Poked (A Standalone Romance) (A Savery Brother Book) Page 11

  “Wait until you see all of me.”

  I meant it as a warning, but I don’t think he took it as such. Grabbing my already loose straps on both sides, he pulled my dress down to my feet. Now I was standing before him in nothing but my underwear. Even though I was turned around, I could feel his eyes on me, could sense him surveying me with what I fervently hoped was approval rather than disgust.

  I don’t know what possessed me to do it: but within seconds I found myself on my knees, gathering up my dress, struggling to put it on again.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, again and again. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this. Not tonight.”

  “What’s wrong?” asked Marshall, looking heartbroken and disappointed. “I thought you were enjoying yourself.”

  I paused in the middle of buttoning my dress back up to lay a reassuring hand on his arm. “You were great, and it’s got nothing to do with you. I just don’t know if I’m ready for this yet. Maybe some other time.” Before he could protest, I added, “And if you try and talk me out of leaving, you’re just going to make it worse. I shouldn’t be having sex on a first date. I’m better than this, or I thought I was. I’m not even sure who this person is who wants you so badly. This isn’t me.” Stooping to pick up my cardigan, I said again, “I’m sorry.”

  I had thought he would be angry; I had thought he might yell or try to hurt me. But instead, he seemed to be fighting back tears, and the look he gave me smote me to the heart.

  “Well, I hope you had a good time, anyway,” he said finally, his voice breaking. Before I could respond, he turned and walked out the door, leaving me alone in remorse.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Marshall

  I didn’t get much sleep that night. I spent hours in bed scrolling through Twitter trying hard to forget the look on her face as she knelt on the floor clutching her dress to her breasts and asked me to leave.

  We had been doing so well up until that moment. I must have been a horrible judge of other people’s feelings because I thought she was enjoying our time together as much as I was. The memory of her body against mine was a kind of torture. I had wanted her so badly, had almost had her, and then at the last moment, she had slipped through my grasp, leaving me hungrier than ever and groaning with desire unsatisfied.

  “I know you think you’re an excellent lover,” said Sean, “but you must have done something to upset her. How far did you get before she puts the brakes on it?”

  “We had just made it to second base… I think? Is that the base for groping and petting?”

  “That’s the one. So, it stands to reason that she didn’t like the way you were touching her. There could be a number of reasons why. Maybe you were too firm. Sometimes I don’t think you know your own strength. Maybe you weren’t moving fast enough, and she got bored.”

  “I don’t think that was it,” I said defensively.

  Sean shrugged. “Well, until I see the footage, I can’t tell you one way or the other.”

  “I’m not showing you the footage, Sean.”

  We were out fishing again in a boat on the middle of Lake Marion. It was a cloudy and overcast morning with a light wind stirring the elms on the far bank. The fish must have sensed that there was a storm coming, for they had made themselves scarce. So far, I hadn’t felt so much as a single tug on my line.

  I had awoken that morning feeling miserable and hopeless. It had taken me a minute to remember why, but then the events of last night came flooding back into my memory with a scalding clarity. Not wanting to spend the rest of the day sulking in despair, I had texted Sean and asked if he wanted to go fishing. He never responded, and I was in the middle of drafting a second text chewing him out for ignoring me when I heard a sharp knock at the door. Sean stood there in full fishing gear, beaming eagerly.

  On the way to the lake, I had brought him up to speed on my date with Lori.

  “How did she seem during dinner?” he asked, leaning forward and pulling a beer out of the cooler. “Did you get the sense that she was happy to be there or was she checking her phone a lot?”

  “I’ll be honest: I think she enjoyed the date a lot more than she was expecting. We spent about an hour talking about our favorite music. I know what you’re going to say; I know you think I’m making it up, but she really enjoyed our conversation, and as the night wore on she got more and more relaxed.”

  Sean raised his hands in the air. “I never said you were making it up. You do seem a little defensive, but I guess that’s to be expected. What makes you think she was enjoying herself?”

  “She just was. At one point she brought out her phone and started showing me pictures of her books.”

  “Hmmm.” Sean stroked his chin thoughtfully. “See, if a girl did that to me, I would think she was bored and just looking for a way to entertain herself. Or she was nervous and didn’t know what else to do.”

  No matter how hard I tried, there was no convincing Sean that Lori had behaved irrationally. He felt sure I must have done something to offend her or she wouldn’t have stormed off. “Okay, so she was bored and frightened. Fantastic.”

  “I’m not saying she was, but those are the actions of a woman who feels out of her depth. Anyway, it would help if you explained a bit more what you did with her when you got back to the shop.”

  Sean had been angling for a sexual play-by-play ever since I informed him that we had made out. “I’m not going into any more detail than what I already told you, you creep. There was some smooching and petting. That was about the extent of it. And then, right at the moment when I finally got her out of her dress, she got scared and showed me to the door.”

  “Well, it doesn’t seem like there was much mystery about it.” He took a sip of his beer and looked out over the dark water. “She was fine making out with you, but didn’t want to have sex for whatever reason and thought the relationship was moving too fast. You ought to have waited at least two more dates.”

