I took my time scrubbing Theo's pots and pans, drowning in my own cognitive dissonance. After our sinful act in the coffee shop, I'd grown confident enough to follow through on Baker's suggestion—or so I'd thought. But that was before Theo had invited me to his house and cooked me a delicious meal, absent of alcohol, absent of sex. That was before he'd told me he wanted to hang out more often in that warm, non-sensuous tone.

Despite my best efforts, the doubt had found its way in through the cracks of indecisiveness and inexpression, and now I was left treading water in a tumultuous sea of confusion.

What did this man want from me? What was he after?

When my fingers began to prune, Theo appeared behind me and reached over my shoulder to turn off the faucet. His body was close enough to test a platonic boundary, and he smelled like a coffee date on a back patio—like a percolator on an autumn camping trip.

I lifted my hands from the sink, searching for a means of drying them, but he'd already snatched a towel for me. "Here," he said, dropping the cloth in my hands. His voice was deep in his throat. Scratchy, like he'd been waiting to say something for a while now, but he wasn't sure how.

I dried my hands, still facing the kitchen sink, my shoulder blades just inches from his chest. He lingered behind me, trapping me against the cabinets, trapping me in my head, and my pulse throbbed in my fingertips.

Oh...Jesus.

Slowly, I set the towel aside, and my arm brushed against the firm stretch of his stomach. But instead of backing away to grant me more space, the barista maintained the pressure, leaning into me to chase the contact. I refused to retreat from him, and as he shifted his weight forward, we found ourselves in a very familiar position to our ungodly coffee shop interaction.

Okay then.

Perhaps he wasn't seeking friendship after all.

I held my breath, too focused on the heat emanating from his chest and abdomen to think rationally. And then, just as Theo placed his hands on my waist, I rocked backward into his frame—gently, but with unmistakable yearning.

We waited at the crossroads in silence, unmoving, unbudging, and upon every exhale, my back grazed his chest, sending a burst of delicious sparks throughout my body. Theo's warm breath fell across my neck, tickling my ear, and I felt like he'd set me aflame.

The tension brewed in the narrow space between us, and apprehension gnawed at my skeleton. There was a sense of reservation in both of us that hadn't existed before, and I sensed Theo's hesitancy in his palms, in the nervous shudder of his breast. Deep inside, I felt the schizophrenic desire to want something so, so badly, and yet not at all.

We stood there at a stalemate, stuck in a Chinese thumb cuff and unsure how to remove ourselves from this enclosure.

Snap out of it, Moe.

Don't make this mess any stickier.

I turned around to face my host, and Theo's hands released me for a few seconds before settling back on my hips, this time above the rim of my jeans and under the hem of my sweater. His palms were hot against my skin, and he slid his knee between my legs—casually, smoothly, unhurriedly—bringing his groin dangerously close to mine.

At this point, my heart was pounding so hard, I was sure he could hear it, and I didn't dare meet his eyes. "Theo," I began, my throat dry, my tongue too heavy. "What...is this?"

His confidence wavered, and his hands halted in their ascent up my waist. "What?"

I finally mustered the courage to look at him, and the confusion in his eyes made me feel like an asshole for even asking. "I...was this supposed to be a date?"

A date? A dinner between friends?

Were we friends?

He drew away from me, killing the inferno, and his hands fell back to his sides. "No, I wasn't trying to..." He frowned at me, but he looked more irritated with himself than anything. "No. It wasn't a date."

It was impossible to discern what he was feeling behind the rusty shield he'd erected. Before, he'd been so easy to read with his hungry eyes and initiative. Tonight, I felt like a sailor lost in foreign waters. "Then...what was it?"

He stared back at me, his lips parted to release a sentence he was either unsure about or unwilling to say. In the end, he chose silence, and that was the only response I could do absolutely nothing with.

Get out before you do something stupid, Carl hissed. This is a rip current waiting for you to test its strength. Don't be foolish.

"In that case...I should probably go," I whispered, desperate to escape this puzzling territory, this not-date date. Perhaps I was just chickening out of the whole friends-with-benefits concept, but this right here? This was the opposite of what I wanted. This was blurry and romantic and undefined. There were no rules here, no communication.

This was how people wound up in therapy.

Theo didn't fight me on my choice to leave, and my rejection of his advances didn't seem to faze him. Honestly, he looked pretty relieved by my announcement, and I tried not to feel insulted. "Right," he said, taking another step back and searching his pockets for his keys. "I'll drive you."

