His eyes gleam because we both know full well the only thing we don't discuss with each other is sex stuff. Which means that by not talking about it, I'm admitting sex stuffishappening with Court. As much fun as it is teasing Howie for being a dumb jock, it's times like these I really wish he were one.
"Okay, fine. We're sleeping together," I admit, grabbing a handful of chips and sliding the salsa closer. "Happy?"
"The question is, are you?"
"Mmm. This salsa is really good. Here, try some."
He ignores the salsa I slide across the coffee table and pins me with awe're not done talking about thislook.
"I'm happy. But also not."
"That's because your brain overanalyzes everything."
I'm not even in the mood for anat least I have a brainretort. "True. But this time it's not that complicated."
"How so?"
"I always push guys away because I'm too needy and clingy. Things with Court are great because I can be my needy, clingy self, and he doesn't mind."
"Because he's in love with you."
"Because he'sleaving," I say firmly, setting him straight. "He's not in this for the long haul. He likes it because it's something new and novel. And because it comes with an inbuilt expiration date."
"And you know all of this how?"
The question stumps me, and it takes me a few attempts to reply with, "I just do."
"So now you're psychic?" he asks, clearly not buying it.
"No."
"Because remember when Elsie and I were having problems, and I came to you, and you said, 'You need to talk. Communication is the key to any successful relationship,'" he says, and I chuckle at the deep voice he puts on as he imitates me.
"And I was right."
"Yeah. We talked. Turns out shewasa lying, cheating bitch. And as awful as it was to discover that, at least I was dealing with the truth and not some fantasy in my head. If you and Court aren't talking about this shit, then you're not dealing with reality. And that's kind of messed up, if you ask me."
"I know. You're right," I say, discarding the chips back into their container and wiping my hands clean.
Court and I need to talk.
The question iswhere the hell do we start?
51
Courtland
"I'm happy you're here," I say to Buzz, our legs swinging on the absurdly high—and even more absurdly expensive—Italian leather stools Manuel ordered. "But are you sure this is how you want to be spending your day off? Here at the inn with me. It's nice out. You should be doing something outdoorsy. Like hiking."
"By myself? On a Thursday?"
I chuckle. He's got a point. "Just don't feel like you have to stay here."
"Iwantto be here," he says, looking me dead in the eyes. "So much stuff is going on, Court. I just like…being near you."
His words warm up every cell in my body. It is a crazy time, but we're weathering the storm together.
"You couldn't get any nearer to me this morning," I murmur as the memory of sinking my cock into Buzz's tight channel continues spiking my internal thermostat.
