Losing Track (Living Heartwood #2)(28)

“You got to be kidding me,” she cuts in. “Really?”

“But it’s true, okay? I’m a f*cking tool for how I did that back there. But”—I clamp my jaw hard, as if I can stop the flow of asinine shit leaving my mouth—“look. You weren’t wrong when you joked about me being straightedge. I’ve stopped…everything. For me, I had to. There was no other way to get sober. And that includes…” Hell.

Her eyes grow wide. “You’re effin with me. No sex?”

My jaw stays tense as I watch her try to reason through my confession. I need some damage control. Maybe some of the truth—only some—will be enough to repair her hurt ego. But what about mine?

“Yeah,” I say, dropping my hands. “It’s been a long time for me.”

“I don’t believe you. How long?”

Suppressing the image of Hunter…of the last time I saw him…I think of Mandi—the last chick I nailed. It’s difficult to separate one from the other. I know the exact number of days since I last saw Hunter—those are forever etched on my soul, ticking away like a reverse doomsday clock—but I’ve tried not to think about Mandi, or any girl I banged back then, since…

“Almost a year.”

“Fuck me.” Melody covers her mouth and says through the slats of her fingers, “I’m sorry. That didn’t come out right. But, dude. Really? Why?”

Having a hot girl look at you like you’re a freak for not having sex has got to be the worst kind of blow to the ego. This, right here, is the reason why I don’t do more than casual with women. My poor dick may never get hard again.

“I just don’t. Can we leave it at that? I’d really rather not get into it here, half naked and shriveled.”

Mel’s gaze darts to my crotch. Awesome. “Listen. I’m not mocking you. I have mad respect for you. I’m just curious. You’re how old? I mean, you’re not sexually confused or anything.” She picks her pants off the ground and pauses to look up at me with one leg in. “It’s not a bi-curious thing, right?”

“What, no. I’m twenty-five and know for damn sure I’m all about the ladies. No offense to gay guys, but I’m just not gay. Nothing wrong with it—”

“Get off your soapbox. There’s no media to impress here. I get it.”

I reach for my jeans. After pulling them up over my hips, I say, “One thing at a time. Okay? One of my steps is making sure you can take care of yourself. That you’re healthy and shit, before you get into a relationship.” I shrug. “I take my own personal steps seriously. It’s what works for me. I’m not ready to…move on to the next step yet.”

“But, sex has nothing to do with a relationship. I told you, I don’t want to marry you, dude. I’m sure within this past year you could’ve found a few girls who’d be able to f*ck you without losing their hearts.” She gives me a teasing smile. “It’s a new century and all. And I know you’re downright charming, but not all women go Fatal Attraction on a guy.”

Despite the awkwardness of this conversation, I laugh. I doubt I could have admitted this to any other woman—though I did try to spare her my humility. But Melody has a way to put me at ease and rile me up all at the same time. It’s an infuriating combination, but somehow balanced.

“Like I said, it’s not about them or you or anyone. It’s about me.” I jerk my shirt over my head, the material only partially sticking to my mostly dry skin, thanks to the heat. “I’ll know when I’m ready. I just haven’t wanted to.”

She smiles even wider. “Yeah. I could see that. I think your partner is disagreeing with you there.” She winks at my dick, and I can feel myself wilt even further.

“Well, I think it’s a universal understanding that a guy’s member has a mind of its own.”

“Member?” She fists her hands on her hips. “Who the hell are you?”

Good question.

As we walk to the bike, I put my hand out to her. “So, no awkwardness. Friends? I can count on you to leave my crumbling male ego intact for the remainder of your Stoney Creek stay?”

She looks down at my outstretched hand, then up to my face. “The Boone Bimbos will hear nothing of this. Your good slash bad boy rep will live on. But, you do know what this means? If we’re going to be friends, more than affable—like, real friends and shit.”

A spike of fear hits me, and I’m not sure if I made the right call. “Do I want to know?”

Grasping my hand, she gives it a firm shake. “This means torture.” At my puzzled look, she continues, “You can’t tell a girl you’re celibate and have her not take that as a challenge, Boone. It’s like girl catnip. You might as well have said you were a virgin.”

I can feel my face screw up even more. “Are you serious? That shit works?”

She climbs onto the bike seat and laughs. I can feel the throaty roll of it in my stomach. I love her laugh. “Uh, yeah. We’re going to have fun. And hey? At least it gives me something to do for the next couple of weeks.”

I suppress a smile and nod my head for her to move farther back before I step over the seat. “I should have just gone with gay.”

Her arms slide around my waist. “Oh, dude. That would have been so much worse.”