Ev clears his throat from the doorway, and I turn, nearly stumbling, because I’m only wearing one shoe, to see him fresh from the shower and wearing only a towel. And a pissed-off smile. “Whatcha doin, Molls?”
Hmmm. Morning after protocol for getting caught while attempting to sneak out... I run through my mental rolodex…
You know what? Fuck it. He wants to know what I’m doing?
“I’m putting my clothes on, so I can leave, but then I got distracted by my phone…”
“So I caught you before you made it out the door.”
I wiggle my left foot into the strappy ankle boot that was a great idea yesterday, rise to my full, heeled height, and look him in the eye. “Yes.”
“Are you looking to get spanked again? I mean, you seemed to like it last night…”
“No.” My answer is quick, and maybe a little panicky.
Ev takes it in stride, which unnerves me even more. He sits on the bed like none of this is happening right now—like he’s not naked and wet, lounging against a mound of pillows. Like I’m not messily dressed and trying to sneak out like a teenager. Like we didn’t have shake-the-walls sex hours ago.
“This,” I gesture around the room and between the two of us, as if he needs an explanation, “can’t happen again.”
“I got a message at 5 that morning.” He says this plainly, as if I’ve said nothing, as if we’re just listing random facts now.
He continues, “Nate texted to let me know that bad weather was coming in, so he booked me the last seat on an earlier flight. It was dark when I left, Molly—dark and bleak outside. I kept the lights off in your place, got dressed using the flashlight on my phone, wrote you a note, kissed your forehead, and left.”
“Ev...” I do not need this trip down memory lane.
He ignores my protest. “Yes, I’d given you a fake name. And no, I never expected to see you again. I had no idea you—Grace—were Molly, the woman my sister adores and never stops talking about. But I knew I didn’t want to leave. I knew we shared a connection. I knew—” he shakes his head and looks at me, as if he’s afraid of saying too much. “So tell me, Molly. Tell me why this can’t happen again. Because we seem to be falling into a pattern here.”
“I don’t want a relationship, Ev. I’ve done that. Many times. It always ends terribly. I’m not cut out for it. I don’t have the time for it. And, frankly, I don’t need it. I’m self-sufficient. I’m not going to have children. I don’t need a sperm donor or a partner or whatever.”
He cracks a smile for the first time since last night. “Well, that’s good news. I couldn’t help anyway. I had a vasectomy when I was 25.”
“You what?”
“Had a vasectomy when I—”
“I heard you. I just… Wait. First of all, twenty-five?”
“Yea. I’ve always known that—”
“That’s some bullshit right there.”
“The fact that I’ve always known I don’t want to father children is bullshit? How?” He looks at me curiously, probably because I’ve made a similar claim.
“No, obviously we agree on that—neither of us wants to be a parent. It’s some bullshit that you were able to get a vasectomy. I have to be on birth control. I wanted to get my tubes tied, and my doctor looked at me like I was crazy. Fucking patriarchy.”
“Bastards, all of them.” He’s standing now, his towel slung low, but still hanging on. As he strides toward me, I can’t look away. There is something magnetic between us, and I can’t resist him. I need to keep my boundaries in place, but surely that can’t be too hard. People do it all the time, right?
He stands before me, naked but for that damn towel, and I can’t help but reach my palm out to touch his smoothly muscled chest. Maybe this could work?
“So, you’re not looking for an insta-wife?”
He shakes his head no.
“And you’re not eyeing up my hips, gauging how many children I can give you?”
“Yes to eyeing up your hips. Hell no to the rest.”
“You promise you’re not some co-dependent, jobless asshole who’s going to ask to move in after our second date, which, of course, you’d make me pay for?”
