by Julia Kent
She took the lead. “So, what in the hell do we talk about after that?” she asked, nudging her head toward the door to the hallway to her room.
Disarmed, he burst out laughing and drank down half his glass of wine in one big gulp. “Is there a manual for this?” he asked.
“I’ve never seen one show up on my Kindle ,” she replied.
“Maybe there’s an app that we don’t know about.” He reached for her, grateful for her bluntness, and his eyes recognized in hers the same searching that he was feeling. They looked at each other for a good, long minute, neither flinching, or wincing, or breaking eye contact, just letting it deepen. Their bodies relaxing layer by layer, their souls really seeing each other.
“Can we just agree that this is what it is, and it will unfold however it unfolds?” he said. Her face clouded and he realized that she was taking it wrong; the words so noncommittal, the kind of thing assholes say…Can we just take this step by step? He tried to explain what he really meant, which was, “Josie, what I mean is that this is one of the most extraordinary experiences that I’ve ever had with a woman. Not this,” he said, his hand pointing vaguely toward her bedroom, “this.” He squeezed her hips, pulling her tight against him, enjoying the feel of her hands against his bare back, sliding up under his open shirt. “This. Whatever you and I have, every second we’re together, is new territory for me.” His voice went raspy with emotion and a part of him screamed, Don’t do it, dude, don’t do it! You’re getting way in over your head! Another voice told the first voice to shut up, that if there were ever a time for candor, it was now.
Her eyes went wide and her expression seemed to flip through her entire repertoire of emotions. She finally settled on a relaxed, open look, that he knew intuitively was not part of her standard operating procedure for relating to men. “I don’t do this, Alex,” she said quietly. “I don’t have relationships with men. I have flings, I have casual friends-with-benefits-type things. I sleep around…did.” She held up one hand. “Did. Slept around. That should be past tense, shouldn’t it, when it’s been years? I date. I see ‘guys,’” she said, using quotation marks with her fingers to indicate some sort of self-conscious irony that he didn’t quite grasp. “What you’re proposing is that I show you who I really am, layer by layer, through wherever this takes me.”
“Yes,” he said simply. She got it; she knew exactly what he felt.
Her face became more serious, if that was possible, and she said, “Wouldn’t it be easier to just ask me for a threesome?” Pause. “Joking!”
He pulled back and laughed at his own surprise and at her words.
”You’re asking for a hell of a lot from someone like me,” she continued.
“Someone like you?” he asked.
“I don’t do emotional openness,” she explained, “I do sex, I do fun, I do sarcasm, I do…”
“Your nails?”
“Yeah, my nails,” she said. “You like them?”
“Cute.” Her fingernails looked like lilac bushes, sprigs that matched the color of her shirt. “Then maybe it’s time you tried something new,” he said, pulling her close again. The struggle remained evident on her face; she wanted him and not just his body, he could tell. But something held her back. Whatever it was, it was so dramatic that her shield went up instantly when he talked about anything that took this from the surface to something deeper.
“You said that we needed to take this moment by moment and let it unfold, right?” she asked, stepping out of the embrace.
Turning away from her, he closed his eyes, not sure what to say. “Yes,” he said again, careful not to overwhelm her with more. Her hands shook as she stirred the boiling water, pouring the pasta in bit by bit. He was absolutely terrifying her, wasn’t he? It dawned on him that whatever he felt for her, she seemed to feel it, too.
When had this gotten so complicated? he wondered, staring at her arms as her elbow bent to stir the pasta, her face obscured by rising steam.. The conversation had gone deep and a bit dark, suddenly, as if he were pressuring her for something rather than offering. His insides flailed wildly, trying to capture some sense of composure; he was willing to do anything to go back to that moment of delight in her bedroom when he realized that he had, indeed, caught her. Hitting reboot on the entire conversation was probably the only smart idea here.
“I don’t want more from you than you…want to give.”
She smiled, an indecipherably bitter grin. “You were about to say ‘capable of,’ weren’t you?”
“No, actually,” he said, stopping the arm that stirred the pot and turning her toward him, “that wasn’t the word in mind.”
