THE EXES IN MY IPOD: A Playlist of the Men Who Rocked Me to Wine Country

by Lisa M. Mattson

  “I like to be prepared,” he replied, dropping the supplies on the kitchen table. His tone was cool, aloof. It gave me the feeling he was not prepared for the model’s visit while I was in the next room.

  “We should go to bed,” James whispered above me. I felt his fingers touch the shoulder of my work shirt. My eyes flew open. Shit, I dozed off like an old woman! I sat up quickly from the arm of the couch, my head still cloudy from the booze. How long had I been out? The room was dark again, lit only by candles on the coffee table. My heart sprinted in my chest, replaying his words that had awoken me. After the model had left, we’d sat on the couch talking about going back to college, sipping beer after beer. My eyes bounced back and forth from a freshly lit candle on the table to James’s glowing face.

  James plucked a pile of blankets and clothes from the floor. “I brought you a few things.” He stuffed a pillow into the crook at the end of the couch, then handed me a neatly folded pair of flannel boxers and a Georgia Bulldogs T-shirt. As my fingers touched his clothes, every nerve in my body felt frazzled, ready to unravel.

  “You’ll be okay out here?” James placed a flashlight on the coffee table. It sounded like an invitation. I didn’t know if I was ready to RSVP. I listened to the howling wind and thought of Chris home alone.

  “I’ll be okay.” I scooped the clothes into my arms.

  I brushed my teeth with my finger in the hallway bathroom and changed into his clothes. I stared at my forehead in the mirror, then returned to the couch with his T-shirt hanging down to my thighs. James emerged from his bedroom doorway off the living room, shirtless. Oh, my. Hormones spread through my hips like wildfire. The waistband of his plaid boxers hung low on his hips. In the candlelight, his muscles looked carved from marble. My lower half began to throb with desire.

  I tugged at the baggy T-shirt. “It doesn’t fit.” My body temperature began rising under his clothes. I pushed my long curls off my shoulders to send him another signal.

  James laughed. “That’s a good thing.”

  I lay down across the three cushions of the couch. James’s pecs flexed as he draped a fuzzy blanket over me. “Good night, Wheels,” he said with a smile, before blowing out the candles and disappearing into his bedroom. Wow. What a gentleman. A McNugget of the naughty girl inside me wanted him to grab my neck and plunge his tongue deep into my mouth. His restraint seemed romantic, yet perplexing. Maybe he doesn’t want me.

  I looked up at James’s cathedral ceiling in the darkness, thinking about Chris and his irresponsibility. He deserved to be deserted. He was ruining my perfect credit! If I’d lived another day with him, I could have been arrested for drug possession. James was a clean-cut, future doctor with manners that could put a five-star-hotel concierge to shame. He was everything Chris was not. Gusts of wind shook the palm trees outside the window. I pulled the blanket to my chin and stared at James’s bedroom door in the dark. I was still scared.

  A door creaked in the middle of the night, waking me. I looked up from the couch and saw James’s silhouette in the doorway to his bedroom. He wore only cotton boxer shorts. I bit my lower lip. A street light outside the window bathed the room in hues of gray.

  “Were you asleep?” he whispered.

  “No,” I lied.

  James rubbed his biceps. “I can’t sleep either. It’s freezing out here. Aren’t you cold?” I’d never been in an apartment or business in Miami that wasn’t colder than an icebox. I shrugged and rubbed away the remnants of my goose bumps. I listened to the howling wind and rain, biting my lip.

  “Come in here and warm up.” His voice sounded as caring as my grandma’s. My heart hammered against my chest. I sat up and gripped the edge of the couch. I looked at him in the darkness and didn’t say a word. He extended his bare arm. “Don’t worry. I won’t bite.”

  My body raised slowly, weighted with conflicting thoughts. This is supposed to be happening. Just go. It was that moment when you know whatever decision you make will change your life. There would be no turning back. We’d never even kissed before. That was all we would do, right? My toes pushed into the plush carpet. His hand touched mine. My palm slipped into his, and I felt like I’d just tried on a new pair of shoes. I’d held only Chris’s hands for two years. James fingers were long and his palms soft—not pudgy and calloused like Chris’s. The heat of his palm warmed my cold hand. As I stepped into his bedroom, the doorknob clicked behind us. James was a door into yet another world of new discoveries. Feelings of guilt and excitement began battling in my chest. Was our unspoken break-up official? I took a deep breath and exhaled, feeling James’s T-shirt heavy on my chest.

