The beginning of hour two marked the longest continuous conversation I’d ever had with a woman I wanted to fuck. It passed without any balloons or lightning bolts. I decided to stick around just until I got bored. I didn’t get bored. I didn’t even notice how long we’d been talking until an hour later, when the café staff kicked us out.

I’d never had to wait for sex—fortunately, women seemed to like the way I looked and there were more than enough of them whose goals aligned with mine. I knew that because I made sure things were clear from the get-go. I was offering one night. If they wanted to take me up on it, fantastic. If not, both of us walked away with no hard feelings.

And Lane was the exception because why exactly? Because I’d been so close, had a small taste of who she’d be in bed, and I wanted more. Shit, I wanted all of it. Maybe it was her damage that made her so interesting, I didn’t know. That I enjoyed talking to her was an unexpected perk. But my rules were my rules, and I wouldn’t—couldn’t—break them for anyone.

Outside the café, she paused before deciding which way to go. I already knew she would choose the opposite direction of my place. She figured it out a few seconds later.

The whole time we’d been talking, I could tell she was battling herself, trying to decide if she could have what she wanted. An easy answer for me, but Lane was different. Supposedly, a woman worries a guy will think she’s a slut if she fucks him before a certain day or something. That makes no sense. The guy isn’t thinking anything other than, ‘Hallelujah, I’m getting laid.’

People are people and everybody is fucked up. Including Lane. But she was also unusual. What she’d said to Anna showed she had claws, and she wasn’t into casual sex or being in a relationship. Which meant some asshole had done a thorough job of fucking with her head. Too bad. For all kinds of reasons.

“Why no relationships?” I asked.

She looked at me and laughed. “Kettle meet pot.”

“I’m not judging, just curious. I know why I don’t do them, but I don’t know why you don’t.”

“You first this time. Did you have your heart broken?”

“I don’t have a heart. Okay, technically I have one but I… It wasn’t fair of me to ask. Sorry.”

“That’s twice you’ve apologized. I’m starting to think you were lying about that.”

“What can I say?” I shrugged. “You bring the pitiful out in me.”

“You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

I shoved my hands into my pockets. “Nope, and that’s why it was unfair of me to ask.”

“Unfair, but honest.” She kept walking. “I’m not good in relationships. I meant it when I told you I was cursed. It’s like the Frog Prince but in reverse. I can take a really great guy and transform him into a nightmare. A cheater, a liar, an asshole, a deadbeat. Once I even turned a guy into a drug addict.”

“Come on. You can’t seriously claim credit for that.”

“You know that saying, about how if the same thing keeps happening and you’re the only constant, chances are you’re the problem? That’s me. I’m the constant. I’m the problem.”

I liked that she didn’t get emotional. Her tone was serious without being whiny or melodramatic, as if she’d thought about it a lot and was satisfied with the conclusion she came to.

“Every relationship I’ve ever had ended when I thought things were great and he thought things were done. It sucks and it hurts and it involves a lot of self-pity, tears, and fried food. Way too much fried food. No offense, but men aren’t worth it.”

“I’d have to disagree with you to be offended. You’re pretty young to be completely done with men, though, don’t you think?”

She took a moment before she answered. “I’m old enough to be done being lied to and manipulated and used. I haven’t spent a lot of time thinking about what comes next. It never occurred to me until my last breakup, but I’ve been part of a couple since I was fifteen. Eight years with only minor breaks in between. That’s kind of sad, don’t you think?”

I didn’t answer because I’d be sad being part of a couple for eight minutes.

“Now I like being single,” she said. “At least I know I’m not going to fuck myself over.” She smiled. “And I guess… I guess if I decide to start something, I want to go into it knowing exactly what it is and isn’t. Instead of being blindsided. But, like I said, I haven’t actually thought about it a lot, which is why I think I jumped the gun with you.” She made a face. “I need to work up to sex with strangers. Baby steps, right?”

Would I take her in baby steps? That would require patience—something I didn’t have much of—and incredible care, something I’d never tried. Because if I wasn’t careful with her, I’d add to her damage, and I already liked her too much to do that.

Fuck. What a waste of something that would’ve been really, really fun.

“You’ve never had sex with someone you didn’t love?” I asked, just to make absolutely sure it couldn’t work.

