So, That Got Weird

by Amelia Kingston

  I spot the elevators across the marble floor lobby but only manage to make it halfway there before the doorman blocks my path. Yes, a doorman. Elizabeth’s apartment has valet parking and a doorman. I’m punching above my weight here. This dude takes one look at me, sweaty and dirty, before deciding I need to go.

  “Can I help you, sir?” he asks, giving less than zero fucks about helping me.

  “Nope,” I answer, stepping around him.

  “I’m sorry, but all guests need to be announced.”

  I can hear the pitter-patter of his loafer-clad feet in hot pursuit behind me.

  “Then announce me,” I retort over my shoulder without stopping. I press the Call button and thankfully one of the six elevators opens immediately. Jesus, what have I gotten myself into? “I’m going to the penthouse. Ms. Wilde’s waiting.” Elizabeth is on the twelfth floor. I have no idea if that’s the penthouse, or if this building has a penthouse, but it sounded good.

  I step into the elevator and turn back to face him with my arms crossed. He’s scowling at me. I give him a knowing smile and a dismissive finger-wave as the doors close.

  Fuck you, Jeeves.

  I rock side to side on my feet in the elevator, trying to work out some of this nervous energy. I’m not having second thoughts. Five thousand dollars is a lot of money. I just don’t get what I’m doing here. I have no idea why she picked me. This girl could afford a Hemsworth brother. One of the un-famous ones, at least. The whole idea seemed crazy when she first asked me in the library. I mean, a sex tutor?

  That’s insane. Saying yes was insane. There’s a one-in-ten chance I’m walking into an it-puts-the-lotion-on-its-skin sort of situation.

  I take a deep breath, hold it for a few seconds then let it out slowly as I roll my shoulders. I’ve had sex with girls for worse reasons, including simple boredom. When Elizabeth propositioned me, I was flattered, even curious, but more than anything surprised. Elizabeth isn’t exactly a sex kitten, but she’s not a hideous beast either. She’s too conservative for my taste, but I’m sure nerds around the world would cream their jean shorts at the thought of getting into her granny panties.

  I never would’ve called her if I hadn’t lost my job. Downsizing, my ass. I got fucked over. They think I don’t need the money just because I’m young and single? Fuck them. Everyone’s gotta eat. Even with a scholarship, college is expensive as hell. When I was a kid, my mom couldn’t pay rent, much less start a college fund.

  I take another deep breath, hold it for a count of three and release it.

  I called Elizabeth ten minutes after I got fired and was ready to murder someone. Somehow, after talking to Elizabeth, I wasn’t so pissed. And the sex tutor idea didn’t seem so crazy. She’s a super-shy girl who needs a bit of a confidence boost. She needs help and I need a job.

  We’re a perfect pair.

  A computerized voice announces the twelfth floor as the elevator doors open. I find my way down to Elizabeth’s apartment, the last one at the end of the hallway. She opens the door almost before I finish knocking. The eager little beaver has been waiting for me.

  She’s wearing a loose T-shirt and jeans that are at least two sizes too big for her tiny frame, tragically managing to hide every inch of her figure.

  Such a shame.

  From the little I can see, she has potential. She wouldn’t be half bad if she ever bothered to dress up. It was the same when I met her in the library. I wonder if she has any idea how frumpy she dresses.

  Probably not.

  This girl is beyond clueless.

  She’s frozen in the doorway, death grip on the doorknob, her petite body managing to block most of the entrance to her apartment. The only part of her moving are those chocolate eyes that keep getting wider. Her chest stops moving. I don’t think she’s breathing.

  The way her mouth drops open makes me think she didn’t believe I’d actually show up, though her five grand has already posted to my account. Who pays upfront? She’s too damn trusting. Lucky for her, I keep my promises.

  We can’t stand here all night. I’ve got a job to do.

  With a smirk, I wrap my arms around her waist, lift her and push us both into the apartment. I plant a kiss right on her pouty lips as I set her down. It’s pretty tame, no tongue, but her hand shoots up to her mouth in disbelief. Those big brown eyes of hers get wider. Didn’t think that was possible.

