Page 211 of Just for the Plot

“I missed you last night.”

“I’m so sorry,” I say, guilt consuming me in a way I’ve never felt before.

“It’s okay.”

I shake my head. “No, it’s not. You won the wild card spot last night, and I wasn’t there to celebrate. I just got caught up and, ugh, there’s no excuse for the behavior. I’m sorry.”

“Funny thing about relationships, it’s all about give and take. There are going to be times where I’m really busy and will mess up, and there will be times where you do the same. The key isn’t to try to make each other feel bad about it, but to have understanding and grace.”

Where the hell did that mature response come from?

“That is…very mature,” I say, shocked.

“I might be eight years younger, but I’m not a buffoon.”

I laugh as he leans back on the couch, and I snuggle into him, missing his warm embrace. “You’re not a buffoon at all; was just surprised.”

“I have a lot of wisdom, you know.”

“Do you? What other kind of wisdom do you have?”

“Well, let’s see, I know where the G-spot is and how to make my girlfriend scream so the entire building hears her.”

“Girlfriend,” I say, slightly surprised by the title. I mean, yes, we’re dating and we’re exclusive, but it just feels so foreign to me. I haven’t been called someone’s girlfriend in a long time.

“Yeah, girlfriend,” he says. “Is there a problem with that?”

“No, just surprised is all.”

“Why are you surprised?” he asks, pulling away so I can look him in the eyes.

“Just haven’t been called that in a long time. I’m not used to it, and I guess we never really had that conversation.”

“What conversation is there to have?” he asks, looking truly insulted. “We are dating, we are exclusive to each other, my cock belongs to you…that qualifies you as my girlfriend.”

I try to soothe the tension by leaning in and kissing his chest. “Yes, I’m sorry.”

He studies me for a moment. I can see doubt in his eyes and I hate that. “Listen, Bower, if you’re second-guessing—”

“I’m not,” I say quickly, not wanting his mind to go there at all. “I’m not second-guessing anything.”

“Okay, because it just seems…” He pauses and then shakes his head.

“What?” I ask, not wanting him to hide his feelings from me. “Talk to me. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

He scratches his cheek and then says, “Okay, it just seems that you’re maybe making tiny moves to slowly separate from me.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask.

“And if you’re second-guessing, then please just fucking tell me, okay? I’m already in so deep that if this is not what you want, then, please, just tell me now.”

“Bennett.” I sit taller. “What are you talking about?”

His eyes bounce between mine, almost as if he’s trying to read my thoughts.

“You know what? Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

“No,” I say, not wanting him to drop this. “What would make you think that I’d be slowly trying to separate from you?”