That’s where his head had been when he dragged himself out of bed, walked into the bathroom with the intent to clean up and then come back with an offer of...something.
Something more than the cursory “thanks for the great time, have a nice life” that generally came as standard with the kind of night they’d just indulged in.
He liked her. Liked the way she made him laugh and her unique perspective on—well, hell—everything. Sure she lived in Vegas, and this wasn’t exactly a typical stopover for him. But if she was receptive, he’d been thinking about making it one. Or better yet, swinging by to pick her up and bring her down to L.A. once in a while. For an overnight or maybe even a weekend.
That’s where his head had been until he looked down to discover the condom he’d been using had failed in a no-maybe-about-it kind of way.
Now? He was trying to figure out how to break the news to Darcy, rolling through the scenarios, imagining what he was going to see on her face when he told her. Accusation, fear, dread.
The idea he would cause her any of those things was like a blow to the gut. He wasn’t that guy. Not to anyone.
Not after Margo, his girlfriend through most of high school and college, and the woman he’d assumed, like everyone else, he would marry. At least until the day she’d come to him red-eyed and blotchy-cheeked with the confession she’d slept with another guy. She’d felt claustrophobic, trapped by all the expectations of their too serious, too neat, too well-planned relationship. She’d wanted out and, though a phone call would have been less traumatic to all involved, she’d found her escape in the bed of some frat guy with a coke habit.
As a result of that lesson, Jeff had all but perfected the no-hold relationship. He was a safe guy. A good time. The lover who always remained a friend after, because the romance never went too deep to come back from.
He kept his finger on the pulse of his affairs, making communication a priority. It was why he’d gotten his reputation as “Mr. Sensitive”—which was fine by him if it meant avoiding another blindside like the one he’d taken with Margo. Hell, yes, he’d talk about feelings. And the added benefit of that open dialogue? Nothing got too serious. No one got the wrong idea.
He was not the guy who put panic into someone’s eyes. But that’s what was about to happen. Because if ever there was a way to make a woman feel trapped, this was it.
Pulling it together, he reminded himself while this was the first time it had happened to him, it certainly wasn’t the first time a condom had broken in history. Both he and Darcy were adults who understood prophylactics weren’t 100 percent. Accidents happened. And this was an accepted risk inherent to sex.
They’d talk. He’d assure her he was compulsive about using protection and he was clean. She’d tell him that while she didn’t generally go home with guys she just met, she was on birth control and also clean. They’d exchange contact information and stay in touch.
But whatever fantasies Jeff had been entertaining about going forward with a casual relationship had pretty well shriveled under the icy splash of reality offered in the form of a blown-out rubber. And now all he was thinking was he’d be damn lucky to make a clean getaway.
Tightening the towel wrapped around his hips, he headed out of the bathroom and froze with one hand midrub at the back of his skull, his mouth open and all thoughts of what he’d been about to say gone—just like the woman he’d been inside of less than ten minutes before.
FIVE