The lights in the theatre dimmed, and Chelsea settled further into the seat next to him, obviously looking forward to the movie.
At least the movie would help keep his mind off the gorgeous woman sitting next to him.
It turned out he was wrong. Very wrong.
Chapter Eight
Chelsea and Tom exited the movie theatre together, though Chelsea noted that they both kept their distance from one another.
Well, that was awkward. Super awkward.
‘What did you think?’ Tom asked as they headed down the escalator towards the sushi restaurant.
‘Um, it was good,’ Chelsea allowed, then closed her mouth. Oh, gosh. Had she said too much? To take the attention off her, she added quickly, ‘You?’
‘Yep, not bad.’
That was a better response, in Chelsea’s opinion. Non-committal.
At the bottom of the escalator, Chelsea took off at a fast walk. Tom lengthened his stride to keep up with her.
‘What’s the hurry?’ he asked.
‘Just hungry.’ Actually, she felt a little nauseous after the last couple of hours, but hopefully some dinner in her belly would help with that.
‘Hey, slow down.’ Tom gently tugged on Chelsea’s arm to make his point.
She turned abruptly and bumped into his chest. ‘Oof. Sorry.’
He caught her by the arms to steady her. ‘Chels, you didn’t like the movie, did you?’
Like? Define like. She’d liked watching the hot lead actor get his gear off again and again. With Tom sitting beside her, not so much. And now Tom’s fingers were grazing the skin on her arms and she felt light-headed. She stepped back out of his reach.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said again. ‘If I’d known . . .’
Tom’s lips quirked. ‘If you’d known it was closer to soft porn than a rom com, you might have reconsidered?’
Chelsea threw her hands up in the air in exasperation. ‘Yes! OK. Yes. I had absolutely no idea it would be like that. I’m sorry. It’s definitely not second date appropriate.’
‘I haven’t seen Fifty Shades, but I’m pretty sure I don’t need to now. Would I be right?’
‘This was better.’ Chelsea snapped her mouth shut in mortification, and Tom laughed loudly, drawing a few curious gazes from passers-by. ‘I mean, if I had to choose between them, I’d choose this one,’ Chelsea clarified, aware she was probably digging herself a deeper hole.
‘Why? You liked the lead male actor, didn’t you?’
‘He was cast well,’ she admitted, while Tom sniggered. ‘No, it was more than that. The lead female was much better than in Fifty Shades.’
‘In what way?’
‘She had a backbone.’
‘Which she arched exceedingly well when they were naked together,’ Tom pointed out.
Chelsea grinned. ‘Which was most of the movie.’
They both laughed, and Chelsea felt slightly more relaxed. ‘Next time you get to choose.’
‘Oh, I will, don’t worry. Any torture will involve good old traditional methods.’
‘What? Whips are traditional, aren’t they?’
‘Not the way those two were using them.’
Chelsea giggled. It was good to be able to laugh about it, because during the movie it had been painfully uncomfortable. She still felt like squirming in discomfort over the memory of it.
They arrived at the sushi restaurant, and because it was quite late, were led to a table straightaway. They sat opposite one another and began selecting their preferred dishes from the rotating train snaking its way around the indoor space.
‘I’ve never gotten the whole BDSM thing,’ Chelsea said, then could have kicked herself. It should have been the perfect opportunity for them to change the subject, but no, she had to go and think out loud.
‘Can’t say I’ve tried it,’ Tom replied, his smile crinkling the skin at the edges of his eyes.
He had a nice smile, she thought, then looked away. ‘One boyfriend I had was into it,’ she admitted, because she’d already said too much now, so why not keep going?
Tom coughed, and Chelsea met his eyes again, unable to resist a grin.
‘I chose not to go there,’ she told him quickly. ‘He wanted me to be the submissive, and that’s not my style. I think if I was into it, I’d rather dominate.’
Tom coughed again, and Chelsea reached over and patted his shoulder. ‘Sorry. Should we change the subject?’
Tom swallowed his mouthful. ‘No. I’m good.’
He didn’t appear good, Chelsea noted. He looked a little flushed, and the cheeky part of her couldn’t resist making the next comment.