“What was, then?” she asked. On the surface, she was closed off, but he sensed that underneath she was fighting against whatever demons she had inside. He wanted to see those demons, expose them to the light, to his want, his acceptance, and—he couldn’t believe he was thinking the word love, but yes, love, so that the demons could be vanquished. Getting her to drop that shield was his only hope.
Inhaling slowly, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and breathed out her mouth. Yoga, she clearly engaged in yoga. The way her body moved, fluid and graceful as she made herself relax, made him appreciate her even more: the lines of her arms in motion, or her forearm in his hand, of how her neck sloped just right into her earlobe, the way the skin around her eyes told him twenty-seven different things in one look. And yet…she was not completely relaxing. Her muscles were still tense, a bit awkward, as if they weren’t certain which Josie they were supposed to be.
“When did this get complicated?” she asked, as if reading his mind.
“It’s always complicated.” He shrugged.
“Don’t say that,” she growled through gritted teeth.
He stepped back, a bit surprised by her ferocious retort. “Okay,” he said slowly, “then I won’t say that it’s always complicated. Do you want me to say that it’s never complicated?”
“I don’t know what I want you to say.”
The words were the most earnest thing that had come out of her mouth in the week that he had known her, and it gave him hope. His stomach chose to speak for him in that moment, growling, almost matching her tone a moment ago.
“The perfect response,” she said, resuming her cooking.
“You know how it goes, the way to a man’s heart and all that…”
“I thought the way to a man’s heart was through his groin?”
“Then you’ve got me already.”
“Good, ’cause I’m a lousy cook.”
“I doubt you’re lousy at anything.”
“Oh, trust me, Alex, once you get to know me you’ll learn that I’m lousy at lots of things.” She pulled the stock pot off the stove and drained the boiling water, clouds of steam covering her face and making her hair curl up at the ends. Her cheeks were pink and her face glistened from the moisture. The cloth of her cotton v-neck clung to the tops of her breasts, her nipples hard and tight. Without a bra her form showed better through the clothing, and he wished that they were in bed again. Already, already he was hard, dammit, his pants a miserable prison for his arousal. “What can I do to help?” he asked.
“Help me show you how lousy I am?” she said, a grin on her face. She poured the pasta into a large serving bowl and stuck a pasta claw into it. Was there some official name for those utensils? He and his mother just called it the pasta claw.
“You could put the salad on the table,” she said.
He did what he was asked, enjoying the domestic routineness of it, until finally the food was on the table, the dishes were set, and they sat down to eat, each covered in the other’s musk, each starving. The meal itself was quite quiet, neither of them particularly interested in talking anymore.
“This is good,” he said.
“You’re just saying that because you think you have to.”
He almost slammed his fist on the table, already a bit weary of this defensive tone. “I don’
t say anything that I don’t mean. It’s good. Thank you. You’ve made a lovely meal.”
She looked at him as if he had four heads. “You know, we already had sex, Alex, you don’t need to butter me up. I’m kind of a sure thing.”
“If you came over to my place for dinner, trust me, this would be a luxurious meal.”
“What would you serve if you invited me over for dinner?” she asked.
“Takeout pizza, Thai.”
“In bed?” She looked down at the bowl of pasta and grabbed a bit of salad, putting it on her plate. “That might taste better.”
“The only thing that would taste better is you,” he said it without acrimony, and she smiled, reaching across the table for his hand.
“Thank you.” She closed her eyes again and sighed deeply. “I’m sorry, I just have no framework for how to behave with someone like you.”
Now he was hitting paydirt. “What do you mean?”
“I like you, Alex, I just don’t know what men like you are like.”
“The only way out is through,” he said, squeezing her hand.
And just like that, Josie’s ridiculously self-defeating bullshit melted away. The food that had felt like lumps of nothing in her mouth resumed its flavor, the oregano and basil bursting forth as she swallowed and drank a few mouthfuls of wine. Music lilted through the air, the low tones of a perfectly played bass lifting her heart. Alex’s smile seemed less an indictment of her emotional stuntedness and more an invitation to a future.
Letting go meant feeling.
Surefooted and smart, he sensed it, leaning closer, filling his mouth with more wine and resting in place, letting the enormity of it all sink in. Together, they just sat there at her kitchen table as headlights flashed strobe lights on the wall, car engines turning on, rear lights blinking as the game ended across the street and people made their way back to their normally scheduled lives, the fun of the diversion over.
