Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 116597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
And that was part of why I didn’t love toying with the whole dating thing in our lessons. There were too many opportunities for pesky feelings to creep up — especially for him. And I didn’t want to hurt him.
That was the whole reason I’d set up so many rules.
Still, so far, I’d called the shots all night. We’d started inside, where I’d perched on a barstool with my legs crossed and a smirk in place, watching him psych himself up from across the room like he was about to approach a total stranger. That was the exercise: act like we’d never met.
He flubbed the approach twice — once leading with a compliment that landed too sexual, once with a joke that didn’t land at all. I coached him through both, reminding him not to come in too hot, not to make it about him. Ask questions. Be curious. Eye contact, but not too much. And for the love of God, don’t open with “So, do you come here often?”
Eventually, he got me to laugh. That’s when I let him sit beside me. We ordered drinks and kept the game going. I pretended to agree to letting him take me on a date, and then we met outside the bar and acted like it was date night some days later.
He was in stride once that next phase kicked in. He’d guided me to our table with a hand at my lower back. He’d ordered our second round without looking at the menu, remembering that I’d ordered a dirty martini with extra bleu cheese olives, and sticking with a classic Old Fashioned for himself. And he’d initiated conversation with ease, skipping over the shallow so, what do you do? bits and launching right into people watching that transitioned smoothly into us trading stories.
He was doing well. Really well.
And that was the problem.
Because somewhere between lesson and leisure, the lines started to blur. And I didn’t like how that made me feel.
It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy his company. I did.
That was the issue.
It made me feel out of control, like the structure I’d crafted was flimsy. The safety of the roles we’d defined from the start were written in black and underlined in red. Teacher and student. Dom and sub. Boss and rookie.
But this? Cuddling next to him, legs brushing, hearing him talk about college and his guinea pig and the time he pissed himself in a bounce house as a kid?
This felt real. This felt… soft.
And intimacy — real intimacy — had never been something I trusted. Not since I learned how quickly it could turn into a weapon.
The waitress bringing us a fresh round of drinks had me blinking out of my thoughts. Carter looked her right in the eyes as he thanked her, and of course he made some endearing joke that had her laughing and flushing and me thinking you idiot, can’t you see that you don’t need me?
Then his attention was back on me, his grin wide, eyes glassy. “If you think that was a disaster, you should hear about my time at Hooters.”
“Oh, God, please, no.”
He laughed, sipping his whiskey with his eyes dancing as they watched me. His demeanor shifted — just marginally, enough for me to notice him rubbing his hands down his slacks and scratching at the hair on his jaw.
“There is another story I want to tell you, actually. For real. Not a joke.”
I finished off the last of the martini I’d had in hand, picking up my water next. “That sounds ominous.”
He let out a soft breath, sitting forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees. His gaze was on the firepit now and my stomach tightened at the shift in mood.
“I want to tell you why I am the way I am. Why I need your help the way I do.” He paused, rolling his lips between his teeth before glancing at me. “I’m sure you’ve thought about it surface level. Like I’m just some guy who doesn’t know how to flirt or fuck or talk to a woman without making her cringe.” He smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “But it’s more than that.”
I tilted my head, softening. “Okay.”
“I just… I need to get it all out, and I—can you just listen? And try not to judge?”
That made my brows furrow. “Why would I judge you?”
He gave a tiny shrug, looking at his hands before he found my gaze again. “Because what I’m about to tell you is going to tell you a lot about me, and it’s not flattering.”
My heart squeezed at the sight of him, his head hung like an abused animal expecting to be hit again. “I’m listening.”
He was quiet for a beat before he started, voice lower than before.
“I grew up in Ontario. Middle-class, pretty standard childhood. Parents were sweet — strict, but loving. I started skating when I was three, playing hockey when I was four, and it became everything to me. I begged my parents to watch every Maple Leafs game, practiced year-round, and it just… it made me so fucking happy, Liv. My dad always says he never saw my real smile until I had a stick in my hand. As a kid, I played for hours in the street, on frozen ponds, in the kitchen when my mom wasn’t looking. I’d pretend I was in the NHL, game on the line, last-second shot…”