‘Are you sure this topic of conversation isn’t offending your nice guy sensibilities?’
Tom’s eyes darkened to a mossy green. ‘Nice guys like sex, Chelsea.’
Oh boy. Not wanting to seem flustered herself, Chelsea pretended to be unaffected. ‘Good to know.’
Then, in a moment of spontaneity, Chelsea decided to do away with any pretence and just be honest with Tom. The opportunity to discuss sex openly with a guy who she wasn’t romantically involved with and get an honest answer was proving too good to pass up.
‘Can I ask a question? About sex?’ she said.
‘Sure.’ He wasn’t looking at her and was pouring some soy sauce into the small bowls provided.
Here goes.
‘Have any of the women you’ve been with ever, um, been unable to, um, you know . . . come . . . during sex?’
‘Orgasm?’
All right, orgasm. She could have just called it what it was, but she’d been trying to be polite on account of the fact they were friends, not lovers.
‘Yes,’ she confirmed.
‘Most.’
‘Most?’
Tom studied her, his gaze curious. ‘Sure. You know that’s pretty normal, right?’
‘Uh-huh.’ No. Which was why she’d asked. Chelsea stuffed a California roll in her mouth and chewed, wondering why she always felt compelled to talk too much.
She definitely knew that not all women got off easily or, in some cases, not at all. She wasn’t stupid. But most? There was probably a statistic on Google somewhere she needed to look up or something, but she’d never bothered to. It wasn’t like Chelsea couldn’t orgasm. Just that results varied depending on the situation.
‘Chels? Can I ask a question back? About sex?’
‘Mmm,’ she replied through her mouthful.
‘Do you orgasm during sex?’
She coughed uncomfortably, and instantly realised she should have known better than to do so with a mouthful. Some rice got caught in her throat, and she coughed again, this time spraying a mouthful of rice across the table at him. Of course, that made her cough again when she inhaled in embarrassment that she was choking for the second night in a row. Maybe she should never eat in front of him again. It was becoming a risky activity.
Tom laughed and pushed the glass of tap water in her direction while he calmly wiped up the rice with a serviette.
‘You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,’ he said softly.
Chelsea concentrated hard on chewing the rest of her sushi carefully and swallowing it. ‘No, it’s OK. I do, but not always.’
‘Well, that’s good,’ he answered, like they were discussing tomorrow’s weather and not her experiences in the bedroom. ‘Some women don’t at all, so you’re lucky.’
‘I am?’ Her nose crinkled in thought. ‘I mean, I never thought I was particularly unlucky. It’s just that some guys had better results than others, if you get me. It’s not always a consistent thing.’ Then she added, ‘I think some of those times when I got off, I probably didn’t.’
Tom regarded her with an amused expression. ‘Probably didn’t?’
‘I can be pretty convincing, even to myself.’
‘I’d like to see that.’ Tom’s eyes widened and he winced. ‘Sorry. Bad choice of words. I know I’m supposed to be a nice guy, but I’m s
till a guy.’
‘No, it’s OK. This is awkward for both of us, I get it. But I’m pushing through all the awkwardness right now because I know I can trust you, and you’re safe. You won’t embarrass me or tell anyone about this.’
Tom’s eyes darkened again, and he dropped his gaze so he could pick up the next piece of sushi with his chopsticks.
‘So, it sounds like it’s pretty common,’ she concluded, secretly feeling relieved. ‘And here I was thinking it was just my poor choice in men. Even nice guys can’t always get a girl off, by the sounds of it.’
Tom cleared his throat. ‘In defence of nice guys, can I ask another potentially inappropriate question?’
‘Go for it.’
‘Can you bring yourself to orgasm?’
‘God, yes!’ she joked.
Tom laughed, and several other diners stopped their conversations and turned to look at them, but fortunately they were some distance away.
‘Do you like foreplay?’ he asked when everyone’s attention was elsewhere.
Chelsea’s eyebrows shot up involuntarily. ‘Um, of course. But sometimes I think guys would rather skip that whole part and go to the main event.’