  She’s kind of adorable, in a lost-puppy sort of way.

  “Mind if I grab a shower? I came straight from practice,” I call back to her.

  She doesn’t say anything. I’m halfway down the hallway where I assume the bathroom is when I glance back at her. She’s hovering near the door, a dreamy expression on her face. I must be a better kisser than I thought.

  I don’t take long in the shower, but I take a little extra care in scrubbing all the bits I might be using tonight. I’m a gentleman, after all. By the time I finish, she seems to have recovered from my friendly greeting and is banging around in the kitchen.

  “Holy shit!” she screams when she sees me walk into the living room in nothing but my tight boxer briefs. She knocks over a cup of noodles on the counter and manages to burn herself splashing the near-boiling water.

  “Ouch! Damn it, that hurts.” She jumps around, shaking her hand in the air like a five-year-old.

  This girl is absolutely ridiculous.

  “Run it under cool water!” I holler at her.

  She doesn’t listen.

  I cross over to her and take matters into my own hands. And by matters, I mean her body.

  I come up behind her, grab both her wrists and push her over to the sink. I turn on the water and push her reddening fingers underneath it. She’s caged in my arms and I have her body pinned against the counter. Her heart is beating fast enough that her pulse races in her wrist. She’s taking deep breaths, trying to calm herself down.

  She isn’t worked up because of the burn. It’s because of me.

  “Does that feel better?” I ask, leaning down to her ear.

  “Y-yes. I’m fine. Th-thank you.”

  Her body tenses as she tries to pull away from me. It’s useless. I haven’t given her any room to maneuver.

  “I’ve got it now,” she manages to whisper.

  She shifts her hips back, angling to get away, but instead she manages to grind against me. She lurches forward again, throwing herself against the counter when I don’t pull away. Too bad—I was kind of enjoying the grinding. I linger a moment longer, reveling in her awkwardness. It’s kind of a turn-on that I can unsettle her so easily.

  “Glad I could help.”

  I drag my fingers along her forearms as I let go of her wrists and step away. Goosebumps appear in the path my fingers traced and my cock perks up in my boxers.

  Tonight’s going to be fun.

  “Why are you naked?” she asks, refusing to look at me. I clean up the noodle mess she made when jumping around like an idiot.

  “I’m not naked,” I assure her.

  “You practically are,” she snips.

  She’s an interesting dichotomy.

  Dr. Timid and Ms. Feisty.

  I wonder which version is the real her.

  “Given what we’ve got planned for tonight’s activities, what’s the big deal?” I lean against the counter and dare her to meet my gaze. She does, but only for a second before wrapping her hand in a towel.

  “We are not having sex tonight,” she declares.

  “We’re not?” I try to sound hurt and confused, but mostly I’m teasing her.

  “No!” She finally turns to face me, keeping her eyes safely above my shoulders. A pretty amazing feat given she has to be at least a foot shorter than me. “So, could you put some clothes on?”

  “Sure.” I saunter over to where I dropped my gym bag on my way to the shower. I throw on some shorts and a white T-shirt before turning back to her for approval. “Better?”

  “Better. Thank you.” She sighs with relief and
I can’t help but chuckle. “Well, my dinner’s ruined,” she says, tossing her ramen noodles in the trash.

  “Ramen isn’t dinner. It’s a travesty. A damn food-hate crime,” I tease her. “It’s only acceptable in the dorms freshman year when a microwave and fifty cents is all you have to survive.”

  “I’m not much of a cook…” Her soft voice trails off. She wraps her arms around her waist and looks away sheepishly. Is she feeling self-conscious?

  Because she can’t cook?

  She shifts back to timid so fast it makes my head spin. It scares me to think how easy it would be to break this girl. Suddenly, I feel shitty for mocking her.

  “Then you’re in luck. Cooking is one of my many talents. Let’s see what we’ve got.” I rifle through her kitchen cabinets, searching for something that could objectively be called food.

  “I don’t have much by way of cooking supplies,” she mumbles behind me. I continue undeterred.

