Page 2 of The Rut in the Road

I shook my head.

“So… I can take these off?” he asked, lifting one gloved hand.

I nodded.

“Are—are you sure?” he asked.

“You don’thaveto,” I clarified. “But I—I don’t mind your thoughts.” I felt too self-conscious to say out loud that I actually liked them.

He peeled off one glove slowly, almost like a strip tease, although I was pretty sure he wasn’t going for that. “If you’re sure…”

I nodded again.

He took off the other glove, setting them both on the counter, then came over to stand in front of me. “You were very deeply asleep,” he said softly, one hand reaching out to brush the backs of his fingers over my cheek. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

I felt my skin flush under his fingers, remembering how I’d fallen asleep with one of those same cheeks resting on the bare skin of his chest.

It was as ‘far’ as we’d gone—usually he wore a t-shirt for our dates, either with or without a short-sleeve button down, but last night he’d been wearing a long-sleeve button down, since September was starting to get cooler, and instead of leaving that on, he’d—after making sure I was okay with it—stripped it off and hadn’t had a shirt on underneath it.

I’d had no objections whatsoever. If anything, I wanted our physical relationship to move faster than he did.

Not that he seemedunwilling to engage in physical activities, but I was starting to want more than kissing, cuddling, and hand-holding. Sleeping next to him, cuddled up to him, his fingers stroking my hair, his lips pressing kisses to my forehead and fingers, was fantastic, but I wanted more.

I also knew that pushing him for more than he was willing to give wasn’t the way to have a strong or healthy relationship.Everything I’d read—because reading about it was the least awkward way I could think of to learn about how romantic relationships were supposed to work—suggested that if there was a mismatch between partners about how quickly to escalate the relationship, it was the person who wanted to go slower who should dictate the pace. Otherwise, they might be pushed into doing things they didn’t want to, and that could breed resentment, if it didn’t veer into downright unhealthy coercive territory.

While I might wish things were moving faster, especially physically, I definitely didn’t want Raj to feel pressured into anything. He already had enough reasons to resent me for things I’d done before we started dating, that I didn’t need to add any new ones.

I’m sure the fact that skinny little six-foot me being the aggressor in our relationship would be hilarious to anyone else, given Raj’s six-four muscular frame, but just because he could throw me didn’t mean he would.

Even if I kind of wanted him to—under very specific circumstances.

I looked up at him, the crinkles around his gold-brown eyes, the dark hair of his neatly-trimmed goatee and thick, wavy locks that framed a face with defined, but not sharp, cheekbones. He wasn’t… beautiful, exactly, but he was striking. Alluring.

“You can always wake me up,” I told him. “Whether you stay or go.” My cheeks heated. “Although I like it better when you stay.”

His smile spread. “Do you?”

I stepped a little closer, cautiously reaching out to put my hands on his waist—but intentionally sliding them between the open sides of his button down so that I could put them directly on hot skin. Under my fingertips, it was smooth and soft, and Raj sucked in a breath.

“Are my hands too cold?” I asked him, hesitating.

“No,” came the response. “They’re… fine.” His big hands settled gently on my shoulders.

I kept sliding mine, then paused again when I felt a slight ridge under the fingers of my left hand. I traced the raised skin with a fingertip, although I couldn’t see what I was touching.

“I was stabbed,” he said softly, and my eyes snapped up to his. “I was working under cover at the time, trying to catch a bribe in action while posing as a homeless guy. But I got made—” He grimaced. “We knew one of the cops involved, but didn’t realize his partner was just as corrupt, and the partner came up behind me.” He let out a sigh. “I honestly don’t know whether he realized I was a cop or just thought I was a nosy bastard who would be trouble, but he decided to remove me as a witness.”

“Can I see it?” I asked him.

He stepped back a little, using one hand to move the fabric of his shirt so that I could see the long, raised scar, slightly darker against his brown skin. I traced it again. “Does it ever bother you?” I asked him softly.

“No.” He shook his head. “Does it bother you?”

I frowned up at him. “No. Why would it?”

His lips twitched. “Some people don’t find scars particularly attractive,” he replied.

My brow furrowed deeper. “That’s… ridiculous,” I replied. “You can’t help having a scar.”