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Yes, fuck Connor, but he wasn’t entirely off base.
“Isaiah,” I exhale, needing him to understand. “I’ve spent my whole life believing I was never going to have this opportunity, and I don’t want to blow it simply because I’m lacking life experience. If a man who was going to inherit an entire hotel franchise, simply by being with me, couldn’t even handle my intimacy issues, then I can’t expect a new, random guy with nothing to gain would be able to either.”
His jaw hardens, the tendons in his neck flexing. “If you stop worrying about unworthy men, maybe you’ll begin to realize that you’re not the problem.”
“It’s not really about anyone else,” I tell him. “I want to do this for me.”
I assume it’s the perfectionist in me that feels the need to excel before I’m put to the test, but I refuse to start an entirely new life in San Francisco, working my dream job but floundering in my personal life.
“Let me get this straight.” He links his fingers on the tabletop, mirroring me. “You want to practice on me in order to be better at dating other people.”
“Exactly!”
His eyes widen.
“Shit. That sounds bad.”
“Not exactly my favorite thing to hear.” He exhales a defeated sigh. “But you didn’t ask to be in another unwanted marriage. Well...” He bobs his head from side to side. “You definitely did ask. Multiple times. Begged me, really.”
I stifle a laugh. “Shut up.”
His lips lift in a smirk at the sound. Like he’s proud of himself for making me laugh.
Isaiah leans back in the booth, his button-up shirt pulled taut over his biceps, perfect hair finger-combed without any need for product. You’d have to be blind not to find my husband attractive, but more importantly, he’s experienced.
Very experienced.
Experienced in a way that I know his little crush on me isn’t anything serious. I’ve simply told him no too many times and that intrigues him. He wants something he can’t have. He’ll eventually get bored of waiting for me to view him differently or he’ll spend so much time with me that his fantasy of sleeping with the only female on staff will fade. He’ll move on soon enough.
That’s all perfectly fine, but what I really need is his experience.
Isaiah is confident in ways that I’m not. He has no problem with physical affection. He doesn’t overthink his words before they come out of his mouth. That’s what I need. I need him to lay it all on me, so that when I start dating someone else, someone with an average level of self-confidence and swagger, it’ll be a breeze to navigate in comparison to my current husband.
I’m a scientist. This is research. Trial and error.
“So what do you want me to do, Kennedy?”
My eyes flick over our surroundings, making sure no other patrons are sitting in the listening range of our conversation, but still I keep my volume to a whisper. “I want you to touch me.”
Isaiah’s gaze heats.
“But also,” I continue, “I want to touch you.”
“You want to touch me?”
“If that’s okay with you.”
“Yeah,” he deadpans. “I think I could live with that.” Propping an elbow on the table, he runs his thumb and forefinger over his closed eyes. “But in what context are you wanting to touch me? Publicly or privately?”
That’s a great question.
Chips and salsa get delivered to our table, so I snag a chip and chew, giving me time to mull it over.
After seeing Connor with Mallory and the way their hands easily found each other tonight, it hit me like a freight train that I may never be so comfortable in public. Hence the idea was born that Isaiah, the man I’m married to, might be able to help me get there.
There’s a huge part of me that longs for the romantic parts of life. To be grabbed and kissed. For my hand to be held like someone’s lifeline. To be flaunted because someone loves me for me, and not for the monetary gain that comes with me.
But privately, I’m no different.