  “Why, though?” I moaned. “It really seemed like she was into me.”

  “She probably just didn’t know how to say no. I bet there were clues that she was feeling uneasy about it that you didn’t pick up on because you were so eager to get it on.”

  “Do you really think I may have escalated things too quickly?”

  “Probably. I don’t know. You’ve known each other for about a week, and you’ve been on one date, which in the back of her head she probably thinks you tricked her into going on. I’m not saying that’s the truth, but that’s how she sees it. And in my long and varied experience with women, I can tell you there are some girls who will never have sex on the first date because they want you to prove that you care about them and not just their bodies. If you look too eager to get into her pants, she’s going to assume that’s all you care about.”

  “But that wasn’t the case. She had a fantastic body, of course, but that wasn’t why I wanted to sleep with her. I liked her.”

  “I know,” said Sean, raising one hand as though motioning for me to calm down. “I’m not saying any of this is the truth. I’m saying that’s her perception, and when it comes to dating, perception is just as important as facts.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Lori

  “You mean you didn’t sleep with him?”

  “I mean… we basically did.” Sam raised a skeptical brow. “I went further with him than I have with anyone else.”

  “Oh, honey, that’s not saying much.”

  We were sitting together in a booth in the dining room of the coffee shop. Outside, the streets were mostly empty, and the air had that serene Sunday morning stillness about it, though the sky threatened rain.

  I emptied a packet of sugar into my tea and stirred quietly, not daring to look Sam in the eyes. She had stayed out with Jamal the night before, apparently hoping I would bring him home and do what she would have done in my place. So she was disappointed when she returned home that morning to find me sitting alone on the sofa watching Just Desserts—a
ll the more so when I revealed how our date had ended.

  “I hope I didn’t offend him by sending him home early,” I said sadly.

  “You probably did. Imagine you were in his position and you had been making out with someone for the last hour and gotten them all worked up. And then, right at the pivotal moment when their libido was raging, you showed them to the door.”

  “You’re basically describing what happened last night.”

  “I know, but imagine if he had done that to you. Knowing you, you would probably cry.”

  This was a possibility I hadn’t considered. “What if I really hurt his feelings? Do you think he’s sitting at home crying?”

  Sam shrugged and took a sip of her coffee. “He doesn’t strike me as the sort of person who cries when he can’t have sex. But I can’t imagine he’s too happy about it.”

  “Great. Fantastic.” I had spent much of the night lying sleepless in bed, wracked with guilt for having sent him home early. I knew I shouldn’t feel bad for doing what was best for myself. I didn’t owe sex to anyone, no matter how kind they had been or how good of a date we were having. And I had every right to make out with him without wanting to go any further, but I still couldn’t help feeling bad about it.

  This wasn’t the sort of situation I had ever wanted to be in. If it were up to me, I would be spending my morning reading a Barbara Pym novel and knitting my annual fall sweater for Aunt Trish. Instead, I was sitting here with my sister in an empty coffee shop trying to make sense of my love life.

  “But at least the foreplay was good, right?” asked Sam. “I don’t know if you can really call it foreplay if that’s all you did, but at least you enjoyed it?”

  I nodded, ashamed to admit how much I had enjoyed it.

  “And you were in here the whole time? Where did you do it?”

  I motioned toward the back of the room by the new coffee table.

  Sam drummed her nails against the side of her mug. I could sense she was dying to know what exactly we had done, though she didn’t dare ask. “Jamal and I have had sex in here a couple times,” she whispered, as though afraid of being overheard.

  “Seriously?” I glared at her indignantly.

  “What? We cleaned up afterward. And you don’t really have room to lecture me after what you did last night.”

  “We didn’t have sex! We were rapidly getting to that point when I put my foot down. He managed to get me all the way out of my dress.”

  Sam raised her mug in salute. “That’s actually kind of impressive, considering that you won’t even undress in front of me.”

  “And he didn’t cover his eyes in horror, for which I suppose I ought to thank him. I’ve always thought of myself as a hideous lump of fat, so it was sort of a relief to have a guy look at me and not be blinded. Even if we never go on another date, I’ll always be grateful for that.”

  “You ought to ask him back out, just for that.” Sam’s eyes shone with mischief. “And to finish what you started last night.”

  “No way! I’ve already chickened out once, and I don’t want to do it again. What if I keep taking him out on dates and suddenly backing out right before we have sex? If he doesn’t hate me now, he will eventually. Isn’t there a word for that?”

  “There is,” said Sam, though she declined to say what it was.

  Outside the window, the sky was darkening rapidly with a promise of rain. I sat there in silence for a moment watching the wind ripple a puddle of muddy water.

  “I’ll never understand how Mom could have raised two girls with such different views of sex,” I said after a long pause. “I would feel uncomfortable having sex with someone I had known for a long time, let alone a near-stranger. That’s just how I was raised. I guess I should have known we probably weren’t going to have sex last night. My natural instinct is to avoid sex.”

