Much to my satisfaction, we got stuck in rush hour traffic. By the time we reached San Diego three hours later, I had my doubts that the tingling sensation in my clit would ever subside.

Porter proved me wrong.

He was seated across from me. On the floor in front of him were his boots. His eyes were glued to them. He’d been frozen in that exact position since we walked into the room ten minutes earlier. The magical moment we shared at the pie shop was being dwarfed by the awkward silence.

“Is everything okay?” I asked.

Glassey-eyed, he continued to stare.

I waited for what seemed like an eternity. I cleared my throat. Snapped my fingers. Hummed. Sang softly. Turned on some music. Drummed my fingers on the end table. Sang louder.

Nothing.

After twenty minutes, I’d reached the breaking point.

“Porter!” I shouted.

He looked up. It wasn’t like I’d startled him. He simply shifted his gaze upward until it met mine. Upon seeing me, his face distorted. Confused, he rubbed his eyes and glanced around the room as if he didn’t remember walking in.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Sorry,” he said. “I was just thinking.”

“About?”

“My mother,” he said. “Something she told me when I was a kid.”

In the amount of time it took to snap one’s fingers, I went from being angry with him to hoping I could do something to comfort him. I tried to imagine losing my entire family to cancer. I couldn’t comprehend it. I doubted anyone could. I wanted to hold him in my arms and tell him everything was going to be alright, but I didn’t know if it was going to be.

“Do you want to talk?” I asked.

He wrung his hands together nervously. “We probably need to.”

What I thought was confusion now appeared to be concern. He laced his fingers together, but it didn’t last. He began to rub his hands along his thighs, and must have found comfort in it, because it was then that he began to speak.

“My mother once explained that there’s two places you can categorize women when it comes to sex. A one-night-stand, or a relationship. I don’t want to have a one-night-stand with you, Abby.” He shifted his eyes to meet mine. “That only leaves one place for you to be.”

His words bounced around in my head until I understood them. Incapable of speaking – at least for that moment – I took every inch of him into view. He was muscular from head to toe. He had a keen sense of humor. He had manners. He was a real biker. He had a big dick. He knew how to kiss a woman. And, he didn’t want to use me for sex.

He was an anomaly.

A glitch in the male population.

“I don’t want to have a one-night-stand with you, either,” I said.

It wasn’t the complete truth. Immediately following that kiss, I would have tossed my belief system aside, have let him screw me bow-legged and be on his way. Now that I knew he had other intentions, I wanted more. I wanted what every woman wants.

I wanted a relationship.

My mind began to assemble the pieces of Porter’s puzzle. In doing so, I got confused. He said he’d never been in love. He’d never allowed himself to be. I couldn’t help but wonder…

“You’re not a uhhm,” I stammered. “You’ve had sex before, right?”

He spit out a laugh. “A couple of times, yeah.”

“Okay.” I wiped my brow. “Me, too.”

“I just. I’ve never,” he muttered. “I’ve never done this.”

I leaned forward. “This being what?”

“I’ve never been in a relationship,” he admitted.

I studied him as I formulated my response. His look morphed to one of innocence. At that instant it came to me. Porter’s hard exterior was his protection. The pursed lips. The muscles. His glare. Since we met, he’d been peeling away his outer layers and setting them aside. During his twenty minutes of silence, he’d removed his last layer of defense. I realized beyond the muscles and tattoos Porter was no different than anyone else. He was vulnerable.

Exposed and unprotected, he waited for me to respond. He may have been thirty years old on the inside, but the person seated across from me was seventeen and without a family.

Seventeen and scared.

“I’ve been in a relationship before,” I said. “But I’ve been single for six years.”

His eyebrows raised. “Six years?”

I nodded. “Uh huh.”

“Holy shit,” he gasped. “Why so long?”

I met Kelvin in college. We began having sex because having sex was fun. The sex changed from fun to freaky. Four years later, I realized all he and I shared was sex. He wanted nothing from me but to screw me at will, and I granted his wish.

Realizing it left me feeling foolish. It was my own fault. A relationship that begins for all the wrong reasons never becomes right. So, I left him, vowing to never place myself in the same position again.

I swallowed six years of frustration and let out a long, exhaustive breath. “At first because I was angry about how my last boyfriend treated me. To him, I was someone to screw and nothing more. When the anger faded, I realized no one put me in that relationship but me. I decided the next time I committed myself to someone, it was going to be because I wanted to be in a relationship with them, not because I simply wanted sex. Hopefully, knowing that lets you make some sense of my choice to eat pie instead of jumping in bed.”

“It does,” he said with a nod. “Thanks for explaining it.”

Thirty minutes earlier, my plans were to christen each room in my home, stopping only when we’d completed the task. After verbally admitting what caused the failure of my previous relationship, I now felt a need to remind myself that it wasn’t simply sex that drew me to Porter.

It wasn’t going to be easy, but I needed to exercise sexual restraint for at least one night. Looking at the big picture, I knew it wouldn’t make a difference. In my manner of reasoning, however, it would prove to me that I was in it for all the right reasons.

It a was necessary step in securing my relationship’s future. Ridiculous, but necessary.

“I’m exhausted.” I stretched and did my best to fake a yawn. “I want to take a shower and unwind.”

He reached for his boots. “Okay.”

“You don’t have to leave.” I waved my hands toward the bathroom. “You can take a shower with me, or after me, I don’t care.”

I couldn’t believe the words that were spewing from my mouth.

I swallowed heavily. “We’re uhhm. We’re not having sex, though.”

He returned a blank stare.

I managed a slight smile. “I can cook something light to eat afterward if you like.”

He tossed his boots aside and stood. “This is crazy.”

“What’s that?”

“Not having sex,” he said.

I studied him, trying to imagine what he’d look like soaking wet. “Does it bother you? Being here and not having sex?”

It bothered me, but I wasn’t about to admit it. I regretted telling him he could take a shower with me. I knew if he chose to accept my offer that it would take every ounce of my willpower not to ride him like a pogo stick.

“It’s just not what I’m accustomed to,” he said. “I guess if I want things to be different, I have to do different things.”

“So, you’re going to stay?” I asked, trying to hide my excitement.

“I’ll go downstairs and grab a change of clothes off my bike while you’re in the bathroom.” He turned toward the door. “I’ll shower after you’re done.”

I guessed he felt the same way I did regarding showering together. It was a good thing, because I planned on relieving myself of some serious tension when I was in there.

“Your loss,” I teased. “It’s probably for the best, though. I doubt you’d be able to keep your hands off me. I’m irresistible when I’m wet.”

“That sounds like a challenge.” He turned around and looked me over. “I’ve never been one to back down from a dare.”

“Wait. What?” I stammered.

“Hold on just a minute while I grab my clothes.” His mouth formed a smug little smile. “I’ll go ahead and shower with you.”

Being in the shower with Porter would be a true test.

One I was sure to flunk.