  A parking lot light outside his window gave his bedroom an eerie glow. My eyes moved from the waistline of James’s thin boxers to his flat stomach and muscular chest. A gold chain around his neck twinkled. I looked down at his baggy T-shirt and felt like I was back at the K-State Beta Theta Pi house, shacking up with Lance in his sleep hall for the first time. My ego did a back flip. A jock wanted to be with me. I was attractive. My eyes glanced around the room, quickly landing at a double mattress on the floor.

  “No need to buy furniture if I’m not staying long, right?” I could hear the smile in his voice. “It’s more comfortable than the couch. I promise.” His hand pressed against the small of my back. Tiny currents surged under my skin, which must have blocked my ears from hearing the words “not staying long.” I looked over at a cardboard moving box in the corner. James had moved to Miami from Georgia in September and seemed as unsettled as me. He wasn’t leaving for Gainesville until next summer, so we had plenty of time to start a serious relationship.

  He kneeled in front of the mattress, then pulled back a fluffy down comforter. His hand glided me down to the floor. He tucked me under the blanket, and I quickly turned my back to him. The heat of his skin next to mine sent my heart to the moon. Waves of lust thrust through me, as I stared at his bare wall. He’d invited me over. He’d waited on me hand and foot. He’d covered me in blankets. He really cared about me. A little courtship affected me like catnip back then. I’d be helpless against its powers for at least an hour.

  James’s fingers gripped my shoulder softly, turning my body toward him. His hazel eyes sparkled in the dim light coming from his window. My heart beat loudly, filling in my ears. Every inch of me tingled in anticipation of his next move. I lay there like a mummy trying not to touch him, while my hormones did somersaults between my legs. He moved his fingertips to my left cheek and brushed it softly.

  “Who was she?” I whispered, looking at his handsome face in the darkness.

  “Nobody.” James pressed his lips to mine. His kisses were soft and gentle, just like him.

  “No one is a nobody.” I pulled back from his embrace. “We’re all somebody.” I wondered how many times he’d said that about a girl.

  “I don’t want to talk about her.” A frustrated exhale left his lips, as he pushed the weight of his body against me. “I don’t want to talk at all.” He pressed his tongue hard into my mouth, then locked his lips onto mine. His harsh words and forceful touch battled in my brain, until I let him take control. Our tongues corkscrewed again and again until James made his move to nibble my ear. My lower body tingled under his boxers, now damp from my arousal. His stomach pressed against mine, as his mouth sucked all the air from my lungs, making me light-headed. I breathed out my nose and wrapped my hands around his long torso. This is really happening. I felt like an extra on a soap opera set that finally got to stand-in with the star actor. James had chosen me, Harley Aberle, the redneck girl from Kansas. My fingertips glided from his back to his carved chest, feeling every muscle flex from his pecs to his navel. His stomach quivered as he exhaled. His reaction to my touch made me feel even more wanted.

  “My turn.” James pulled his T-shirt over my head and dove for my belly button. My stomach shook like a building in an earthquake, reverberating every time his warm lips touched my skin. Kiss, lick, bite. Repeat. James kept going, a
nd I kept groaning.

  “Please,” I breathed, running my fingers through his hair. “More. Wait. Stop.” My mind battled with the pleasure, the playful pain and my insecurity. I wondered if he’d still be excited when he removed my super-padded bra. My skin felt tighter and firmer than it had in years, but my body was still shaped like a pear. I thanked my stars the electricity was out, so he couldn’t turn on the lights. The ugly parts of me were hidden.

  James pressed his bare chest against mine. I felt my small breasts flatten under my bra and froze.

  “Are you okay?” James kissed my forehead. “Do you want me to stop?” His lips rested on my right temple. I lay immobilized like a patient on a stretcher. My mind ping-ponged between the discomfort with my own body, the thrill of being kissed by a handsome guy and the shame of leaving Chris without an explanation. My moral compass was spinning out of control. It was wrong not to confront Chris face to face. It almost felt like cheating, and I’d never been a cheater.