I dipped around him to grab my backpack. "Don't worry about it. I'll just Uber home."

He looked like he wanted to argue, but he swallowed his protests. "Then let me pay for your ride, at least."

"No, that's okay."

He stared at me, his brow creasing in confusion and, if I was reading him right, distress. His gaze flicked to the windows and the snowstorm blowing in over the mountain peaks. "Mona..."

I turned to grab my coat, short of breath and fighting my own fierce, rapid heartbeat. Fuck, I needed to get out of here before I subjected Theo to a full-blown panic attack.

Get a move on, Rivas! I strapped on my boots, pulled my jacket on, and freed my short hair from my hood before making my way to the door. "Have a good night, Theo," I said. By some miracle, I managed to keep my voice even and my friendly smile intact. Then I slipped out the door and shut it behind me with an urgency that did not go unnoticed.

I raced down the stairs, despising myself for running out on Theo like a second-grader avoiding the cute boy in class. I just couldn't handle so many unknown variables, and that obscurity eroded my trust in Baker's solution.

Because falling into bed was one thing, but communicating to someone that I wanted to use him for my own sexual pleasure? That I wanted him solely for his body, even after we'd shared such a pleasant evening together? After he'd treated me so sweetly?

When I had no idea if my offer appealed to him?

Transparency was more difficult than I'd anticipated, and apparently, my upbringing in the church had left scar tissue beyond dissolution. Deep down, I still felt a sliver of shame in the biblical sin of fornication. Some internal part of me recoiled at the idea of tending to my biological needs stripped of purity, marriage, and love. And I loathed that indoctrinated shadow of mine. She was intolerable.

What I would give to be more like Baker.

If I was more akin to my best friend, I wouldn't overthink every decision all the time, and then overanalyze my choice years after the fact. I wouldn't have to hypothesize to the point that exciting—and often beneficial—opportunities slipped through my fingers. Over and over again.

Why was my brain so afraid to take the plunge before I had a chance to scope the lakebed? Why did I always deny myself an exhilarating jump into fresh, glistening waters?

My breathing grew ragged, and I slowed to a stop at the bottom of the stairwell. An inch of white powder already blanketed the walkway, and my bootprints revealed the wet and slushy layers beneath.

Great. If this snow didn't melt by morning, we were in for another week of fender benders, broken hips, and icy treks through campus. Frigid temperatures just weren't enough to ensure a miserable semester; we had to incorporate a few medical bills and lawsuits for good measure.

I'd almost made it to the curb when I heard Theo descending the stairs behind me. "Goddammit, Mona."

I whirled around, my heart losing track of its tempo again. I wasn't prepared to face him right now, and seeing him standing there in his vans, pulling his jacket on with blatant irritation, sent me over the precipice.

"What's going on with you?" he complained. "Why'd you run away like I was about to murder you?"

I really couldn't breathe now, and I doubled over, gripping my knees for support. "It's fucking...Carl."

"Carl?" he repeated. "Who the hell's Carl?"

I laughed, then wheezed on my inhale. "My anxiety."

"...You named your anxiety Carl."

"It's like...a coping mechanism. Helps me divorce myself from...from my condition and its impacts." I glared at my boots. "And Carl's a little bitch."

I closed my eyes to focus on my breathing.

In...2, 3, 4.

Out...2, 3, 4.

"Shit. Are you having an actual panic attack?"

"Shut up, Theo."

Scrambling for purchase in my mental landscape, I counted off my numbers, my shapes, my senses. The smell of wet earth. The water droplets on my forehead and nose. The cold air seeping into my clothes. And when I mustered the strength to peek at him, Theo did not look happy.

He took a small, cautious step toward me, and I backed away, not ready to be consoled, not ready to be touched. Unfortunately, I miscalculated the amount of snow accumulating behind me, and my boot slipped on the slush pile.

With a startled yelp, I fell backwards into a muddy flower bed, and my ass sank a few inches into wet soil.

Dammit...

As my jeans soaked up the murky ice water, I glanced up at Theo again, embarrassed.

He peered at me like a man who lacked the emotional capacity and experience to adopt a needy pet. "...Do you want me to take you home?"

I gave a slow, sheepish nod. "Yes, please."

For ten minutes, we drove without speaking.

I leaned my head against the frigid windowpane of the passenger seat, finding the vibration a good distraction. The panic attack had passed, and now I simply felt exhausted and groggy—like I'd been put through the wash cycle a few times and left out to dry. It was the aftermath of my body preparing itself for calamity, and I couldn't really blame Carl for trying to protect me, even if his methods were excessive and overdramatic.

