It's not nothing.
It's a lot.
But—
"Do you think of her?" I ask. "When you're with me?"
"Not the way you mean."
"What do you think I mean?"
"I don't think about fucking her."
I swallow hard. "But other things?"
"I was with her for two years. I have a lot of memories."
Right. That's fair. But it doesn't soothe the knot in my stomach. "That's all? Memories?"
"What are you getting at?"
"You don't talk about her."
"There's nothing to say."
Maybe. "But you did think of me. When you were fucking her?"
"I was committed."
"But you did."
"Yes." His expression darkens. "When we were first trying things my way. Then after. When I realized she'd never want that."
"You imagined me?"
"I'm not proud of it."
I don't know if I want to slap him or mount him. I thought of him sometimes. By myself. With Noah. "But you were going to commit to her, even though she didn't have the same tastes? Even though you had to imagine me?"
His eyes meet mine. "I thought I could find a compromise."
"Did you?"
"No. But I told myself it didn't matter."
"And it did?"
He nods. "No one can be everything."
"Maybe."
"You think about someone else watching us," he says.
My cheeks flush.
"Joining?"
"Sometimes."
"It's not going to happen. I'm never going to share you."
"I know."
"But you're still satisfied?"
"So far."
He chuckles. "You're daring me."
"Answering honestly."
"And if you weren't satisfied? If you needed that and I wouldn't give it to you?"
"That's different. It's one thing. One very specific scenario."
"But the same idea."
I nod.
"Would you leave because I won't give you something you want?"
"No. But it wouldn't happen. You'd find a way to give it to me."
He shakes his head.
"You would. You might not invite someone to watch. You might not share me. But you'd find a way to fill that need. The mirror. A semi-public place. A video."
His pupils dilate.
"You're thinking about it now. Are you really going to argue otherwise?"
"No."
"It’s different."
"Yes," he admits. "But I told myself it wasn't. I told myself a lot of things… maybe she saw it. Maybe she realized I'd never be satisfied. I don't know."
"And that was when you thought of me?" I ask. "When what you two were doing wasn't… enough?"
"Not every time."
"So sometimes it was enough?"
"I am capable," he says. "Of soft. Gentle. Loving. Sometimes, it's even what I want."
"Really?"
"Do you need me to demonstrate?" The dare slips back into his voice.
My blush deepens. "If it's what you want right now."
"No."
"What do you want?"
"I want you to eat your breakfast."
"After that."
"Is that an invitation?"
"If it is?"
"Is it?" His voice drops to that demanding tone.
I press my thighs together. Is it? I don't know. I want him. But can I handle fucking him and leaving?
Can I come without falling harder?
No. That's a lost cause. If he's going to break my heart either way, I may as well enjoy the process.
"Yes." My chest heaves with my inhale.
"After breakfast."
I must pout, because he laughs. Smiles the world's most dazzling smile.
Fuck, he's so handsome. And his joy—
It's rare, but it's so fucking beautiful. I want to bottle it, hold it close, drink it when I'm feeling down.
"But you have to promise you won't think of her when we're together. Ever," I say.
"I'd never think of someone else."
"But with her—"
"I won't. Not with you. And you won't think of anyone else when you're with me."
Fuck. My entire body is already buzzing. What the hell is wrong with me, wanting him to tell me what I'm allowed to think? "Okay."
"I'm jealous. Just considering it."
"Me thinking of someone else?"
"Yes." He offers me the hot sauce. "I can't promise you many firsts, Indie. But this—I don't let go with anyone else. I wouldn't buy anyone else a drawer of harnesses. I wouldn't trust anyone else."
I take the hot sauce. Draw circles on my eggs. It's fancy sriracha, the kind without preservatives or artificial colors.
The same, but different, more expensive.
The eggs are fresh in a way mine aren't.
I fail to stifle a sigh of pleasure.
His posture changes immediately. He shifts into that other Ty. The one attuned to every single one of my wants.
For a moment he studies me. Then he returns to normal.
And we're two people making conversation over breakfast.
Talking like friends.
Or maybe like lovers. I'm not sure anymore.
I need to fuck him. Now. But I know Ty. Even if I strip naked and climb under the table, he'll hold to his edict—
After breakfast.
And he's still on his first piece of toast.
I swallow another bite of eggs. Try to push my thoughts out of the gutter. Reach for some focus that isn't how much I want him inside me. "What would you do? If you went into work?"
"It's not that interesting."
"I don't believe you." I take another bite. Swallow. Focus on the intensity in his eyes. "That you would do anything that bores you."
"Not that interesting to you."
"Try me."
He lets out a small laugh. "I research, run numbers, negotiate. Ian does most of the digging. I do all of the practical and most of the negotiating."
Negotiating. I can see that. "Is that your favorite part of your job?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
His eyes meet mine. "What was your favorite part of working at that awful bar?"
"The tips."
"That doesn't count," he says.
"The way men wanted something from me."
"Men everywhere want you."
"Maybe." My cheeks flush. "But this was different. They were trying to win me over. I hated men staring at me like I was a piece of meat. I hated having to laugh at their jokes. Or listen to them complain their wives didn't understand them. But there was a power in it too. And I liked that power."
His eyes fix on mine. "Is that why you like me?"
"I don't have any power over you."
"Do you really believe that?"
No. "Not exactly." But he is the one with more power here. He's richer than god. I'm no longer a broke cocktail waitress, but my net worth is still half a dozen zeroes short of his.