“Good?” Kyle licked a drip off the top of his waffle cone, and she realized she was staring at his tongue.
“Y-yeah. Yes,” she stammered. Her own ice cream was dripping down her hand.
“Need a napkin?” She could read him well enough to know he thought she’d lost her mind. Say something to restore confidence, Buchanan. Something that doesn’t make you sound like a sex-addled horndog.
“Sure.” Yeah, that was it. That’d do the trick. Kyle held out a brown recycled paper napkin to her.
“You okay?”
“It’s our third date,” she blurted out. She stopped herself before she got to the rest: And I want you to show me what you were thinking about in the trailer.
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“So,” she prompted, wiping her hand. “On the third date, a lot of people . . .” Ainsley gestured between them vaguely.
He looked at her blankly, then licked his darn cone again. “Plan a fourth date?”
If her hands had been even remotely clean, she would’ve smacked her own forehead in frustration.
“No, they don’t plan a fourth date—”
“I’m sure some of them do.” He bounced his gaze towards the high school couple who’d just walked in. His knee was shaking under the table; he had to be joking.
“Are you messing with me? Because if you’re messing with me . . .”
He finally cracked a smile. “It’s so easy. It’s harder not to, really.”
Ainsley threw her balled-up napkin at him, and he laughed, low and quiet. “You’re a jerk.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
“No, I’m not really,” he chuckled, grinning. “But I do think we should hold off a while yet.”
“Stop, Kyle. Seriously.”
“No, I am serious now.” He took a swig of his water, and when he put down the glass, she scrutinized his face. He looked as determined as he had the time he’d won the Turkey Trot in ’03. Daniel had bet him a month of laundry-doing that he couldn’t win it all. She’d made a note then and there to never bet Kyle on anything . . . except now she kind of was. She was subjecting her future plans and her reputation to the whims of a Durand.
She leaned forward, lowering her voice. “Tell me you’re joking. Please.”
He shook his head, apparently calm. “Studies show that lots of millennials aren’t having sex. They call it a sex recession. We wouldn’t be alone.”
“Yes, but I want to be alone. That’s the point.”
“I hear that, but I just don’t think it’s wise. If you became pregnant . . .”
She huffed. “I’m not going to get pregnant, Kyle. I’m on the pill.”
“It’s only 91 percent effective, adjusting for human factors. And you’re pretty forgetful; I bet you don’t take it properly. And condoms are no better, that’s only 85 percent. Not great odds, really.”
Her mouth fell open. She’d forgotten it just last night. It helped with her acne, so it didn’t really matter for procreative purposes. Of course she’d take it correctly if it did . . . if it mattered. But she couldn’t exactly deny his claim when she’d screwed it up just last night, and he saw the truth on her face.
Kyle laughed. “See? I’m not ready to have a kid. Are you?”
“Yes.” The word jumped out before she could stuff it back down into her heart, and her face heated as she scrambled to explain. “I’ve always wanted kids.” But what she didn’t want was to trap someone who didn’t love her into a lifelong relationship, whether that was co-parenting or marriage. She understood his reservations from that standpoint, but . . . her girl parts were blubbering as her brain tried to explain that this did make some sense.
“No surprise there,” he said quietly. “But I’m not willing to take chances. Look at Starla and Charlie, Ains. Their relationship is so screwed up, they should be on Dr. Phil.”
“Is that show still on?”
“Focus. They had a kid—a great kid, but still a kid they weren’t ready for. I still have a lot on my plate with work. I’m helping Dr. Baker with the residency program, and they need a lot of supervision; and that’s in addition to my emergency room shifts.” He reached across to touch her hand, but she pulled it back just in time. She wasn’t trying to punish him . . . She was just so disappointed. She couldn’t take physical contact right now; she’d been primed for so much more than hand holding tonight, and her body was not taking the news well. It was then Ainsley noticed several other patrons were watching them, and, realizing they were caught, the eavesdroppers quickly went back to their own conversations.
He got up and motioned for her to scoot over. She gave him a hard look, and he hooked his mouth up in half a smile. “Please?” he said.
Begrudgingly, she let him into the booth and onto the seat next to her. He sat down without touching her, even though she could tell he wanted to. He played with his napkin under the table, twisting it. She’d thought he had more to say, but he just stared at her, pleading in his gaze.
“But before this, with other girlfriends, you . . . did, right?”
“No.”
“Never?” she whispered, aghast. “But all those girls were always hanging around you . . .”
He shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you. It just wasn’t right.” That made her feel a little bit better. Maybe it wasn’t personal, then. But she was still mad.
“You could’ve told me earlier.”
“Yes. I should’ve. I’m sorry.”
“Before I wasted all that time shaving everything. It’s fall now. I don’t have to, no one else is going to know.”
His gaze heated, and he looked her up and down a little. “Everything?”
“You’ll never know now, will you?”
“Oh, come on . . .”
“Nope. No one but me will get to appreciate my efforts tonight.”
“That’s just cruel.”
“You’re just cruel.”
“I didn’t say never. Just not . . .”
“Not yet.” In the blink of an eye, she was seventeen again, sitting with Shane Burgess at Annie’s, sharing a milkshake. He’d been showering attention on her for a few weeks, and he’d been touching her all night, making her crazy in the best way. Too bad he hadn’t had the same reservations about being committed to each other before they hopped into bed . . . That had certainly aimed her high school social life in an awful direction. The fallout had been worse than she’d imagined was even possible.
“It’s okay.” It wasn’t, really. It made her feel small. She felt like she’d shown up for a costume party in street clothes . . . relationships weren’t supposed to make you feel out of place. She wanted to leave. “Let’s go home.”
“No, Ainsley, just—” Kyle growled.
“Now, please.”
“I can see us together. In the future, I mean. Can’t you?”
“I . . . I don’t know. I guess so.” Of course she could. Pushing their babies in a double stroller, going for morning runs. Him collapsing into bed after a long shift, still hungry to connect with her, making her pancakes in the morning. Her decorating her room for the next school year, making him do the heavy lifting. Him grumbling but loving it.