I directed Theo to my condo from the freeway exit, and a few minutes later, he pulled into a parking space in front of my door, waiting for me to speak. Or maybe just waiting for me to leave.

"Sorry about the mud," I murmured, wincing at the dirty ass-print I was bound to leave on his seat.

"It's okay. I'm used to your messes."

His tone was gentle, but his posture betrayed the awkwardness in his bones. How did we come so far today, only to end up right where we'd left off at the coffee shop? Why did this have to be so complicated?  Where did we go wrong?

"Thanks again for dinner," I said, unsure what else to do but exit the vehicle. I unbuckled my seatbelt and reached for the door handle, but his pleading voice froze me in place.

"Mona."

I glanced at him and his stern profile. "Yeah?"

A million emotions danced in his eyes. Then a deep frown bowed his lips. "I don't know."

"...What?"

"The answer to your question earlier. I don't know what tonight was supposed to be. I shouldn't have asked you to come over to begin with." Hurt flashed across my face, and he bent his head. "No, that's not what I meant. I like being around you, that part was genuine. I just..."

"You don't have to explain yourself," I insisted, sparing him the hassle of translating this catastrophe into words. "I think...there's a lot of push and pull right now, and it's hard to make sense of where we're going. Maybe we should just...take a breather. Figure out what we want."

He glared at the steering wheel, but for the second time that night, he'd lost his ability to speak, and I didn't feel like pushing him any further. There was no sense in rushing something that didn't need to happen in the first place. It was just sex, anyway.

I smiled at him. "I appreciate the ride home. I owe you one."

After vacating his truck, I shuffled through my backpack pouch for my keys, hyperaware of his eyes on my spine as I made my way up the porch steps. Then a truck door slammed shut, and I heard a sequence of sloshing footsteps, and just as I pivoted on my heels to confront him, Theo cupped both sides of my face and pulled me in for a kiss.

My keys fell to the snow, my hands hovering beside his face, and a couple heartbeats later, my eyes fluttered shut.

His kiss was soft, long, and patient, and the thrill it sent across my nervous system reminded me of his phenomenal skill set. This barista was one hell of a kisser, and I'd missed his lips on mine. I'd missed his touch.

We pulled away at the same time, staring at each other in bewilderment.

"Had to," he murmured.

I blinked at his defeated gaze before scowling at his lips.

"You're confusing as shit," I hissed, yanking him in for a second kiss. He met me with the vigor and passion of a starved man, and his right hand immediately dropped to the small of my back, holding me in place like he was afraid I might slip away again. My lips grazed his clean-shaven cheek as I whispered, "Do you want me or not?"

He dipped his head to kiss my neck, licking the cold water off my skin and pressing my body into the door jamb. "...Mona, you have no idea how much I want you."

My hands carded through snow-salted locks, and I grabbed a fistful of dark, wavy hair. "You sure have a strange way of showing it."

His left hand held my neck hostage, torturing me with his teeth and tongue and hazardous whispers, while his right hand slid up my back and around to my ribcage, settling just under my bra cup. "I wasn't expecting this...anthology. I thought we could hook up, and I'd never have to see your irritating face again."

I tugged at the hair in my fist, forcing him to resurface so I could kiss him again—and kiss him I did. Deeply, hungrily, like I'd wandered this maddening desert for years and never tasted rainwater.

"You underestimate how much I love your coffee," I replied, savoring the moan that rumbled from his throat, the way it trembled across my tongue to greet my voice. "You could have shit the bed that night, and I still would have showed up for my latte Monday morning."

"I know, you're an addict." He paused to catch his breath, removing his hands from my body to hold my face still. "You snuck up on me, Stains." His thumb swept over my cheekbone, and the intimate action caught me off guard. "You're fun to be around. And I didn't think I was capable of feeling this...good. Not so soon after Alyssa."

My hands dropped to his chest, and he closed his eyes, hating the words for the painful dismissal they were. In this moment, he recognized that he cared enough about me to end things, and as he leaned back to look me in the eye, the guilt on his face doused the wildfire in my blood.

"Truth is, I like you, and I like hanging out with you," he confessed, and it sounded impossibly loud in the snowstorm, "but fuck, Mona, I'm not ready for another relationship right now. I'm sorry. I'm just...not."