‘Those guys are idiots,’ Tom told her in a low, deep voice that did strange things to her stomach. ‘Those guys don’t know the first thing about women. For women, foreplay is the main event.’
‘Oh.’ Oh. He had a pretty good point.
‘Again, you don’t have to answer, but did any of those guys look after you once the main event was over if you didn’t orgasm?’
‘No.’ No, they hadn’t, Chelsea realised. Now that she thought about it, why hadn’t she ever asked them to?
Probably because you were too busy faking a good time. There was that.
‘Well, some guys will,’ Tom told her matter-of-factly.
OK, scratch that earlier idea about nice guys not being able to get a girl off. Turned out they were just more . . . creative? Dedicated? Open to improvisation?
Whatever it was, Chelsea had a feeling that Tom was one of the “some guys” he’d mentioned. And not just any guy, it was turning out. He was a pretty special, sensitive, giving guy who appeared to have the ability to talk about sex in a mature, productive manner.
Chelsea had never spoken about sex with any of her previous boyfriends—even the ones she’d had a lot of sex with. When they weren’t in the bedroom, they didn’t talk about it. Then again, those relationships had been mostly about the sex.
Which, for the record, Chelsea had enjoyed. Just because she didn’t orgasm every time didn’t mean she hadn’t enjoyed it. She had. A lot. She’d occasionally gotten into the habit of finishing herself off afterwards when the guys were in the bathroom—not that she’d tell Tom that. This conversation had already become way more personal than she’d intended.
In saying that, she was grateful this conversation had happened. Now that she was reflecting on it, the more she realised her previous relationships had lacked a lot in the bedroom.
‘Maybe I should try becoming a dominatrix,’ Chelsea mused as she plucked another plate off the conveyer belt.
Tom didn’t say anything because he was eating. He was obviously smarter than her about not talking with his mouthful.
‘Then I could demand orgasms from my partners,’ she continued, liking her current train of thought. ‘I don’t know why I didn’t think of it earlier. It’s certainly something to think about.’
‘It is,’ Tom said, taking another mouthful.
Flushed. He was definitely flushed. He was kind of cute when he blushed, in a manly way.
Right. Time to change the subject. There were only so many times you could shock a nice guy in one conversation, and Chelsea figured she’d reached the threshold.
‘Let’s talk about something else, shall we?’
‘Good idea,’ he agreed, a little too eagerly.
Chapter Nine
I know I can trust you, and you’re safe.
The words had been going around and around in Tom’s head all day. He kept telling himself the trust part was positive. That Chelsea trusted Tom was good. Really good. But it wasn’t entirely surprising considering his ongoing relationship with her brother and their living situation.
Which left the safe part—that part he wasn’t so thrilled about. It equalled boring, in Tom’s mind, and wasn’t that a kick in the guts? On more than one level.
First, this nice guy arrangement was all about showing Chelsea that nice guys were worth dating. That they were the keepers, and not the loser guys you can’t rely on who treat women like dirt. Second, Tom didn’t want to be boring in Chelsea’s eyes.
Maybe he was deluding himself. Maybe the whole idea that a nice guy could be both trustworthy and exciting was an oxymoron.
‘Hey, Tom. Long day?’
Tom looked up to find his oldest brother, Luke, standing in front of him. He stood up and gave him a brief hug that was more of a mutual backslap than an embrace, as was their way.
‘Luke. Good to see you. Hope I’m not keeping you from Esme tonight?’
Luke’s green eyes—so much like Tom’s—hardened. ‘Only every other weekend now with Esme, remember?’
Ah, shit. How could Tom forget? Luke and his partner, Tash, had split up a year ago, and since then things had been strained. A recent court order had spelled out Luke’s contact with his daughter Esme, and it was a lot less than Luke had been hoping for. Tom hadn’t realised it had kicked into effect straightaway.
‘That’s tough. Really tough.’
‘I’ll say. It means I don’t have to head home to Sydney in a rush tonight though, and I get to spend some time with my little brother, so it’s not all bad. Can I get you a beer?’
