The Naughty Boxset

by Jasinda Wilder

  The food comes and I pay for it and set it out while Audra pours wine, and we curl up side by side on her couch, devouring food and wine before we get into the conversation; it’s our way, for as long as I can remember—food and wine, and then talk.

  “It was either really bad, or really good,” Audra guesses, after we’re both full.

  “Really good,” I answer.

  “Too good?”

  I nod. “Way too good.”

  “So take me through you running away to Florida, and not answering your best friend of almost thirty years.”

  “Stop making me feel old. I’m having a hard enough time as it is.”

  “Fine. Not even twenty-five years, then.”

  I grimace. “That’s not much better.”

  Audra whacks me on the arm. “Quit being a crybaby. Age happens, get over it. You know what’s nice about hitting forty? I can get away with not giving a shit in a way I couldn’t in my twenties or thirties.”

  “My age is not the issue.”

  “Then what is the issue?”

  “The sex was mind-blowing,” I say. “Best sex of my life.”

  Audra raises her eyebrow. “And…?”

  “And when it was over it was just…over. I rolled into him, you know? Out of instinct or something. And he actually did hold me like that for a minute, but then he clearly was trying to figure out how to get me out of his bed and out of his house without pissing me off.”

  Audra winces. “Ouch.”

  “I tried to go into it without expectations, Audra. I really did. I knew going in that he didn’t—as he put it in so many words—‘do heartbreak,’” I use air quotes around his phrase. “He made it clear that he doesn’t do relationships, or long-term, or any of that. I knew it. And I’m not even looking for it myself. I’m not even two months divorced yet. I went into it with him knowing it wasn’t anything but casual sex.”

  “And you still latched on?” she conjectures.

  I nod. “I haven’t really processed it yet. I ran.”

  “He kicked you out?”

  I shake my head. “No. I acted like I didn’t care. Like I had to go. He drove me to my car at Billy Bar, and I left. He tried to explain, but I just—I didn’t want to hear his excuses.”

  Audra is quiet for a while. “So, let me get this straight. You and Jesse have mind-blowing, best-ever sex, you go to cuddle, he freezes, and you bolt.”

  I shrug. “More or less. He wouldn’t say anything. He always has something to say, Audra, always. But he just looked at me like—like he didn’t know what to do with me now that we’d had sex. Like, this chick is in my bed and I can’t figure out how to get her out of it. He said he never brings anyone to his house—or rather, that he never had, until me. So his usual method of escape was out of the question. Like, usually he just leaves, you know? So I made it easy on him—I acted like it was all totally fine, and told him I had to go.”

  “How many times did you go?”

  I shrug. “Only once, but it was…a lot.”

  Audra is silent again. “What did he actually say to you?”

  “I didn’t really give him much of a chance to say anything, actually. He tried to make excuses, you know—” I turn my voice as deep and growly and gruff as possible, mimicking him, “Imogen, listen, it’s just that I, you know…” I trail off and resume in my normal voice. “That kind of thing.”

  Audra pours us each another glass of wine, and takes time thinking in silence, drinking her wine and staring hard at me over the rim.

  After a long time, she sets her wine on the coffee table and takes my hand in hers. “Imogen, honey, I think you fucked up.”

  I’m taken aback. “What?” That’s not what I was expecting her to say.

  “I don’t want you to be like me—you’re you, and I’m me. You know what I went through, why I’m like I am about guys and sex. You don’t have to be that way. You went through a shitty situation, and I get that. He was never good enough for you, and I was never shy about saying that. And listen, I’m your best friend, right? So I won’t be shy about saying I fucking told you so. I’ve never said it, but I’ll say it now.”

  I rear back, stung. “Are you serious?”