  “Believe me, I’ve made epic meals with much less.” It isn’t a lie.

  I’ve lived off some pretty horrible crap when I had to. That’s probably why I enjoy cooking so much now. After years having to feed myself with whatever I could find in the back of the cabinets because my pathetic excuse for a parent hadn’t been shopping in weeks, the freedom to make myself a delicious meal with fresh ingredients is a luxury.

  I shake off the harsh memories of my childhood as I find some spaghetti noodles and marinara sauce.

  “Ahhh! Perfect,” I cheer as I turn to her with a wide grin. She’s sitting on a bar stool on the other side of the kitchen but rewards me with a shy smile. We’re quiet as I wait for the water to boil. I ask the question that’s been driving me nuts since we met.

  “So, you have to tell me. Why me?”

  “Why you what?”

  “You know what. Why did you ask me to pop your cherry?”

  She cringes at my words. We’ll have to work on that. I love talking dirty.

  “That’s not—”

  “Yeah. Yeah. I’m the ski instructor. Whatever. Why did you choose me?”

  She’s quiet for a while, as if trying to decide what or how much to tell me.

  “Have you heard of the website scoreyourscores.com?” she asks. I shake my head. “It’s a website for people to rate the experiences they’ve had around campus.” She watches me to see if I get it. I know the kind of thing she’s talking about. People have been rating their fucks as long as they’ve been fucking.

  “You mean girls rate the guys they’ve fucked?”

  “Yes.” Her voice is firm and she doesn’t cringe this time, but her shoulders are slumped and she’s wringing her hands.

  “Including me?”

  It’s a rhetorical question. Obviously I’m on it or I wouldn’t be sitting in front of her now.

  “Yes,” she answers quietly. She won’t look at me and she’s tracing the grout lines in the tile counter. She’s clamming up, so I try to lighten the mood.

  “Guess I got some good reviews then? Five stars. Two enthusiastic thumbs-up. Best I’ve ever had,” I say in my best chick voice as I dump spaghetti noodles into the boiling water.

  “There were no complaints in that department.” Her response makes me curious.

  “But there were in other departments?” I push her. I haven’t slept with half the campus, but I get around. I’ve never left a woman unsatisfied that I know of. They all got a great night of no-strings-attached fun.

  “I can pull up the site…” She turns around, gesturing to a computer desk that takes up a decent chunk of her living room. It’s got three screens, some massive speakers, keyboard, mouse, joystick, a headset and a bunch of other gadgets and gizmos. Seriously, who needs three screens? I have a feeling she doesn’t get out much.

  “Nah, just tell me what they said.” If she’s struggling to say the words, she’s going to have a hell of a time when we get to actions. And I definitely want to see this girl in action.

  “Ummm.” She’s so uncomfortable, eyes darting around and off-the-charts fidgeting, I can’t help but tease her more.

  “I know for a fact every girl I’ve ever been with has come. At least twice. I’m a giver.” I wink at her as I pour the water out of the pot and stir in the marinara. “Come on. It can’t be that bad if I’m standing here.”

  “They aren’t bad. The girls were very complimentary regarding your…assets…and…skills.” The blush on her cheeks is adorable. No doubt she’s remembering some of the more explicit posts. This girl is so innocent it’s almost intimidating. “Their complaints were more about your hit-it-and-quit-it style.”

  “They all knew what they were signing up for,” I say flatly. I have no doubt I was explicit with each and every one of those girls. “I don’t date and I’m always clear about that. You should know that too, I guess. I don’t want a girlfriend. No white picket fences or happily ever afters. I don’t do forever.”

  “That’s why I picked you. I’m not asking for forever, just a month. This is about figuring out what I need to know and moving on. No drama. No complications.” Her words are as steady as mine.

  Most girls hate it when I’m frank about our lack of a future. Elizabeth is different. She’s like me, happily distant and detached. The only difference is I know how to fake a connection when I need to. I grew up being a chameleon, giving people what they want, hoping to be wanted in return.

