Fisher was getting his mail as I slowed to a stop. How could he so casually get his mail and thumb through it? I barely made it home without wrecking Rory’s car because my hands were shaking so much. I climbed out and heaved my bag onto my shoulder, taking cautious steps toward the house.

Fisher kept his head bowed at his mail. “I can hear your teeth chattering. Are you cold?”

I clenched my jaw to stop the chattering. “No.”

“Having second thoughts about your offer?”

That felt like a direct challenge to my age, my maturity, and my sexual experience. Did he want me to back out? Was this another lesson?

“No.” I infused as much confidence as I could muster, which was very little.

“You know …” He continued into his garage, and I followed, leaving a good ten feet between us. “When you’ve had sex, things aren’t so awkward and scary. I’m not implying you should abandon your morals.” He held open the door for me, and I removed my boots and set my bag next to them. “I’m just saying it becomes a little more thrilling and less scary. You know what to expect. You know the end game and why you should want to experience it.”

“I take it…” I padded my feet into his kitchen and slowly walked around the island, dragging my fingertips along the countertop “…you’ve had a lot of sex?”

He tossed one piece of mail onto the counter and discarded the rest in the pullout recycling bin. “I’m twenty-eight and single. Yes. I’ve had a lot of sex.”

His words formed a tight knot in my stomach. It wasn’t that I didn’t expect that to be his truth; I just didn’t expect him to be so forthcoming about it.

“How old were you when you first had it?”

“Sixteen.”

I nodded, staring at my fingers tracing the lines in the granite instead of him eyeing me from the opposite side.

“What…” he laughed a little “…do you see happening? Do you think I’m going to tie you to my bed and do weird things to you?”

My gaze shot up to meet his, and I didn’t blink once. “That hadn’t occurred to me.”

“Then what occurred to you on that long drive home?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Liar.”

“Stop calling me a liar. You can’t read my mind.”

“Do you touch yourself?”

“Jeez …” My head bowed to hide my embarrassment.

“I’ll take that as a no.” He walked to the basement door and opened it. “Go touch yourself. I’m going to take a shower and touch myself. Then we’ll have dinner and see how the evening progresses.”

Oh … my … gosh …

He was serious. I didn’t know what was most unsettling: the idea of him giving me a homework assignment to masturbate or him confessing his own intentions.