  She just lifts her eyebrow. “Oh, I’m not done, babe, so hold your offense until the end.” She stabs my chest. “I told you Nicholas was a douchebag, and that I didn’t trust him. When you slept with him the first time, you said it wasn’t amazing, and I told you to dump his ass then. I told you he’d hurt you. I told you you deserved better. You insisted you knew what you were doing, and I let it go. I stood up for you at your wedding even though you knew I disagreed with you marrying him. I told you I had a car waiting so you could run at the last second, and I wasn’t kidding. I had a cab and a getaway driver ready and waiting. I even had an overnight bag packed for you. But you married him anyway.”

  Tears sting my eyes. “Audra, come on—”

  “No, you need to listen.” She takes my wine from me and sets it down, and I know she’s serious as a heart attack if she doesn’t want us drinking during this. “Nicholas was only doing exactly what was in his nature. He never loved you, and you never loved him. You wanted stability, you wanted to be nurtured, and you wanted to nurture.” She’s sympathetic now, but keeps going. “You wanted kids. You wanted a family.”

  I’m so hurt and angry I can’t speak. “Audra, I didn’t come over here for this.”

  “Too damn bad. You’re here now and this is what you’re getting.” She pauses, breathes in slowly and lets it out even more slowly. “He was never going to be able to give you what you wanted. Not in any way. He dulled your spark, Imogen.” She sounds emotional, more so than I’ve ever heard her. “You gave him everything you had, literally and metaphorically. And now it’s over, it’s finally over, and you’re still desperate for the one thing you’ve always wanted.”

  “Goddammit, Audra,” I hiss. “Don’t.”

  “You were an accident. Your parents love the hell out of you, and they did their best, but they were retired by the time you were in high school. You’re lonely. You were lonely in college, you were lonely when you met Nicholas, and you’re lonelier than ever now.” She smiles sadly at me. “And trust me, I get it. But with Nicholas, you had to know, deep down, that he was a slimy piece of shit and that he’d only end up hurting you. You settled for a douche-canoe, and you paid the price. Or, rather, you got what you paid for. You can’t play the victim, here. You suspected he was cheating on you and you stayed with him. Even after you had proof, you took another year to divorce him. You were willfully blind and stupid. Yeah, it hurts, but it’s over. He doesn’t deserve another second of your time or thought, and certainly not you feeling some ridiculous sense of being heartbroken.”

  “I got what I deserved, you’re saying.”

  “You didn’t deserve it, no. He was a piece of shit. He stamped out your fire. You used to be a firecracker. You used to be down for anything. You used to be wild and fun and take no shit. I realize it was a response to how you grew up, but it was fun. He dulled you. And now you’re just starting to get that back. This guy, Jesse, he’s made you more alive than you’ve been in twelve years, Imogen! You feel that, you see it, and you’re scared of it. He makes you feel things you’re realizing Nicholas should have made you feel but never ever fucking did, and you’re angry at yourself for wasting twelve years of your life on that bastard.”

  I can’t see. Can’t breathe.

  She’s not done. “Guess what, Imogen? You don’t get that time back. Just like I don’t get back this time I’m spending on guys half my age who are never anything but toys and distractions. I recognize that. But you know what you can do? You can change what happens. You don’t have to react based on how Nicholas made you feel. You don’t have to be the victim.”

  “I’m not playing the fucking victim!” I shout.

  “Yes, honey. You are.” She squeezes my hand. “You made a shitty choice, Imogen. Now you have to move on.�
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  “What does any of this have to do with Jesse?”

  “You fucked up, that’s what.”

  “How?”

  “He’s bent over backward to do things for you. Tens of thousands of dollars of work, for free or dirt cheap. He’s charmed you, wooed you, and made you feel sexy again when Nicholas made you feel like shit. You’ve had fun with him. You like him. He challenges you. You’ve been on a dry spell for a year and a half—we both know that. Which means you were, on top of everything else, horny as hell. Desperate for sex. Desperate for actual P-in-V sex, with a man. And he made it easy. He presented a no-strings scenario without making you feel cheap, and you went for it.

