“What kind of stuff happens?” she asked, her eyebrows lifting.

I sighed. Of course she focused on that part. “Sex stuff.”

She gasped. “You had sex?”

“Yeah. And it was amazing,” I said sadly. “Best I’ve ever had.”

“Wow.” The first customers were starting to arrive, so we had to get to work, but we agreed to go for a drink that night to talk, and I texted Jillian to join us too.

All morning and afternoon, I mulled over what had happened, and by the time we closed the shop I had to admit there’d been a lot more good moments than bad last night. Had I jumped down his throat too quickly? All he’d done was suggest driving me home.

But no. No.

I could tell that something was different with him after that last time in his room. I didn’t really think he’d used me for sex—I’d only said that to hurt him. But something had happened to make him close off by the end of the night. The guy who’d driven me home was not the same guy I’d lain in the hammock with.

So who was it? And how could I get the other one back?

• • •

After we closed, I went home and took a long nap. When I woke up, I felt more rested but had no better understanding of Sebastian’s motives for shutting me out. Maybe my sisters would have some insight.

We met at Trattoria Stella at seven and sat at the bar, Jillian flanking me on one side and Nat on the other.

“So what’s new?” Jillian shrugged out of her jacket. She looked professional and mature in her dress trousers, pumps, and sleeveless silk blouse, and I immediately felt childish next to her in my ripped jeans and sandals.

Quit being stupid. It’s not about clothing.

“Skylar had amazing sex last night,” Natalie announced breathlessly, leaning forward with her elbows on the bar. “And she’s gonna tell us about it.”

“Amazing sex. What’s that like?” Jillian asked wistfully, picking up the wine list.

“I wouldn’t know either,” Natalie replied.

“Why?” I looked at her. “The text messages?”

Natalie shrugged, her mouth in a grim line. “He says those are nothing. We’re just in a dry spell, I guess.”

“Everything seemed fine at dinner last night,” Jillian offered, “and speaking of dinner.” She elbowed me. “I take it the amazing sex was with Sebastian, the guy you brought to Mom and Dad’s?”

I nodded glumly.

“You don’t look too happy about it.” Jillian tilted her head. “What’s up?”

We ordered wine and some appetizers, and while we nibbled and sipped, I spilled to Jillian the story I’d told Natalie this afternoon.

“OCD is really rough. I’ve got a few patients with it.” Jillian swirled the last ounce of chardonnay in her glass. “And you’re never really cured of it.”

“I know. He said the same.” I took a bite of calamari and didn’t even taste it. “But is it the OCD that’s making him so moody? One second he’s sweet and talkative and laughing, and the next he’s a total dickhead.”

Jilly shrugged. “It could be. Obsessive impulses can pop up at any time or they can be there all the time. If he’s struggling with something in his head, he might not be able to just ignore it and keep up the chatter. Maybe going silent is one of his strategies for dealing with the thoughts instead of trying to bury or avoid them.”

“Yeah.” I set my fork down, feeling full although I’d barely eaten. “Makes sense, I guess.”

“Did he say anything about the fiancée?” Natalie asked.

“Not much.” I didn’t feel like blabbing the details he’d told me about their breakup—in fact, I felt strangely protective of them.

“Maybe he’s not over her?” Jillian suggested.

“No, I don’t think it’s that.” Suddenly I just wanted to go home and get back in my bed.

“Maybe he’ll call you to say sorry,” Natalie said, her blue eyes wide and sympathetic.

“He doesn’t even have my number. And he already said sorry.” My throat felt tight, which made me angry. Why should I cry over him? “He just didn’t say anything else.”

“Well, what did you want him to say?” Jillian looked at me like I was a little crazy. “It was pretty much your first date, wasn’t it? Maybe you’re expecting too much.”

“Just forget it,” I snapped. “It obviously didn’t mean anything.” I felt bad that I was being so prickly when my sisters were only trying to help, but I was getting more depressed by the minute. Without the fun distraction of Sebastian on the horizon, I was right back where I started.

The day after I slept with Skylar, I had an appointment with Ken, which I wasn’t looking forward to. In fact, I nearly canceled it, but then I remembered how easy it was to backslide and justify when I got this way. I’d avoided therapy in the past because of something I didn’t want to face, but that had only made it—and everything else in my life—worse.

So after a hike at Old Mission Point Park and a quick session at the gym, I showered, dressed, and went to his office.

“I slept with someone last night,” I announced as I slumped onto the couch in his office.

Ken, who hadn’t even sat down yet, looked a little taken aback at my choice of openers, but recovered quickly, lowering himself into his leather chair. “Oh?”

“Yes. That girl—woman—I mentioned a couple weeks ago. The one I used to have the crush on.” I stared at my jeans, an older pair that had been washed so many times the denim had faded to that blue color I loved.

He flipped back a page on his notepad. “This is the one you were going to approach again because you’d had the setback the first time?”

“Yes. I approached her the next day.” I could still see the happy surprise on her face when she ran to the door to let my dripping wet ass in.

“It went well, I take it.” Ken’s tone was amused.

“Yeah.” I frowned. “Too well.”

“How so?”

“I went out with her Tuesday night, then spent almost all day yesterday with her, then last night we—” I rubbed the stubble on my jaw, still feeling her satin thigh against my cheek. “You know.”

He kept a straight face. “Go on.”

“At first I was troubled by the thoughts of harming her, and I can’t say that’s entirely gone away. But over the course of the day, it was replaced with this…I don’t know. Wanting.”

“Wanting for what?”

“To be someone else.” To be the kind of guy who can touch her every day without fear. To be the kind of guy who can get on a plane and fly her somewhere romantic. To be the kind of guy whose mind doesn’t convince him of things his heart knows aren’t true. “To be different.”

He lifted his shoulders. “Sounds like she likes who you are. Does she know about—”

“Yes,” I interrupted. “Right up front I told her about my anxieties and why they make it tough to be close to me.” I sighed, closing my eyes for a second. “She said she was willing to try.”

“Good.” He sat back and pushed his glasses farther up on the narrow bridge of his nose. “So why do you want to be someone else?”

“I want to be someone that could make her happy,” I said, crossing my arms in frustration, hands fisted. “And I can’t because my mind won’t let me.”

“There’s more to your mind than OCD,” Ken reminded me. “A lot more than that.”

I studied my legs, seeing her straddling them. Fuck. I closed my eyes again, but she was there too. “I’m not right for her. She deserves better, or at least normal, and she’d realize that fast. She could have anyone. Why would she want me?”

Ken crossed an ankle over a knee. “So let her make that decision. Fear of intimacy is not OCD, by the way. Neither is being afraid to commit. There’s no reason why you can’t give this a try, Sebastian.”

“Yes there is,” I said, annoyed with him. Ken was probably married with three kids and thought it was all so fucking easy when you met someone you wanted to be with. “My entire being is the reason. All the shit in my head. She says she likes me, but she also said I frustrate and confuse her. That shit doesn’t go away.”