“Kerry?” Matt asked, eyes rimmed with surprise. “No. Kerry never lied. I’m not talking about Kerry.”
“Then who are you talking about?”
“Na-ah. You first. Why’d your boyfriend break up with you?”
Gathering a deep breath, I stood, grabbing The Cuddle Sutra from the counter. “If we’re going to talk instead of work, we might as well go through the positions in this book.”
“Okay,” he said, following me. “My body is yours to command.”
I chuckled, but a lusty little fire lit in my lower belly, making my chest tight and achy with anticipation.
“Let me see,” I switched on the overhead light in my room and motioned to the bed, “lie down and let me look at this thing.”
“Is that really called The Cuddle Sutra?” He lay on his back in the center of the bed, his hands behind his head, and dropped his eyes to the book in my hands.
“Yes. According to my research, most cuddle salons hand it out to cuddle professionals as a guide of sorts.”
“Huh.” He cleared his throat, then nudged me with his socked foot. “David. Breakup. Continue.”
I glanced at the ceiling, not wanting to discuss David. Not now. Not when we could be talking about other things.
Maybe, oh I don’t know, DO YOU LIKE ME? YES OR NO??
Apparently, when I had a crush on someone, I mentally reverted back to a middle schooler passing notes with checkboxes.
“Uh, I guess, he never pushed me?” I endeavored to focus on his question. “He was an enabler for everything, and never spoke up when he was unhappy. So, one day, it all boiled over and he broke things off.”
Matt gave me a sideways glance. “How long were you two together?”
“Just over six years.”
“Why didn’t you get married?”
Ugh. I hated that question.
Stalling, I opened the book to the first position, one called the Come to Papa. Wrinkling my nose at the name, I analyzed the diagram.
“Stay just like that,” I said, turning the book to show Matt the picture.
“Oh. I approve of the name.” Matt wagged his eyebrows as he opened his arms. “Daddy wants a hug.”
I laugh-snorted and kneeled on the bed, a thrill caused by his silly-sexy words giving me giddy goosebumps. This was a promising start.
Walking on my knees until I was at his waist, I lay flat on my stomach, bending and positioning one of my legs between his, my chest against his torso, my cheek over his heart.
His arms came around me and squeezed. “I have you trapped. So tell me, why didn’t you get married? Six years is considered a long time to date.”
“You sound like my dad. That’s what he said.”
“Well, this is the come-to-papa position.”
I chuckled and then sighed. “Let’s see. Well, David asked me to marry him, but it never felt—”
“Right,” he supplied.
“Exactly.”
“Hmm.” Matt began smoothing his large palm down my arm, then threaded his fingers in my hair. “Looking back, do you feel like he was a mistake? That dating him for so long was a waste of time?”
“No.” I lifted my head, placing my chin on my forearms where they rested on his chest. “He was what I needed at the time, I think.”
“Meaning?”
“Someone kind.” I smiled softly, thinking back to all the times David went out of his way to be thoughtful.
“But you didn’t marry him,” Matt pointed out, a hint of accusation in his tone.
I pushed myself up, avoiding his gaze, and showed Matt the next position. Basically, it was a yin-yang shape, where Matt would lay on his side, his head by the headboard and I would lay on my side, my head at the foot of the bed. Then we’d both bend our legs, allowing each person to rest their head on the other’s knees or thighs.
Once we were in position, and I noted the way his arms were crossed as well as his grumpy expression, I sought to answer his last question. “If I’m honest, completely honest, I didn’t marry David when he asked because he never wanted to fight.”
Matt stiffened, a deep crease forming between his eyebrows. His gaze suddenly sharpened, like I’d said something important.
“Meaning?” he asked, a breathless quality to his voice.
“I mean, he would do everything in his power to avoid fighting, even if it meant making himself terribly unhappy, which only made me feel guilty. We couldn’t disagree. He’d rush to change or fix whatever made me upset, rather than taking a stand. And he never seemed to have an opinion about anything until I shared mine first. And then, one day . . .”
Matt uncrossed his arms and reached for one of my hands, playing with the tips of my fingers as he listened. And more or less melting my heart.
I continued haltingly, wanting to focus on my words, but finding it difficult to do so when he was touching me. “I was doing this story on bodybuilders and gym rats. It started out being a story about the phenomena of people putting on makeup and doing their hair to go to the gym. My editor was curious, do they sweat off their makeup? Or ruin their hair? Or do they only choose exercises that are sweat free? Or what was going on? I thought it was dumb at the time, but I did it because she was in love with the idea. Anyway, that led to a story about gym selfies. And that led to a story about people who spend most of their day in the gym. And that led to a story about body dysmorphia, but it was entitled, ‘The Tiny Truth About Bodybuilders.’”
Matt smirked. “Ruh roh,” he said, sounding just like Scooby Doo.
“I know.”
“How’d you convince the guys to show you their penis?”
I stared at Matt. Is he serious?
When he continued to regard me with curiosity, I said, “I’m a woman.”
“Yeah. So? Do women have a skeleton key to get into restricted areas that I don’t know about?”
“Yes. Boobs.”
He frowned at me and, before he could help himself, his eyes flickered to my chest and then back to my face. “Meaning?”
“I used my boobs.”
His frown became a scowl. “You flashed them?”
“No. Of course not, dipstick. I don’t need to flash my boobs, I just need to make it obvious that I have boobs.”
“Clearly you have boobs.” He gestured to my torso. “You are a woman, breasts are part of your genetic code. But what I don’t understand are the words that are coming out of your mouth. Again, Greek. I say, ‘How did you use your boobs?’ And you say, ‘Potato dog dancing lamppost.’”
I giggled at him and his silly consternation. “Okay, fine. All I did was brush my fingertips along my neckline and asked if they’d show me their penis for a story I was writing.”
His scowl eased, his expression morphing into amazement. “That’s it?”
“Yep.”
“Amazing.”
“Yep. Boobs. They’re amazing.”
He lifted an eyebrow in an over-exaggerated manner, giving me a charmingly lopsided grin. “Do you think if I skimmed my fingertips over my fly it would work with women?”