” he said cautiously.
“Christopher used to encourage me to keep it covered. Wear a shirt to bed or cover it with makeup, that kind of thing.”
“Did the birthmark say ‘Christopher sucks’? Because A. it’s true, and B. that’s a birthmark I’d like to see.”
I chuckled, the sound more than a little watery. “You’re a menace.”
“But not an asshole. Skin pigmentation isn’t a deal-breaker or a turn-off. It’s just skin.”
“Mine is vaguely shaped like a continent. I warned you it’s huge.”
He looked intrigued, and I steeled myself for what he’d say next.
“Like the classy guy I am, I’m going to skip the obvious joke about size not mattering and go straight for the goods: I can’t wait to explore your peaks and valleys and travel every inch you’re willing to share with me.” He eyed me, the hint of a smile shadowing his features. “Including going Down Under.”
I held a fist to my forehead. “Clay. That’s like five kinds of inappropriate.”
“Take me on a world tour, honey.”
“Clay.” I shook my head. Trust him to take my serious admission and turn it into a joke. But oddly enough, his attitude pushed all the right buttons. The horny ones.
“You show me yours, and I’ll show you mine,” he offered, eyes dancing.
