The guy turns to me, his eyes guilty. “I’m really sorry. I was just playing a game.”
He sounds so earnest, so devastated.
“I’m fine. We’re fine,” I say.
Then Gabe breathes out like he’s letting go of the irritation. “Yeah, just be more careful,” Gabe says, and he’s no longer the man about to rip off heads. He knows how to handle situations. He knows when to issue a warning and when to go caveman.
As the guy trots off with the frisbee, Gabe turns to me, concern etched in his irises. “You okay, sweetheart?”
My heart is sprinting. “I’m great,” I say.
He runs a hand gently down my hair. “You sure?”
“I am,” I say, resolute.
“Good,” he says, then kisses my forehead before sitting down. I join him. “You were saying something?” he prompts.
I’m so frothy and turned on I don’t remember what had been on the tip of my tongue. I need a moment to reset. “Just…this is nice. This is all really nice,” I say, gesturing to the picnic.
“Good. You deserve nice things,” he says.
Nice things like him?
Deliberately, I recall the purpose of our deal. We’re here to practice for the party. Maybe it’s best if I zoom in on that while I clear my head of that uptick in desire from seconds ago. I pluck a blueberry from the carton and pop it in my mouth. “And we’re supposed to be a nice girl and boy tomorrow night,” I say.
“I don’t think the cop scene last night was very good practice.”
I laugh. “Not one bit…So, let’s pretend Aunt Tilly just asked how we met again.”
But Gabe doesn’t take the bait. He eats a few olives with a thoughtful frown. “Actually, I don’t want to practice for the party right now.”
I sit up straighter. “Oh. Why?” My radar beeps in a gentle warning.
“About last night…”
Does he regret the role play? I ask warily, “What about it?”
“It was incredible—like I told you then. Like I told you again this morning.” He’s emphatic and reaches for my hand, threading his fingers through mine. “And I keep thinking about why. Why I liked it so much. Besides the obvious.”
“That it was hot?” I ask.
“Yes. Besides that,” he says, his tone still serious. “And I started thinking about that first night we went out.” He draws what sounds like a steadying breath. “I was planning to leave you when we got to your house.”
I flinch. Maybe it’s a good thing I haven’t told him my feelings. “You were?”
“I was trying to exit gracefully,” he admits, and I’m not sure I like where this is going. “I was sure if you knew I liked it rough, you’d throw a shoe at me.”
My worry slinks away, replaced only by concern. I wish he hadn’t felt that way, even for a brief while. “Why would you think that?”
He swallows and glances away like maybe he’s embarrassed. “My ex did,” he mutters. “And I thought if you knew what I wanted to do to you, that you might chuck your helmet and scooter at me.”
“Oh Gabe,” I say gently, feeling terrible that he thought that even for a few hours. “No, of course not. But what happened with her?”
He’s quiet for several long seconds. Then he answers heavily. “I asked to spank her, and she just freaked out. That’s why we split. I mean, it’s for the best. At first, I thought we were a good fit. It’s not like the bedroom issue was some deal breaker for me when I started seeing her. But over time, she started questioning me and accusing me of being interested in other women.”
I snort. I literally snort. “You’re pretty single-minded, as far as I can tell.”
He kisses my cheek like my compliment means everything to him. “Damn right, I am.” He sighs and goes back to his story. “But it just told me we didn’t have a lot of trust. I guess I thought we could build it in the bedroom. But when I asked, she lost her shit and went off on me loud enough to let my neighbors know she thought I was a pervert. I felt stupid, and honestly, kind of awful,” he says, wincing. He’s still feeling the sting of that indignity she’d dealt him?