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“What happened?”
“I didn’t trust him enough.” There was something sexy about it, but the danger felt too real. “I couldn’t relax into it.”
“Do you want to try it?”
“Are you offering?” The words fill the air. The city. The state. The planet.
“Are you asking?”
Yes. Let’s go to my place—assuming Lexi is out—and we can use one of your ties. Do you have ties? Fuck it. I have ties. And rope. And those black leather handcuffs with fuzzy insides, so they’re comfortable without looking over-the-top.
River doesn’t push forward or fall back. He looks me over slowly, noting my bare lips, my long neck, the sheer black fabric covering my chest and torso. “Is that why you tested sex in the app?”
“Huh?”
“To use logic and science to see if you attracted a certain kind of guy?”
“Yes.” My chest flames. My stomach and cheeks, too. I’m obvious. Too obvious.
“I’m sure you do,” he says. “You radiate power and competence. People who want that everywhere see it in you.”
“Are you going to say it’s destiny?”
“No. Other people will see it and want to claim it. To control the most powerful woman in the world. Anyone who enjoys control would get a thrill out of that.”
“Would you?” I bite my tongue, but it’s too late. The words are out there. I’m asking him, again. There’s no denying that.
He doesn’t answer. “I’m going to use the bathroom.”
“Then we should go home.”
“Sure.”
I refill my water. I chug the glass. I use our phone-finding app to check Lexi’s location. Perfect. She’s at the Pilates studio her friend owns.
And there’s a picture of them on her Instagram. She tags the studio and mentions tea and dinner plans for after.
Really, she should be more careful with her social media. Anyone could find her. Stalkers, ex-boyfriends, current boyfriends, crushes, sisters.
I use the bathroom, too.
When I’m done, River is standing outside the restaurant, out of place in the Orange County strip mall. He doesn’t belong here. It’s not the tattoos or the European swimsuit. It’s something about him. Something I feel, too. Something I want.
He experimented with his girlfriend.
He knows how to do this.
I want to do this with him.
But I don’t say anything about it. I follow him to the car, I climb in, I babble about the artist on the stereo. Anything and everything I know about music, which isn’t much. The principles, the mathematical parts, the progressions. The emotion, the lyrics, the magic?
None of it means anything to me.
And I feel everything. Even with the cheesy pop song. Even though its inane lyrics describe a teenager’s idea of sex.
I feel it everywhere.
We park in front of his house. He opens the door for me and walks me along the sidewalk. The street is booming with backyard barbecues and front yard games. All quiet parties and kids laughing and dad jokes and wine moms.