  “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship,” I say as I set her bowl of spaghetti in front of her.

  “Casablanca,” she says wistfully.

  “What’s that?” I ask through a mouthful of food.

  She has a reminiscent smile on her lips. “It’s the movie you were quoting. The last line from Casablanca. The beginning of a beautiful friendship…”

  “Hmmm. I thought it was just a saying. Like raining cats and dogs. I’ve never seen it. Is it any good?” I manage to ask in between massive mouthfuls.

  “One of my favorites. I think I have a copy. If-if you want to, you know, watch it.” Her voice is hesitant.

  Is she seriously nervous to ask me to watch a movie with her? After what I’ve already agreed to? I buy a few minutes shoveling spaghetti into my mouth. We eat together in awkward silence and I think about how I want to respond.

  “Sure. I’m not going to be getting frisky any time soon after all those carbs.” I drop my empty bowl in her sink, walk around to the couch and throw myself down into the cushions. She finishes her dinner and comes to fuss in front of the TV. She pops the movie in and sits as far away from me as possible while still technically on the couch.

  The movie plays, but neither of us is actually watching it. She’s sitting up, her back stick straight, her ass barely on the edge of the cushion. It has to be uncomfortable. I’m staring at her, waiting for her to scoot back and relax. She never does. I grab the remote and pause the movie.

  “What’s wrong?” she asks, her voice high-pitched and shaky as she turns to face me. I swear she only has one butt cheek actually on the couch at this point. She could be in the starting blocks at the Olympics, ready to sprint away at any minute.

  “So, you’ve never had a boyfriend?” I ask her, already knowing the answer.

  “I told you I haven’t.” She shies away, nervous as hell, but also a little sassy.

  “And you’ve never slept with anyone?” I want to hear her say it.

  “No. I told you I haven’t.” Her apprehensiveness borders on irritation. God help me, it’s an alluring combination. She somehow manages to be innocent yet scrappy.

  “But you’ve fooled around, right?”

  “I guess that depends on what you mean by fooling around.”

  She’s being evasive, but I’m not going to let her. I play games for a living, sweetheart.

  “Ever given a guy head?” If she’s going to be obtuse, I’m going to be blunt.

  “No.”

  “Been eaten out?”

  “No,” she huffs.

  “F
ingered or hand job?”

  “No.”

  She tries to slyly wipe her hands on her pants, but I catch it. I’ve got her sweating already. There’s tension racking her shoulders as they hunch forward. Her fidgeting is worse, lacing and unlacing her fingers in her lap. She’s keeping her face away from me to hide how red her cheeks have turned. She’s refusing to meet my eyes.

  “How about some under-the-shirt groping? Light nipple play?” I mock a little twist of my own nipples with a grin.

  I get zero reaction.

  “Dry humping?” I’m almost running out of things to ask. I’m pretty sure at this point no guy has ever so much as touched her, but I can’t help myself from continuing to push her.

  “No and no.” Each time she says it, she’s a little bit more defiant, and damn if it doesn’t make my shorts tighter.

  “Fuck. You’ve at least made out with a guy?”

  She’s quiet for a long moment, eyes darting around the room.

  “Don’t start lying now.”

  When her eyes find mine, they are filled with a raw vulnerability that unsettles me.

  “No. I haven’t kissed anyone. Before tonight.”

  Her final confession knocks me for a loop. No wonder she stood there frozen after I kissed her. That was her first kiss. I was her first kiss.

  “How’s that even possible?” I can’t control my mouth. “What are you, twenty-one? Did you grow up in a cave or something? Are you some kind of religious freak?”

  She jumps up off the couch and storms over to the front door, stomping her tiny feet and marching across the room. Timid Elizabeth is a distant memory. She’s all fury and indignation now.

  “I’m paying you to help me. Not to mock me. I’ve been honest about everything and if you can’t handle it without being an ass, then this isn’t going to work.” She yanks the door open to punctuate her threat. One hand is curled in a tight fist at her side while the other grips the doorknob tight enough to turn her knuckles white. “You should go.”