Chaser (Dive Bar #3)(58)

“Right.” She smiled and I just had to kiss her. It’d been far too long since our lips had last met. Like a day and a half or something outrageous.

This part came easily, slipping my tongue into her mouth to caress hers. Then putting an arm around her shoulder and drawing her in close. And in return, she sank her fingers into my hair, holding on tight. Something she seemed to like doing and I certainly had no complaints about. I traced the length of her arm, curved my hand around her shoulder. Our kisses grew hotter, more feverish. But for some godawful reason, I couldn’t concentrate on what we were doing. My brain would not shut up. Last time, she’d been so wonderfully greedy. Was I going too slowly for her now? I just wasn’t sure at what stage she’d be expecting me to get the whole naked-from-the-waist-up thing going on. What if I moved too soon and messed it up and totally let her down?

Shit, this was confusing.

Also, it hadn’t even occurred to me to ask her about her day. I’d barely been able to string a goddamn sentence together since I stepped foot through her door. The woman probably thought I was a useless jerk. Jesus.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, moving her lips to my cheek.

“Huh?”

“You seem distracted.”

I sat back with a sigh. “Yeah.”

“Eric?”

“I’m fucking it up.”

She frowned. “No, you’re not. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

I pushed my hand back through my hair with a groan. “Damn, you know, I think I’m actually nervous.”

Her gaze widened.

“I’m never nervous. This is crazy.” I got to my feet, pacing back and forth, avoiding Ada’s jungle gym and the oversized teddy in the corner. “Joe and I have been working out at the gym regularly, I’m in my goddamn prime right now. I dress nice, I have a good job. No mistake, I’m catch.”

Jean continued with the saying nothing.

“And I always know exactly what I’m doing with a woman when it comes sex,” I said. “I don’t think it’ll come as any surprise to you that fucking is my specialty. Right up there with mixing drinks. But talking, telling chicks—sorry, women—what’s in my head, communicating my feelings, shit like that—I can’t do that. It’s just not okay. A bit of foreplay, though? Hell, I’m all over that.”

Jean still said nothing.

“This makes no sense,” I berated myself and continued my pacing. But maybe on some level, it did make sense. It was different this time. Maybe because it had been so long for me, after taking all those months out of the game. Maybe because the friends-with-benefits thing was uncharted territory. Or maybe because it was her.

“Oh-kay.”

“I feel … fuck,” I said, curling my hands into fists. “Anxious. Yeah, god. It’s horrible. What is that about?”

“If it helps, I’m nervous too.”

I paused. “You are? What on earth about?”

“Well, pregnancy changes your body, Eric.” She fidgeted with the hem of her shirt. “My breasts aren’t as firm as they used to be, for starters.”

“Maybe, but they’re still breasts. All breasts are great, Jean. Take it from a connoisseur.”

“Right,” she said.

“What else?”

“I’ve heard about some of the women you’ve slept with in the past. They sound like runway models, half of them.” She shook her head. “And I am very much not a runway model. My belly is kind of a little weird and wobbly now. Not to mention my Frankenstein scar down below.”

“I know Ada can be a handful at times, but saying a monster came out of you is a little harsh,” I joked.

“Ha. I’m being serious.”

“Okay, yes. Sorry. I get that.” But seriously, like any of that mattered. The woman was nuts.

“Plus, I’ve obviously got some experience, but not as much as you. What if I suck in bed?”

“Huh,” I said, realization dawning.

“What is ‘huh’?”

“So this is normal for most people,” I said, crossing my arms. “Worrying about your body and your performance and all that shit.”

She thought about it for a moment. “Yes, pretty much. Performance anxiety, insecurity about bodily bits, fears of inadequacy in general, all of those sorts of things. I mean, you want to be enough for the person you’re into. Hell, you want them to think that you’re awesome in all the ways and worth the effort. You want to please them. And be pleased in return, of course.”

“Jesus,” I said, pacing once more. “It’s fucking debilitating. How do you deal with it?”

“I can’t talk for everyone, but I just try to put it aside and concentrate on the moment,” she said. “I mean, at least it means you care. It’s not all a sign of something bad.”

I wasn’t so sure about that. What if worrying about your performance actually impacted your performance? There was a serious issue here.

“I’ve known guys who basically ignore you in bed.”

“Idiots.”

“You’re just reduced to being a vagina and a pair of breasts. Body parts for their entertainment,” she said. “They’re usually the kind of dicks who say they don’t like the taste.”