  “That seems like the sort of thing you’ll have to work through if you ever want to get married,” Sam pointed out. “You could learn a thing or two from me.”

  “See, and that’s what I don’t get.” I motioned to her with my teaspoon. “We’re so similar in so many other ways, but we’re so different when it comes to sex.”

  “It’s true,” said Sam. “I’ve done things that would probably curl your toes if I told you.”

  “Undoubtedly. And you don’t feel any shame over it? Any guilt?”

  Sam shook her head. “I don’t think I inherited the guilt gene from Mom the way you did. Growing up, you always seemed to take her word as law, whereas I never did. Remember when she told us we weren’t allowed to watch The Real World because it was unclean? You never watched it, but I just watched it when she wasn’t around.”

  “Honestly, it’s a wonder I ever found the courage to run away.”

  “It is—and at ten, no less. That was probably the bravest thing you’ve ever done.

  “I didn’t think I had a choice. After what happened that night, there’s no way I was going to stay in that house. I was sincerely worried that she would kill me.”

  “I don’t think she’d ever have gone that far,” said Sam. “But still, it’s a good thing you left. I sometimes wish I had left.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I guess I sort of felt like I had to stay and look after Mom. Like she would hurt herself if there wasn’t someone there to look after her. Which is not how a young girl should feel about her own mother; it wasn’t my responsibility to raise her. But I wasn’t old enough to understand that. I felt a loyalty to her because at least she had fed me and taken care of me, and she wasn’t always bad. There were times when she could be kind and affectionate—though looking back on it, I sometimes think that was just another way of controlling me. When you’re being abused, sometimes the abuser will use even love as a weapon.”

  Sam rose, gathered our empty mugs, and placed them in the double-basined sink. I took a macaron from the display stand and placed a few quarters in the register. It was that hour of Sunday morning where I wanted to go back, crawl into bed, and stay there for the rest of the day, and the weather outside wasn’t helping. I would likely have felt drowsy even if I hadn’t been up half the night.

  “I think I might go and take a nap before we cook brunch,” said Sam, stretching slowly and yawning. We were planning on making a balsamic chicken Massimo with artichoke soubise, though I still needed to run by the store and get the artichokes and baguette. “Jamal’s bringing a light wine, though I’m kind of in the mood for champagne.”

  “That’s the one thing I feel really good about: my love life might be total shambles, but at least we haven’t had to worry about our finances this month. It’s been a long time since we were able to splurge on a meal like this. I hope we get the chance to do it more often.”

  “I’d like that,” said Sam. She pressed play on her iPod, and the overture to the New World Symphony started playing. It was one of my favorite pieces of music: stately, sweeping, and romantic. “You ought to make a list of your favorite meals so we can start planning ahead for next Sunday and the week after that. If we get enough money coming in, we might even be able to have a sit-down meal during the middle of the week. It’s actually less expensive than eating out every night.”

  “I still haven’t figured out what we’re going to do for fun tonight.” I got a knot in my stomach anytime I thought about trying to entertain two other people, even when one of them was my sister. “Do we want to play a board game, or rent a movie…?”

  “Oh, hon, don’t worry about it,” said Sam. “Is this what you were like last night?”

  “What? Panicking because I didn’t think I could hold his interest from moment to moment?” I shrugged. “Yeah, probably.”

  “No wonder you made him leave before the date really got going. I probably would, too, if I felt that much pressure.”

  This was an angle I hadn’t considered, and I began to wonder if maybe there wasn’t something to it. “Well, at least I won’t p
anic tonight and chase you both out of the apartment…probably. I guess I can’t make any promises.”

  “If you did, I would understand,” said Sam. “At least neither of us is asking you to undress.”

  “I hope you never do,” I replied.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Marshall

  On Monday morning after breakfast, I did something I hadn’t done in ages: I drove down to the local library.

  I dug through my wallet looking for a Summerville library card and couldn’t find it. The last time I had owned a library card, I had lived in Sulphur Springs, Texas. Not having ever been to the library here, I didn’t know whether they would give me a card for free or if I would have to buy one. Walking up to the front desk, I felt the same shyness and sense of trepidation I had felt in the parking lot on Saturday night waiting for Lori to come out.

  “Can I get a library card?” I asked the librarian, a middle-aged woman in green tortoise-shell glasses and a Doctor Who t-shirt.

  “Sure. Do you have photo ID and proof of address?”

  “Yeah, one second.” I ran back to the truck and rummaged through my glove box until I found a recent electricity bill. The librarian punched a few words into her computer, and a machine behind her began printing out my library card.

  I stared in surprise. “I thought it was going to take at least a week. Don’t you have to send away for it?”

  The librarian glared at me coolly as if wondering whether I had ever been in a library.

  I grabbed my new library card and headed off toward the stacks, filled with a sense of adventure. There were so many books, and I had no idea where to start. Eventually, I was able to track down a guide to the Dewey Decimal system and found a couple basic introductions to romance and dating in the 640s. I checked these out and carried them back to the truck, leafing through them as I went.

  I was on my way back to the house when my phone buzzed in the passenger seat. It was Mom.