“I don’t need a sex education talk,” I interrupt and start to turn toward him, but he pushes his chest into my back so I can’t. He doesn’t want to make eye contact. He is that uncomfortable. “So you use it on yourself?”
“Sometimes. If I’m in the mood when I jerk off,” he says, his voice soft. “Or girls use it on me when they give me head.”
“Huh,” I say and quickly follow it up with, “Cool.”
“Have you ever…? With someone?”
“Nope. But no one has asked,” I reply and turn my head so I can catch a glimpse of his face, which is pink and I don’t think it’s just from the hot water. “Feel free to ask.”
“And why are those perfect tits of yours off limits?”
“I thought you said my ass was perfect,” I say, stalling.
"You've got a lot of perfect parts," Nash replies. "I guess to offset that personality of yours."
I elbow him gently in the ribs and he jumps, not expecting it. He manhandles me like he's so freaking good at, and the next thing I know I'm straddling his lap again, this time in the bubbling hot tub water. I try to look anywhere but his face but he grabs my chin between his thumb and forefinger and forces my eyes to him. "Ten, why are your boobs off limits."
“I don’t like them being touched,” I say casually. “It doesn’t turn me on. It annoys me.”
“Why?”
“Because, okay?” I snap and he looks startled.
His hazel eyes darken and slip down to look at my boobs, which are mostly covered by the thrashing water. His hands are on my ribs, holding me in place, and I feel him feather out his fingers and start sliding them upward. Every muscle in my body tightens. He freezes, feeling the reaction. “Someone did something.”
Fuck. Why does he have to be so intuitive? I climb off his lap and start to get out of the tub, but he stands too and gently touches my shoulders before I can escape. He turns me to face him and he tilts my head and lays a soft, deep, toe-curling kiss on me. Against my lips, when it’s over, he whispers, “I’ll respect your boundaries. I just… I want you to know that whatever happened, I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t do anything,” I say and pull away, climbing out of the tub and wrapping myself in my towel. He climbs out after me and does the same. “Besides, I’m overreacting to something long gone. I know that. My brain just… doesn’t think rationally.”
“Tell me,” Nash presses. “I mean fuck, if you can’t tell your fake husband, who can you tell?”
Maybe he’s right. I’ve never told anyone about this. Maybe he can give me some kind of perspective I’m lacking. It’s been eight fucking years and I can’t let it go. I take a deep breath and decide I’m not ready to explain every nasty detail. “A dude groped me once. Grabbed one of my boobs.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Nash looks like he’s suddenly flipped some internal switch and is filled with all the emotion he’s been bottling up. I see fire in his eyes sparked from pure rage. “That’s a fucking crime.”
You don’t know the half of it, I think. "I punched him in the face within a second of it happening. I reacted so fast that for a split second, I worried it was a mistake. That he accidentally touched me and I was overreacting. But I wasn't. He said something as he rubbed his face that made it clear he knew what he was doing."
“What did he say?”
“‘Don’t blame me, you’ve been asking for it. Besides, you’re destined to ride hockey dick. It’s all you’re good for and you’d be lucky to start with mine.’” I force myself not to shudder as I repeat the words that have been seared into my brain like a brand on cattle.
“Start with his?” Nash repeats. “How old were you? Why didn’t you have him arrested?”
Oops. I overshared. I don’t want to confess how old I was because Nash is a Boy Scout and he will lose his shit… or think less of me. I can’t handle either response right now so I just shake my head. “Do you know what that would have done to my family? Besides I was young enough to be confused into believing I might have been at fault. I mean, I did think he was handsome. I had a crush. I might have sent signals without knowing it.”
“When was this?” Nash repeats. “And who was this? Is it a Quake? If I play on this fucker’s team, Ten?—”
"Not a Quake. No. Relax. See? This is why I don't talk about it. Anyway, I still don't like my boobs touched, with or without consent," I say quickly. "And this isn't helping me feel better so can we just stop talking about it and never bring it up again?"
“I think—” I glare at Nash and his words come to an abrupt stop. He inhales sharply, frowns, and exhales. “Okay. Thanks for trusting me.”
“Thanks for telling me about the butt stuff.”
He turns pink again. “Don’t say butt stuff.”
“Butt stuff. Butt Stuff. Butt Stuuuuff!” I sing the last one for effect. He rolls his eyes and walks away from me, toward his closet. I notice he’s definitely limping. Not badly but enough that I notice. “Leg bothering you?”
“Yeah,” he says, stepping into the closet and pulling out his travel suitcase. Their road trip starts tomorrow. “That call earlier was Gabby. There’s an issue with my x-ray.”