But still . . . “I like that idea, but it’s not what I meant. Is there some reason tonight feels, I don’t know, safer for you? Better?”
Page 125
Jonah thinks it over for a moment before replying. “Nothing in particular. But the idea came to me, and I started fantasizing about all the things I could do to you—and it didn’t make me wonder whether my stepfather got into my brain. It didn’t make me hate myself. It only made me think about how much you’d love it. ”
“I would. Oh, God, so much. But—only if you’re sure—”
“Positive. ” He sounds good. Strong. And nearly as excited as I am.
Before I had wondered whether returning to our games would feel like a step backward. It doesn’t. It feels like an exhilarating leap forward. Jonah and I own our fantasy in all its dark glory. But it will never own us again.
“We’ll have to be careful in the park,” I say as I fish my keys from my purse and start getting my stuff in the car. “Make absolutely certain that nobody’s around. ”
“And we’ll need a cover story in case we’re wrong. ”
Oh, man. I do not want to subject some innocent bystander to any sex acts, much less one that appears nonconsensual. “We won’t be wrong. And I won’t scream to attract attention. ”
“That means I’ll need to hold my hand over your mouth. ” His voice lights up every nerve ending I have. “Take you fast and hard. ”
“Yes,” I whisper. He’s got me turned on already.
Then Jonah repeats, more firmly, “But we’ll still need a cover story. ”
“We’ll figure it out when we pick the place. Don’t worry. I’m good at improvisation. ” I settle everything into the passenger’s seat and start my car.
“We have a lot of cover stories, don’t we?” Jonah says. “For Maddox, for your family, for your professor, for our friends—”
“Gosh, Jonah, what are we going to tell the kids when they ask how Mom and Dad met?”
That was a joke too—except kind of not. In my heart, I’ve believed for a while now that Jonah and I would go the distance. That this is forever. But we’re not engaged; neither of us has ever spoken of this before, the idea of our marrying, having children, or making a life together. At first Jonah says nothing, and I wonder if I’ve gone too far. If I’ve rushed him. If this is when we have to have the talk about the immense amount of counseling we’d need before becoming parents.
Oh, no. I mean, I want to have this talk someday, but this is the last possible moment I’d have wanted to kill the mood—
“We tell the truth,” Jonah says. “Just not all of it. Like, I’d say to the kids, your mother had a flat tire. I stopped to help change it for her. Soon afterward we ran into each other, and it turned out we had mutual friends. ”
Softly I chime in, “Your Aunt Shay and Uncle Arturo. ”
When Jonah speaks again, it’s as though I can hear his smile. “At the party, I came up to you and said we ought to get together sometime. Then we met up for a glass of wine, and the rest is history. The children should believe that, right? What do you think?”
I lean back in my car seat and smile. “Works for me. ”
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