His heartbeat hammered against the pads of my fingers. Heavy beats of frustration and desire exposed to the cold. Growing numb in the snowstorm.

"I know," I told him, slowly meeting his gaze. And then I said what I'd been holding onto for weeks. "I'm not asking for one."

He stared down at me. Perplexed. Confounded.

Intrigued.

The door suddenly burst open behind me, and Theo pulled me into his embrace before I fell on my ass—again.

My roommate squeaked at us, covering her mouth with her hand. "I'm so sorry! I was just headed out." She practically sprinted for her car. "Don't mind me!"

Detangling myself from Theo, I apologized for blocking the door and bent to retrieve my keys. When I straightened—prepared to address the bane of my existence once more—his pensive, conflicted expression made me falter, and I lost sight of the matter at hand.

He searched my face for answers, for regrets, and yet neither one of us elected to part ways.

"Friends with benefits," I blurted as soon as my roommate drove away, desperate to finish what I'd started.

He blinked at me. "Sorry?"

Keep going, Moe. Before you lose steam.

"Since New Year's, I've been meaning to ask if...if you'd want to try something casual. We'd be exclusive, but it would just be sex. No commitments, no dates, no obligations." My eyes lifted to his. "Just...friends with benefits."

He was quiet for five extremely long, tortuous seconds. Then he cracked a grin. "Are you serious? That's what your panic attack was all about?" He shook his head at the sky, collecting snowflakes on his brow. "Why didn't you just say that?"

"I don't know!"

"I'm a guy. You think I'd say no to casual sex?"

I shoved him away with an embarrassed laugh. "I was going to ask you tonight. But then you invited me back to your apartment like a weirdo and cooked me dinner. I was worried you wanted something more. I didn't want to hurt your feelings, and I didn't want to just assume you were into me." I threw him an annoyed look. "I don't have the ego of a man."

He rolled his eyes. "I was just trying to kill the tension between us, since you frequent the shop every fucking day. It was meant to be a nice gesture. It wasn't some grand plan to seduce you."

"Then why did you come at me in the kitchen?"

"Because you're hot, and you smelled good?" He gave an exasperated shrug. "It was a moment of weakness, not a premeditated attack."

I frowned at him, and he let out a tired breath, his eyes flitting over my figure and lingering on my flushed neckline a moment too long.

"I'm sorry I gave off mixed signals. I wasn't sure where you stood either, and I didn't want to get your hopes up if you were looking for something serious." He looked at me. "Which...you aren't...?"

I shook my head. "I know you're not ready to date anyone after Alyssa, and I don't want anything romantic with you...or anyone, for that matter. Just a physical relationship, and nothing more."

He didn't even try to hide his skepticism. "You think you'll be able to stop yourself from catching feelings?"

I gaped at him. "Shouldn't I be asking you that, Mr. Long-Term-Relationship?"

"I don't think I'm even capable of feeling that way anymore," he admitted, and I knew by his sad, deflated tone that he wasn't kidding. "But your heart still works. I don't want to break it."

"What makes you think you're capable of that?"

"Sex messes with your hormones," he reasoned. "Do it enough, and it mistakes pleasure for love."

"Does it kill brain cells too? Because that's the only way I'm falling for your inane personality."

My retort brought his smile back, and he stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets. "So you really think you can handle it?"

"What, your dick?"

"This arrangement."

"Absolutely."

He stepped toward me, a challenge swirling in his eyes. "And if you can't?"

I folded my arms over my chest. "Then we call it off. No hard feelings, no betrayal. It'll be the end of a contract, and that's it."

"Easy to say now. A lot harder when feelings are involved."

An exasperated sigh split my lips. "I've never seen a guy work so hard to avoid getting laid. Are you trying to convince me this is a bad idea, or what?"

"It is a bad idea. Without question," he said, even as his hand snaked past me to the doorknob. "But I'm willing to make a terrible decision if you are."

My astonished gaze cut to his.

Is that a yes?

"So what will it be, Stains?"

I swallowed the exhilaration on my tongue, the zealous squeal of consent in my throat. How the hell had he spun this into his proposal? This was my idea!

"First? A shower," I answered, enjoying the way his face pinched in confusion. "By the time I get out, you should be done talking your own ear off."

He tutted at the insult and pushed the door open behind me, leaning in close as he did so—his soft lips grazing my ear, his warm breath sweeping over my skin.

"After you."

************************

Took em' long enough!! Next chapter is spoiiicy.