Tom held up the one in front of him that he’d barely touched due to being lost in thought about Chelsea. ‘I’m good.’
Luke nodded and strode off to get himself a drink. The poor guy looked like he could do with one. Actually, that wasn’t entirely true. As the eldest of the Pierce brothers, Luke gave off the permanent impression that he needed nothing and no one. It was the downside of having three little brothers and a mother who had died young of cancer, Tom supposed. While Tom had spent every second he could with his mother while she was sick, and hadn’t been fazed in the slightest by all the medical aspects—the doctors, the hospitals, the medication—Luke had avoided all of it. Instead, he’d jumped into the role of being the responsible one, overseeing the details of his younger brother’s lives whether they liked it or not.
Tom hadn’t much liked it, and as the youngest, he’d initially been the main target of his brother’s attentions. It hadn’t taken Luke long to figure out that Tom was coping. In fact, Tom had probably coped the best out of all of them, including their father. So then Luke had focused on making sure their middle two brothers didn’t drop their grades or get into trouble.
Luke returned and eased his tall frame onto the sofa opposite Tom that smelled vaguely of stale beer.
‘Long day?’ Luke repeated his earlier question after taking a sip of his beer.
Tom hid a smile. No matter how old Tom might get, Luke would always feel compelled to check in on him. ‘No longer than usual. I’d say the same old stuff, different day, but you know that’s not how my job works.’
‘I know. And I’m in awe of it, to be honest. I’m the opposite—it feels like groundhog day with the constant need to be on my contractors’ backs about not running late and not slacking on the job.’
Luke was a builder and had grown a successful business over the years in residential renovations and new builds. That’s why he was up in Newcastle at the moment—overseeing one of his jobs. It meant he was up here for a couple of days most weeks until the project finished. Tom knew that Luke ran a tight ship, which was why he was in demand.
‘Ever thought of taking a break?’ Tom suggested. ‘You know, a holiday?’
Luke grunted into his beer before taking another mouthful. ‘Everything shuts
down over Christmas and summer, and I can never find anyone to work then, so that’s an enforced break. Besides, any holidays I have will be spent with Esme.’
Tom nodded. He supposed it was true, if not entirely fair. Tom was glad that Luke got to spend scheduled time with his daughter, but it sucked that he wouldn’t have any holiday time left for himself.
‘You could take Esme on a short break this summer?’ Tom suggested. ‘That might be nice.’
Luke’s dark eyebrows rose. While Tom and Luke had both inherited their father’s green eyes, Luke was dark like their mum whereas Tom was fairer like his father.
‘Tash barely lets Esme leave the suburb with me, let alone the city. Unlikely.’
‘Camping in the backyard, then?’
Luke finally cracked a smile. ‘You find a solution for most things, don’t you? Must be why you’re a paramedic. Actually, I don’t mind that idea. I think Esme will love it, in fact. Maybe Uncle Tom can come and roast some marshmallows with us?’
‘I’d like that,’ Tom told him, and meant it.
Due to the age gap—almost eight years between them—Tom had never had much of a chance to spend one-on-one time with Luke. Before their mother had become sick, Luke had been too interested in his own life. Then, after the illness, everything had changed, and they’d done whatever they’d needed to survive.
Tom shook the thoughts of the past away. ‘So, Chelsea’s dropping by with a friend soon.’
‘Your housemate and Ben’s youngest sister?’
‘That’s the one.’
‘How’s that going? Is she still proving easy to live with?’
‘I’m pretending to be her boyfriend for a week to convince her to stop going out with losers.’
Luke almost choked on his mouthful of beer. ‘Can you say that again?’
Tom sighed. He wasn’t sure why he was telling Luke this, but Luke had always proven to be a good listener. When Tom was considering studying to be a paramedic after their mother’s death, Luke had listened and given advice. And not the sort of advice you might think a bossy big brother would feel compelled to give. Despite Luke’s self-appointed ongoing responsibility for his brothers, he often kept his opinions to himself unless asked. And if asked, his opinions were well thought out and fair.
Mr. Nice Guy (Pierce Brothers Book 1) Page 6