She shook her head. “No one I didn’t think I loved. But just because I know that love is bullshit and all relationships are doomed doesn’t mean I want to be celibate for the rest of my life. So eventually I’m going to have to do something about it. I’m just afraid I’ll revert, turn someone else into a frog, and get sex confused with love.”

“I might be able to help with that. We can go as slow as you want. Baby steps, right?” You idiot. But once the words hit the air, I realized I was okay with the idea. Maybe better than okay. It wasn’t often you were handed a situation where sex was the only way to help someone. Hell, if it was, I’d be starting another foundation tomorrow.

“It could take a lot of tiny baby steps. Do you really want to get in my pants that badly?”

“Yes. Yes, I do,” I said, smiling. “Provided there are no actual babies involved, I believe it’s my civic duty to help my fellow man. Make that woman, because I’m not into men. This is me giving back.”

“I’m not sure there’s a way to take that as a compliment.”

“Then I’ll clarify—I like you and your body and would love to spend more time with both of you, preferably with less clothing on.” I stopped her and turned her by the shoulders so she faced me. “Sex without strings is something I’m good at. Whether you want to dip your toe in the water or jump in, it might be better to do it with someone who isn’t going to fuck with your head. Someone who will tell you to your face that he wants to use you because he thinks you’re incredibly hot, and in return you can use him.”

“That I can take as a compliment.”

“You should.” I had to concentrate to keep my hands on her shoulders instead of wandering. “What I’m proposing is that you use me for anything you want—anything non-emotional. No overthinking needed, desired, or allowed.”

Her smile was gone, probably because she was gnawing on her lip. “I’m not sure I can control it yet.”

“You need practice separating the physical from the emotional. So practice on me. I promise you: I’m not emotional, and I’m not interested in your emotions—the girlie ones, at least. We can go as slow as you want and stop whenever you need to.” All things I’d never wanted, let alone offered anyone. But I liked her, wanted her, and was currently going through a self-imposed dry spell. Strangely, the challenge was a huge turn-on. My cock was ready to jump out of my pants as soon as she gave the word. How long could it possibly take?

Even if the sex never happened, what was I out? Nothing. Of course, you can bet your ass I’d do everything I could to make it happen. As long as we both kept everything out in the open. After all, the poor girl needed my help.

She sighed, stopping in front of one of the newer apartment buildings in the city. “This is me.”

One of two things would happen—she would invite me up to her place or she’d say goodnight. Lots of things wouldn’t happen. I wouldn’t kiss her goodnight, because this wasn’t a date. This was a meeting to negotiate an arrangement that would suit us both. I wouldn’t tell her I had a nice or a good or, god forbid, a great time. Another indicator that this was a date, which it wasn’t. I wouldn’t tell her I’d call at a certain time—biiiig no-no. The promise of a time-specific call sets up expectations, and expectations set up a huge amount of trouble and the possibility of hurt feelings.

Unfortunately, by offering her an open invite, I’d already broken my number-one rule—don’t stay long enough for them to develop any feelings. Because aww-sweet feelings turn into hurt feelings really, really rapidly. That wasn’t what I did. Two people make each other feel good and then walk away feeling good. Very simple and straightforward. As long as I was upfront and avoided potential triggers, everybody left satisfied and with a smile on their faces.

I didn’t kiss her goodnight. I didn’t tell her I had a great time. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” Fuck! The words I never said, not ever, slipped out so easily. Twice in the last twenty-four hours. I must have put on someone else’s mouth and brain this morning. Because mine knew better.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

Thank the heavens. I’d never been as happy to be rejected as I was right now. “Why not?” Are you fucking kidding me? Maybe I could go by the butcher’s on my way home and get them to cut out my tongue.

“I think you’re great,” she said, “and I’m sure you’re something to behold in bed. But after I left your place yesterday, I started actually thinking. A few hours later, I realized that I don’t work that way. I wish I did and maybe someday I will. But not now. If we had sex now I think my head would get all jumbled up, and I would start seeing things that weren’t there or think you had feelings you didn’t have.”

“Honesty seriously appreciated.” Problem averted. Moving on and away. But first... “What if I told you with absolute certainty that it could never work out and I’ll never feel that way about you?”

“Then I’d probably wonder what was wrong with me that you couldn’t care about me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you.” Nothing at all. And knowing that could very possibly make this the biggest mistake of my life.