Page 12 of Teach Me How

That’s the hand that binds me.

7.

Reese

Would it be weird to bring your fifty-something bestie along on a date?

Because I sure could use some of Sheila’s charm at this moment.

As a middle finger to overprotective dads and brothers and ex-boyfriends, I chose to dress to impress. Jeans that smooth over my thick thighs and hips, making them look svelte instead of chunky. I wore a pink sweater with a high neckline that hugs my chest, making them look like they defy gravity. Moon boobs.

I was feeling pretty cocky until Tyson picked me up in his truck. The primal expression of lust on his face about bowled me over. It was a little exciting, but mostly intimidating. And as a result, I’ve been about as scared as a little field mouse. True to Sheila’s prediction, Tyson doesn’t seem to give a shit. He carries on with or without me, ignoring my awkward pauses and plastic laugh.

He drones on, reliving old basketball games, while I sit frozen to my seat, watching him. Even from across the table, I can smell him. Cologne and soap and a hint of whiskey. It’s a good smell. Manly. And he actually bothered to dress up, which is saying something for a farm boy. Black polo, hair artfully messy. He even has a thin gold chain around his neck. But him dressing up makes me wonder if he’s going to expect something in return.

And that was the point, wasn’t it?

I wanted to get laid.

I wanted to sow some seeds as Sheila would say.

But now that the opportunity is in front of me and I have what appears to be a very willing partner, I’m scared.

I haven’t had sex in five years.

Five.

Years.

Not since before Jonah, who insisted we had to wait until marriage no matter how hard I tried to “seduce” him.

Clearly, seduction is not my strong suit.

But what about sex? My only other partner was just as inexperienced and awkward as me. But that’s to be expected with a couple of teens. I’m not a teen anymore. I should be more worldly, have more experience. But I don’t. And I feel a little like I’m getting ready to take an exam I didn’t study for.

What if I do it wrong?

Am I supposed to make sounds or lay there quietly like a limp fish?

Probably not like a limp fish.

Do notact like a limp fish.

I’m sweating, but Tyson hasn’t noticed. And if he did, I doubt he’d care. Like Sheila said, he’d date a fence post. I’m beginning to understand what she meant by that.

Wiping my sweaty palms on my thighs, I glance at the door, briefly thinking about fleeing.

It swings open and Bo Thomas strides in.

Fuck me.

I tip my head, letting my dark hair sweep in front of my face, but it’s too late. He’s spotted me. His gaze bounces between me and Tyson. His entire expression hardens. Eyes flick over my outfit and his expression becomes downright furious.

He stops over at the bar, and I wait until Tyson excuses himself to go to the bathroom, to rush over to Bo.

“Don’t tell Josh.” I’m forcing the words out through gritted teeth before he even turns to face me.

He leans on the bar, towering over me. Having an overprotective brother is bad enough. Having your brother’s goon squad on sister duty is downright torturous.