  “I encouraged it because, if nothing else, you’d get sex and hopefully stop being such a whiny, reclusive stick-in-the-mud. But the problem is, not only have you not had sex in a year and a half, you also haven’t had any kind of validation or intimacy or male attention in a year and a half. And, unlike me, you can’t fool yourself into thinking good sex is a decent stand-in for any of that. So you were desperate for just basic attention, period. And Jesse gave it to you. Sounds like he gave it to you good, too, girlfriend, because even crazy nympho Lee never left you saying the sex was mind-blowing, best of your life. And it’s not like Lee was your first by any stretch of the imagination.”

  She’s dropped so much on me at this point that I don’t even know where to start, but she still isn’t done.

  “And yeah, maybe your guy Jesse is a player or a hookup artist or whatever, but from what you told me, it sounds like he was trying to figure out how to keep you in his bed, not get rid of you. You panicked, because you’re scared of falling in love. And you’re scared of being hurt even worse than Nicholas hurt you, because you can see yourself feeling things for Jesse you never did for Nicholas. So you ditched him. You bolted. He may have driven you home, but you didn’t give him a chance to say boo, much less process how he may have been feeling about you. Because it sounds to me like he has feelings for you, Imogen, and maybe he’s as confused and mixed up and scared as you are, but he’s a dude, and when dudes are faced with emotions they don’t understand or can’t handle, they shut down. But instead of seeing that, you reacted out of your own bullshit, shut him out, and ran.”

  “Fuck,” I whisper.

  “Yeah. And something tells me that Jesse could be the best thing that ever happened to you.”

  “He already is,” I say.

  “He brought you to his home. It’s a big deal for me, so I’m guessing it is for him.”

  “So that guy, Price—”

  “This isn’t about me.”

  “Audra.”

  “Fine. I really liked him. But he’s too young, too broke, and too emotionally needy. I’d end up momming him as much as I fucked him, and I’m not here for that. So he had to go. But he really was sweet and cute and great in bed, and if I was fifteen years younger and a lot less jaded and fucked up, I’d have let him stay…for who knows how long.”

  “Audra—”

  “We can talk about me another time, okay? Forget Price. My point is, taking someone home when that’s way outside how you do something—that’s a big deal. He wouldn’t do that lightly. He wouldn’t have done that if he was expecting to make a getaway after a quick fuck. You only bring someone into your own home if you’re willing to deal with the next day awkwardness.”

  “How do you deal with next day awkwardness?” I ask, honestly curious.

  “If I bring a guy home and I’m ready for him to go? Usually I suggest we go out to breakfast separately. Or I blow him and then make excuses about work.”

  “Why blow him first?”

  She shrugs, grinning. “Because a guy will do pretty much anything you want after you’ve sucked him off. It softens the blow of asking him to leave. Also, I just like giving head.”

  I shake my head. “You do? Like, you actually enjoy it?”

  She wrinkles her nose and grins at me. “Well, yeah.” She frowns at me. “I mean, do I enjoy it like I enjoy getting eaten out? No, but it’s a different kind of enjoyment. Just being honest about it, I like the power of it. I like the manipulation of it. I get off knowing just my hands and mouth can make a guy desperate and willing to do whatever I want. And, under the right circumstances, I like making a guy feel good. But that’s a different kind of BJ.”

  “It is?” I’ve given them, of course, but only as foreplay, and usually in a quid-pro-quo sort of scenario, so I’ve never thought about giving oral in the way Audra’s talking about it.

  She laughs. “I mean, of course. ” She sighs and waves a hand. “You’re distracting me from the topic. Get me talking about giving head and I lose my train of thought.”

  I roll my eyes at her, laughing. “Audra, you’re too much.”

  “So say all the men,” she quips, and I don’t think she’s joking. “My point is, I don’t think you gave Jesse a fair shot.”

  “He sent me texts and left voicemails, but I’ve been avoiding them—and him.”

  “You came straight here from the airport, I’m guessing?”

  I nod. “Yeah.”