  I wrapped my arms around James’s shoulders and hugged him tightly. “I guess I’m okay.” My mind flashed to the night at K-State when I let a frat boy come back to my apartment after a party. I kept whispering “no,” and he kept kissing and pushing until he was inside me. Like comedian Amy Schumer says, all women have been “a little raped.” Saying “yes” (or nothing) to boys was always easier than “no.” This time seemed justifiably different; James had asked if he should stop. A man with morals! I couldn’t let James be my first decline. This was the start of something truly special. James had just serenaded me! Forget the booze—a singing man was instant panty remover. Chris had already been evicted from my heart. James had never asked about the end of Chris and me, which seemed like a good thing at the time.

  My lips inched toward his, kissing soft and deep, yearning to get as close as possible to his inner self. My body ached for his next move. I hiked my leg over his, squeezing him closer. I felt his penis hard against my thigh under his boxers. My lips moved to his neck, biting softly. I inched slowly up to his ear, feeling my curls brush against his bare skin. He cradled my head and ran his fingers through my hair.

  I moaned, eating up his touch. My fingertips slid down his chest to his lean stomach; he followed, gliding his palm over my rib bones. My lips trailed down his cheek to his baby-soft chin. I gently kissed, licked and bit his neck to show him my sexual aptitude … the copycat strategy. When in doubt, I just followed the guy’s lead.

  James groaned and exhaled, turbo-charging my ego.

  James pulled me to my knees, so we were facing each other. His hands cupped my face, and he pressed his lips softly against mine. Chills ran up and down my spine. I lost my sense of time and direction. Nothing mattered during that moment but our lips. The rain pelting his windows drowned out the sound of our lips smacking, our tongues gyrating. It felt so good to feel wanted again. My arms wrapped around his shoulders. He unsnapped my bra. Every nerve in my back constricted like a rubber band. Wow, that was fast. His fingers tugged at his boxers on my hips. My legs froze, but my thoughts were spinning like a record. We’d never been on a real date. I didn’t even know his middle name or his favorite color. It was too soon to be having sex. I could still change my mind.

  “Should I stop?” James’s lip tugged on my ear.

  I stared at his forehead, letting my mind reel. “Umm. Keep going.” My voice shook with trepidation. I took a deep breath out my nose. “The time is right.” I looked away toward the window. Clothes had been peeled off. I’d followed James into his bedroom; I’d taken the bait. There was no turning back. This was the first step to making our relationship legitimate. Pep talks with my little voice—that was how I justified having sex when she was telling me not to do it. Before I’d met Chris, whenever a guy would kiss me, sex followed. Making out was a runaway train heading straight to sex central, and I believed I could never stop it.

  James glided me onto the mattress. I lay on my back, as he pulled off my boxers, then his. He plunged two fingers inside me and rocked back and forth. My fingers moved to his penis, following his lead. It was brick hard, long and lean … so different from Chris’s.

  James straddled my hips. He grabbed a condom packet from the floor next to his makeshift bed. How convenient. He knew I would do this. I looked up at him from my naked, vulnerable position, waiting for that feeling.

  James slid into me slowly, yet deeply. I arched my back and moaned. He dropped the weight of his body on top of mine and began gradually rocking his hips. Mine followed. James continued kissing my lips in his gentle way—tender and sweet—while thrusting inside me, filling my heart with love and my body with pleasure. I wrapped my arms tight around his shoulders, feeling wanted and feeling whole—the way sex always made me feel.

  Afterward, James held me in his arms and kissed my forehead. When I woke up the next morning, his arms were still wrapped around me. I snuggled closer to his chest and savored every second of feeling wanted by a gorgeous, polished boy. It sure felt like I’d made the right decision.

