AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Though math is not my strong suit, I can math well enough to know that’s around a year. Logan hasn’t dated anyone in a year? For a hockey player, that’s sort of like the equivalent of monkdom. Or something. And though it shouldn’t matter anyway—because the past is the past and because Logan and I are discussing boundaries forourfake relationship—the knowledge makes me feel relieved.
“Good to know,” I say. “I also haven’t dated in … a while.” I’m not about to get into my string of dating disasters with Logan. Vague is the name of this game.
“Why don’t we start with what you’re comfortable with?” Logan suggests.
His voice has lost the teasing edge. Now it’s almost tender. Which might be more my undoing than the flirty teasing one. Because Logan cares about what makes me comfortable.
Why is that so sexy? I mean, it should be like the lowest of all bars to set. But I’ve dated enough to know many men do NOT care about what makes their date comfortable. In fact, any time the conversation of physical stuff comes up—which it does for me more than most because of the whole kissing thing—most men run. Or are suddenly horrified.
Or feel the need to “solve” my lack of kissing experience by kissing me right then and there.
So, yeah—Logan actually asking about my boundaries even for a fake relationship is dead sexy to me.
“How about hand holding?” he asks.
“Sure,” I say.
While my brain screams,Yes!!! All the hands! All the holding!
He points. “Don’t forget to write it down.”
“Right.” I roll my eyes but had totally forgotten about the sticky notes while I was thinking about Logan’s big hands. “There will be dancing,” I tell him, keeping my eyes on the sticky note as I writeHand holding—OK. “I know how you feel about dancing, but—”
“I’d love to dance with you, Pete.”
Ugh. Logan really needs to stop saying things like that. And wereallyneed to finish and get out of my cramped office before I do something stupid like launch myself over my desk and into Logan’s lap.
THAT is definitely not getting written on a sticky note. But I make a mental note:No throwing myself into Logan’s lap.
“So … dance touching?” I suggest. When Logan’s eyes gleam with amusement, I stare pointedly. “As in, the kind of touching appropriate while dancing at an event with myfatherpresent.”
He grimaces. “Fine. Appropriate dance touching. What if I put my arm around your shoulders? Or around your waist? Not while dancing. Just … whenever.”
Any time. Any place.
“Fine,” I say.
“How about hugs?”
“Sure.”
Sure,as inPLEASE let there be lots of hugging.
I keep my head bent as I write, trying to avoid Logan’s gaze lest he see all the things I’m feeling broadcast on my face. I move on to the next sticky note.
Who knew we’d need multiple sticky notes to discuss physical boundaries for a fake relationship?
Or that thinking about the most innocent touches from Logan could get me so flustered?
“What about kissing?” he asks.
I knew we might end up here. I did.
But it doesn’t stop my pen from jerking across the paper, leaving an ugly line. I rip that sticky note off, ball it up, and toss it in the trash.
“I think that would be a good line to draw,” I say carefully, still not looking at Logan.
“A good line as in, yes to kissing? Or as in, no to kissing?”