  She shakes her head, sighing. “This time, I’m not gonna tell you what I think you should do. This one is all on you. What I will end my rant with is this—it doesn’t have to be love, as in True Love, capital T, capital L, with hearts and bubbles and glitter and a mushy happily-ever-after ending. It can be something real for both of you without being that. You can have your cake and eat it too, in this case, Imogen—there is something between casual no-strings sex and diamond rings and wedding vows.”

  I sigh. “Maybe you’re right.”

  “You know I’m right.” She holds out her hand flat, palm up. “Your phone.”

  I hesitate, but then hand her my phone—she knows my passcode, of course, and uses it to open up my thread with Jesse. We read his messages together—there are seven.

  Jesse: Can we talk? Even on the phone?

  Jesse: Imogen? I don’t like how we left things, and I want to say a few things.

  Jesse: I don’t like trusting important things to text messages. There’s too much chance of things getting misunderstood. Call me. Or tell me you’re home and I’ll come over.

  Jesse: Screw it. It’s been two days and you’re not answering your phone. So if you don’t answer this message, I’m coming over, and I’ll wait until you’re home to say what I have to say.

  Jesse: You’re not home. I waited twelve hours and you never showed up. And since you know how I am, you know I didn’t spend those twelve hours idle. So…your welcome.

  Jesse: *you’re*, because when your mother is a retired English teacher, you’re required to have proper grammar even via text.

  Jesse: Still not saying everything, but I’ll say at least this much, in case you ever read these. Or maybe you’re reading them and ignoring me, I’m not sure. Whatever. Here it is. I told you I had something like a serious relationship once, and that’s true. There’s a lot more to the story, and it’s a very, very hard thing for me to talk about. But it’s made me approach relationships hesitantly, to say the least. I tend to clam up when I’m overwhelmed or feeling emotions I’m not comfortable with, and all I’ll say is that I definitely felt things with you that made me clam up, because of that long and hard to talk about story. I’ve always been bad about that, and I’m sorry. Call me if you want.

  The voicemails are just him saying “Call me” in a gruff, terse tone.

  I click the phone back to sleep and look at Audra. “I fucked up.”

  “Yeah, babe, you did.”

  “What do I do?”

  “I mean, if it was me, I’d show up where he worked, tell him I was sorry, and then blow him. And maybe bring food with me, because men think with their stomachs as much as their dicks.” Audra shrugs. “But that’s just me.”

  I consider.

  And actually, she may be on to something.

  She sees the speculative look in my eye. “Imogen, I was joking.
”

  I frown at her. “No, you weren’t.”

  “Okay, no, I wasn’t. But that’s not the kind of thing you do.”

  “No, but you also told me this is a chance in my life to become someone I’ve never been. Reinvent myself. And god knows after the way Jesse treated me the other night, I probably owe him a little something.”

  Audra leans closer to me and, on cue, we both grab our wine. “Is it finally time for details?” she asks, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

  And so, I give her details. Every last little one.

  When I’m done, Audra sinks against the couch, dramatically fanning her face. “Whooooo boy! And he has three friends, you say? Each sexier than the last?”

  I shrug. “I mean, I personally think Jesse is the sexiest, but something tells me you’d find Franco pretty damn jaw-dropping.”

  She quirks an eyebrow. “Franco? Is that first name or last?”

  I laugh, frowning. “Actually, I don’t know. It’s the only name I’ve heard for him.”

  She eyes me speculatively. “I have an idea, if you’re serious about doing what I said.”

  “And what’s your idea?” I ask, wary.

  She just grins lasciviously. “Let’s just say it’ll let you make your move, Jesse’s girl, and give me a chance to check out this allegedly jaw-dropping Mr. Franco.”

  I cackle when I hear her plan. “You know what? Let’s do it,” I say.

  15

  “This was stupid,” I hiss to Audra, as we approach the Waverley job site. “I’m not doing this.”

  Audra grabs my arm and keeps me walking. “It’s very stupid, which is why you’re doing it. You never do anything dumb and reckless. And this is calculated recklessness.” She speaks casually, not whispering. “It’s to a purpose.”