  One week after my first sleepover with James, I drove to Cutler Ridge to face Chris. Even though I’d turned into a zombie at the sight of him, the wave of relief coasted me into a happy place. It was over. My poor attempt at confrontation made me feel as if I’d been through a horrific car crash and escaped with minor injuries. My morals were bruised but not broken. Sure, I should have composed myself and explained my frustration and disappointment like an adult, but I could not go back in time. My life could have a fresh start—financially and emotionally. There were no loose ends to keep my relationship with James from progressing, but I tried to act “all business” at work. When James passed me at the bread station, I never pinched his butt. When we folded napkins, I didn’t sit in the booth next to him—I’d sit across from him. Sure, I always used the POSitouch computer near James’s station even though my station was on the veranda—and delivered his desserts and folded half his stack of napkins. I had to show my love as only a working waitress could. I began hanging out at Loggerhead with James, Alicia and other co-workers until 2 a.m. every night. When the bar closed, James would finally ask, “Where are you sleeping tonight?” and I’d always look down at my beer and reply with a smile, “I don’t know yet.” After the third night running my fingers up and down his muscular chest, I placed my chin on his shoulder and sighed, “I could get used to this.” He squeezed my shoulder and kissed my forehead. Even when James told guys at work that we’d slept together, I didn’t get mad. Guys don’t like girls who bitch and nag. Complaining would only chase him away. I told myself that his bragging was a compliment.

  I moved into a bright, airy apartment in an old Spanish-style building in Coconut Grove. It had a charming courtyard filled with Coconut palms and Banyan trees that towered above the bay windows of my second-floor bedroom. A little slice of tropical heaven. My new place was less than a mile from work and even closer to James’s apartment. When I wasn’t daydreaming about James playing guitar on my couch, I pondered transferring to University of Florida for fall semester. I was planning my life around him, and we hadn’t even been together as long as a two-week pay period. Alicia from Columbia became my part-time roommate, paying me $200 per month to keep a futon in the living room. I’d never lived alone before and didn’t feel tough enough to start then; I’d grown up watching way too much Miami Vice.

  A wave of new hires arrived at Cheesecake just before Thanksgiving, and there were enough hot chicks to fill a Pussycat Dolls’ roster. As soon as James and I began training the hotties, his invitations to sleep over dropped off. I told myself he was just tired from work. He didn’t look at the new girls any differently than the other servers, busboys and line cooks. Hell, I stared at their curvy butts and perky breasts too. I soon found myself clearing the dirty plates on James’s tables, running his appetizers, delivering his cappuccinos and cheesecakes—pretty much anything to show him I still cared. Boundaries were for border patrol, I thought. If I would have been any farther up his ass
, I could have kissed his bellybutton.

  “What are you doing for Thanksgiving?” I asked James during pre-shift in the back hallway. It was mid-November, and we’d been sleeping together for three weeks. Eternity! He shrugged his shoulders and kept his eyes fixed on the napkin stack in his lap. “It’s my first holiday away from my family, and I don’t have plans yet,” I replied to my own question. I’d been planning—what I’d wear and what I’d say to his family once he invited me to spend the holidays at their winter home in swanky Coral Gables. James’s family had split their time between Florida and Georgia for years. His parents were going to retire to Miami someday, so he wanted to be a doctor in South Florida. I admired that he wanted to stay close to his family. His roots in my new city attracted me to him even more. With a guy like James, I had the chance of being part of family again without getting on an airplane. We were sexually involved, which, in my book, meant we were serious, and serious meant time to meet his parents.

  “Not sure,” James replied flatly, staring down at a stack of napkins.

  “Want to go to Loggerhead after work?” I chirped to James while he counted tips next to the server kiosk. Three days had passed, and he still hadn’t invited me over for Thanksgiving dinner. I slid my access card into the computer and tapped in two slices of White Chocolate Raspberry Truffle cheesecake for table sixteen.

  “No, thanks.” James pressed dollar bills against the granite counter. He never took his eyes off the stack of money. A lump formed in my throat.

  “Are you tired?” I looked up at his svelte face, then down to his white oxford, wrinkled and stained from the long dinner shift.

  James folded the stack of bills and stuffed it into his white apron. “I have plans.” He scurried back to the office. I collapsed into a nearby booth and stared at the tower of napkins on the table. Thoughts spewed from my brain faster than orders from the bar’s printer: I was smothering him. Give him space, Harley. His plans didn’t involve other girls. We were in a relationship.