Page 8 of The Comfort Trap

I burst out laughing. "Why?"

"Patrick," he says, and I can tell he's still trying to be patient with me, but there's this little muscle jumping in his jaw that usually means I'm about five minutes away from getting the silent treatment. "I don’t know how well I can play that part... being completely submissive. And also, I don’t like the name."

"Oh," I say, the laughter dying in my throat. I lean back against the chair, crossing my arms over my chest. "So let me get this straight. You're fine with me calling you 'baby,' 'babe,' and occasionally 'my tall, sexy librarian man,' despite not being an actual librarian, but 'sub' is where you draw the line?"

"Yes," he says, his jaw set firm. "It's... demeaning to me."

“What? No it's not... You bottom most of the time,” I argue, “I know you enjoy it—“

“I do. There’s nothing powerless about bottoming, baby. That has nothing to do with being a sub.”

"Demeaning, though?" I practically shout, sitting up straight. "Demeaning? Ricardo, I've seen you wear socks with sandals! In public! I've watched you alphabetize our spice rack! You once spent three hours explaining the beauty of Sudoku to my cousin, who thinks a crossword puzzle is something you only do when you're constipated! And you think title of 'sub' is demeaning?"

He stares at me. I can’t help but wonder if he's mentally calculating how many hours of sleep he'll lose if he stabs me with what’s left of his favorite pencil.

"It's not the same."

"How is it not the same?" I demand, getting to my feet and starting to pace. "At least being a sub implies someone wants you on insane level! Socks with sandals just implies you've given up on this cute emo thing we’ve got going on."

"Patrick—" he starts, but I'm on a roll now.

"No, seriously! Let's think about this. Sub? That means someone trusts you enough to give you complete control over their pleasure. Being sub is an honor! It means—"

"Okay, okay, I get it," he interrupts, holding up his hands in surrender. "You've made your point."

"Good," I say, flopping back down on the couch and crossing my arms over my chest.

"So," he says, the low sound of the words sending a shiver down my spine. "Want to start doing some actual research? Because your ignorance is already baffling," he teases.

I meet his eyes. The familiarity is still there, but now it's laced with with a dangerous edge that feels like the first time I ever saw him. "Really?"

His smile is slow,shy. It's an expression I haven't seen in a very long time, and it makes my breath catch in my throat.

"Really. One step at a time," he says. "I'll feel a lot better once we plan things out. Educate ourselves, and start easy. But give me a few days, baby... I think I might need to process all this a little longer."

"Okay," I nod, keeping it together when all I want to do is shake him and demand what the hell there is to process. "I can wait."

A sharp feeling of fear strikes deep in my gut. This was the best positive response I could have hoped for to my proposal, but I also suspect that Ricardo isn't being completely honest with me.

Because what's there to process?

Maybe I secretly hoped he'd tell me he loved getting tied up, or ripped off my clothes immediately at the suggestion hoping to get started right now. But no, I get"I need to process this."

Process what? The fact that I want to tie you up and make you scream my name? That's not exactly rocket science. It's not like I asked him to fucking donate a kidney. I can't help but think he's not liking any part of this at all, but doesn't want to disappoint me. If he isn’t being honest with me, this is going to blow up in our faces.

He stands up and holds out a hand to me. His fingers wrap around mine, pulling me out of my spiral. As he guides me back into the apartment to start looking things up on the laptop, I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way he's biting on his bottom lip. He's nervous, yeah, but there's something else there too—his mind's working, putting all the pieces together.

He's fighting for this, for us.

I hope it's enough to keep him here with me, to keep him happy. And I hope to god he's being honest about being okay with all this, because I might end up losing him if he isn't.

Chapter 4

Maybe

Ricardo [THEN]

Ittakesmetwoweeks to work up the courage to go back tothat coffee shop. Two weeks of Eli teasing me about the coffee shop snail incident. Two weeks of Aubrey sending me apologetic text messages, promising Patrick isn't always a gargantuan asshole. Two weeks of me replaying the moment over and over in my head, the way Patrick lights up, the way he cuts me down, and then the bewildering, confusing way he still remakes my coffee and tries to give it to me.