A few hours later, I’m bundled up in a warm blanket, sipping on hot apple cider in the bar. Brooks, Maverick, and some other men are drinking beer and laughing. There's a fireplace that’s openly burning, and a scent of cedar fills the room.
Brooks and Maverick break away from the boys to come join me. They each place their large hands on my back and I relax into them, feeling cozy and at ease.
“So, did we finally get through to you?” Maverick asks, raising one of his unruly eyebrows.
“About what?” I ask innocently.
Brooks laughs.
“No, seriously,” I say, “Do you mean the whole rolling my eyes thing or the, um, finishing without permission thing?”
I stumble through the word finishing. I still find it extraordinarily embarrassing to make any references to s*x in day to day conversation.
