“Getting back out there is different than jumping into a sexual relationship, Chris.” I try to remain casual as I paint clear polish on my fingernails in slow, even strokes.
“Let me tell you something, Sammy,” she says, pausing in her painting to look up at me. “I’ve never seen two people with more chemistry. It’s not a matter of if you’ll have sex, but when you’ll have sex. I know it’s been a while, but it’s like riding a bike. Trust me, it’s not something you forget how to do.”
“I’m not afraid I’ve forgotten. I think that’s more the problem. That I can’t forget.”
Chris says nothing for a minute as she concentrates on getting a smear of red off my skin.
“Whatever it is that you refuse to talk about won’t be fixed by avoiding it. Even if you never tell me about it, tell someone. That’s why I wanted you to see that sex therapist. Even women who were raped—”
“I wasn’t raped, Chris,” I interrupt. I don’t want her mind going in that direction, although I think it’s very curious that it did.
“Well, whatever happened, you can’t let it ruin your life.”
“It’s not ruining my life. I—”
“Sam, when you’re afraid to date because you’re afraid of sex, it’s ruining your life. I don’t want you to be alone.”
I look up and meet her eyes in a moment of bald honesty. “I don’t want to be alone either.”
“Then fix it. Take the leap.”
“I don’t know how to fix it.”
“That’s what therapy’s for. And, hopefully, that’s what Alec is for.”
“I think we need to talk about something else, like how happy I am that your life’s ambition wasn’t to work in a nail salon. Did you get any polish on my actual toenail?”
“Oh, stop. They don’t look that bad,” she assures, tilting her head to one side as she considers her work.
“Well, they’ll have to do. I don’t have time to repaint them,” I say with finality, hoping she’ll take the hint and drop this conversation.
“Sam, promise me something.” Chris lays her hand on my knee, her expression serious. “Please don’t let yourself get in the way of happiness. Lots of people have less-than-ideal childhoods and—”
“Less than ideal? That makes it sound like my parents got divorced or I had to get a job at sixteen.”
“Okay, horrible. But still, you’re not the only one who has a lot to overcome.”
Chris is right. In fact, she’s one of those people. She has her own story from the school of hard knocks. Her issues are just a little more…typical than mine.
“Here, blow,” I say, sticking my foot in her face as I try to lighten the mood and change the subject.
“That’s what he said,” she says deadpan, easing the tension and causing us both to laugh.
“All right,” I say, scooting off the bed. “Now stop harassing me and get out of here. I need to figure out a way to get dressed without ruining my nails.”
“What kind of a sister would I be if I stopped harassing you?”
“Somebody else’s, I guess.”
“You know it,” she replies sassily, strutting to the door and swinging it closed behind her.
CHAPTER TWELVE - Alec
I stretch back in my black, padded-leather chair and look out the window. The view is one of the biggest benefits to working from home. The sky is blue, the sun is bright and that sand is calling.
I think a little horseback riding on the beach is in order.
After a vigorous workout and plowing through most of my morning task list, I’m feeling pretty good about myself. I know those accomplishments aren’t responsible, though. I’m feeling proud and in control because not only did I not seduce Samantha Jansen last night, which would’ve been all too easy, but during my sleepless night, I made up my mind to stay away from her. For both our sakes. And today, I’m feeling much better about my progress and the level of common decency to which I’m capable of rising.
There was a time when I wouldn’t have been able to say no, when I wouldn’t have been able to exercise self-control. Well, that I just wouldn’t have, not that I necessarily couldn’t. It’s only been in recent years that I’ve really wanted to get out of such a destructive cycle. It’s hard to want to stop something that feels so good and that satisfies you on so many different levels.
It’s not really that the activities themselves are bad. It’s more the end result. Once I’ve had my fill of a woman, I lose interest. Completely. I seduce, I dominate, I control and I abandon. It’s why I try to be honest about it up front, about what I want and what she should expect. About what I’m capable of, emotionally.
But that doesn’t seem to matter. They go forward thinking that it’ll be fun, which it is, but then they’re devastated when it’s over. While that’s not my fault (they were warned, after all), I’m tired of being that guy. It’s not healthy for them and I’ve recently begun to see that it’s not really healthy for me either. I need to live beyond my vices.
My problem at this point is two-fold. Number one, where am I going to find a woman to hold my interest, especially away from my…predilections? And number two, what kind of woman is going to love someone as broken and twisted as I am, even if I did look for something more?
At times like this, I find it harder not to give in to my old ways, times when the future seems bleak without them.
But I won’t. I’m stronger than any addiction.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN - Samantha
“How many times are we gonna walk this strip looking for them?” I ask Chris. “We’re obviously not going to see any today.”
Chris doesn’t look at me. She keeps her eyes trained on the sand. “Patience, grasshopper,” she whispers.
I roll my eyes and follow along at her side, although I’m no longer even looking at the sand. My eyes are staring off into the distance, taking in the bright glint of the sun on the waves as they roll in.
The rhythmic thud of a galloping horse brings my attention back to shore. When I look ahead, I see the dazzling sight of a man on horseback. It’s almost surreal, like a mirage.
His hips move in a fluid way that suggests he’s accustomed to sitting a horse. His dark hair is blowing slightly in the wind, his white shirt is open to billow out behind him, and his wide chest is covered in nothing but smooth, tan skin.