the forearms and setting her aside. “I’m sorry,” he said stiffly. Then, getting to his feet, he turned and walked away from her.
Rachel stared after him, disbelieving.
Not with her.
The sun had set an hour or so ago and soon he was lost in the darkness beyond their campfire. When she was sure he could no longer see her she raised an arm to sniff at herself. Finding nothing too offensive, she held the palm of her hand an inch away from her mouth and blew. It wasn’t great, but it wasn’t terrible either. Could he have some hang-ups about the fact that she was black? She’d run into men like that before. Who were attracted to her as a person, but who couldn’t get past the idea of sleeping with a black woman. Or who thought having sex with a woman of color was some sort of novelty or strange fetish that only certain men could appreciate. Growing up in the south, she’d had the dubious pleasure of coming across all types of thinking. Some men didn’t care, some chased after her for the bragging rights, and some found her physically repulsive. In fact, there was a woman at her job that refused to look her in the eye or let their hands touch. Rachel had seen her furiously scrubbing her hands in the bathroom sink one day after she’d handed over a file and their fingers had accidentally brushed.
Over the years, she’d grown used to it.
Which wasn’t to say that some stuff didn’t bother her. She just knew not to take offense when no offense had been intended. Some of her sweetest, and gentlest lovers had been men most would classify as rednecks. She’d even had a lovely weekend with a debutant a year back, and that girl’s momma had hated blacks with a passion that bordered on frightening.
If someone were to describe her, they’d say that Rachel was one of the most open-minded people that there was. If Chris couldn’t bring himself to touch her, that was alright. She didn’t blame him. She wasn’t angry. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t hurt, and a little disappointed, by the rejection all the same.
***
Chris had always suspected that he might be an idiot.
The last five minutes had just confirmed it.
“What is wrong with you?” he muttered, striking the wall before him before turning and stalking back to where he’d started. He couldn’t go very far. He was afraid of leaving Rachel by herself in this place. He could still see their fire and Rachel’s form hunched before it. Something about her hunched shoulders and bowed head made his stomach clench. He’d hurt her. He had seen it in her eyes as he’d turned away. But it had been too late to take it back.
He certainly hadn’t meant it the way it had sounded.
He’d just meant that…that…
He growled beneath his breath and scrubbed his hands down his face as if he could physically scrub away the memory. Chris wasn’t afraid of sex. He even knew what it was. The problem was that he had never actually…done it. When would he have had the chance to after all? Between being trapped as a frog until his mid-twenties and then escaping from Danielle, there had been no time, or desire, to rectify it. The idea of doing that with Rachel did something strange to him. It wasn’t just excitement. It was something deeper. Primal. With anyone else, it may not have mattered. He could have just done the deed and seen what all the fuss was about. But with Rachel, he was afraid that it would actually, you know, matter. He could already feel her worming her into his heart. His mind. If they slept together it would simply cement her there. He’d never be able to shake her.
It would be a disaster.
He was screwed up enough without having to drag someone else along for the ride.
Besides…what if he was no good at it?
He’d been removed from the world for so long that he had no idea what would please a woman. What would make her happy. What would make her come back for more. Because he already knew that he and Rachel wouldn’t be a one time thing.
Rachel stared after him, disbelieving.
Not with her.
The sun had set an hour or so ago and soon he was lost in the darkness beyond their campfire. When she was sure he could no longer see her she raised an arm to sniff at herself. Finding nothing too offensive, she held the palm of her hand an inch away from her mouth and blew. It wasn’t great, but it wasn’t terrible either. Could he have some hang-ups about the fact that she was black? She’d run into men like that before. Who were attracted to her as a person, but who couldn’t get past the idea of sleeping with a black woman. Or who thought having sex with a woman of color was some sort of novelty or strange fetish that only certain men could appreciate. Growing up in the south, she’d had the dubious pleasure of coming across all types of thinking. Some men didn’t care, some chased after her for the bragging rights, and some found her physically repulsive. In fact, there was a woman at her job that refused to look her in the eye or let their hands touch. Rachel had seen her furiously scrubbing her hands in the bathroom sink one day after she’d handed over a file and their fingers had accidentally brushed.
Over the years, she’d grown used to it.
Which wasn’t to say that some stuff didn’t bother her. She just knew not to take offense when no offense had been intended. Some of her sweetest, and gentlest lovers had been men most would classify as rednecks. She’d even had a lovely weekend with a debutant a year back, and that girl’s momma had hated blacks with a passion that bordered on frightening.
If someone were to describe her, they’d say that Rachel was one of the most open-minded people that there was. If Chris couldn’t bring himself to touch her, that was alright. She didn’t blame him. She wasn’t angry. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t hurt, and a little disappointed, by the rejection all the same.
***
Chris had always suspected that he might be an idiot.
The last five minutes had just confirmed it.
“What is wrong with you?” he muttered, striking the wall before him before turning and stalking back to where he’d started. He couldn’t go very far. He was afraid of leaving Rachel by herself in this place. He could still see their fire and Rachel’s form hunched before it. Something about her hunched shoulders and bowed head made his stomach clench. He’d hurt her. He had seen it in her eyes as he’d turned away. But it had been too late to take it back.
He certainly hadn’t meant it the way it had sounded.
He’d just meant that…that…
He growled beneath his breath and scrubbed his hands down his face as if he could physically scrub away the memory. Chris wasn’t afraid of sex. He even knew what it was. The problem was that he had never actually…done it. When would he have had the chance to after all? Between being trapped as a frog until his mid-twenties and then escaping from Danielle, there had been no time, or desire, to rectify it. The idea of doing that with Rachel did something strange to him. It wasn’t just excitement. It was something deeper. Primal. With anyone else, it may not have mattered. He could have just done the deed and seen what all the fuss was about. But with Rachel, he was afraid that it would actually, you know, matter. He could already feel her worming her into his heart. His mind. If they slept together it would simply cement her there. He’d never be able to shake her.
It would be a disaster.
He was screwed up enough without having to drag someone else along for the ride.
Besides…what if he was no good at it?
He’d been removed from the world for so long that he had no idea what would please a woman. What would make her happy. What would make her come back for more. Because he already knew that he and Rachel wouldn’t be a one time thing.
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