The diversion, for Josie, had been her shell.
Time for real life to kick in.
“Do you watch The IT Crowd?” she asked.
Alex’s eyes narrowed; she knew he knew this was a test. “No.”
“Want to?”
“Now?” His voice rose with the question, a bit incredulous.
“Now,” she stated definitively. “All of the men I let get to me have to pass the IT Crowd test.”
“Or else what?”
“Or else…” Damn it. He’d caught her. “I don’t know.”
“How did the other guys do?”
“You’re the first.”
“What about Downton Abbey?”
“You watch it?” she squealed.
“No. Just asking. I don’t watch anything, Josie. I work hundred-hour weeks.”
So many responses. As the air pivoted, she realized she could use this as a lever to get out. You don’t have time for me, she could say. You’ve overworked. You’ll move when your residency is over and leave the city. You will find someone better and leave me.
Why even try, then?
Holding back from self-sabotage, she said, “We have time now!”
“We have lots of things we could do with our time.”
“IT Crowd or Downton Abbey are good non-sex parts of a relationship.”
One eyebrow rose on his face. “Is this a relationship?”
Caught. “It’s a…something.”
“I’m in a something with you?”
“Yes. Don’t push your luck.”
“What’s the next step in a something? An everything?”
Oh God, yes, she thought. “A maybe.”
“Ooooh, I can’t wait for a maybe. Followed by a possibly?”
“No, after a maybe comes anal.”
He slapped a palm against his forehead. “Only Ms. Josephine Elizabeth Mendham would talk about anal and Downton Abbey in the same conversation.”
She gave him the stink eye. “You really haven’t seen the show, apparently.”
Sighing, he stood, refilled their wine glasses, took her hand, and walked her toward the television in the living room. Both carried their wine in their spare hands. “No, I haven’t but now I have to. Downton Abbey it is.”
“And IT Crowd next time,” she blurted out.
“To next time,” he said, holding his wine out for a toast.
“‘Next time’ is code for sex, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Chapter Nine
Some strange man’s rather muscular upper thigh trapped her to the bed, her arms swimming to reach shore. A ringing in her ears pierced her fuzzy consciousness and she realized it was her phone ringing, and Alex, naked, was sound asleep, half on top of her.
The phone slipped out of her hands twice until she finally pressed the glass and shoved it in the general direction of her ear.
“’Lo?”
“I’m living with a squid who eats my body fluids!”
Laura. What time was it? She pulled the phone away from her ear and squinted. 8:22 a.m. “I don’t want to hear about your sex life with Dylan,” Josie hissed.
“I was talking about Jillian!”
Josie cleared her throat and said nothing.
“Besides, there is no sex life for me with anyone. You ever try to have sex with a screaming time bomb in the house that shits up its back at any moment?”
“No, but I did see an ad like that on the Craigslist personal section once.”
A slow turn from the large, manly body next to her gave her eye candy to last for months. “Who is it?” he mumbled. “Did my phone go off? Is there an emergency at the hospital?”
“Who’s there!” Laura shrieked into the phone. “Where are you?”
Josie wiped her eyes and cleared her throat. “I’m at home.” The less said the better, as Alex reached up to caress one bare breast. In the daylight, his body was even better than she’d imagined, all feline and protective and big. He buried his head in her hip, cuddling in a way that sent shoots of heat through her.
“Who said ‘hospital’?” Laura asked.
“I did,” Alex replied, chuckling into Josie’s belly.
“Oh my God, is Dr. Perfect in bed with you?”
Time to give up. “Yes.”
Alex grabbed the phone and spoke into it. “No,” he said, kissing her hipbone, then sliding away, his receding warmth nearly making her cry. His muscled ass wandered into the hallway and she heard a door shut.
“SQUEEEEE!” Laura’s scream could be heard five houses down by the deaf, ancient labradoodle that wore a diaper when its owner took her for walks every morning. “You’re sleeping with Alex?”
“I am somethinging with Alex.”
“What’s somethinging?”
“We’re making it up as we go along.”
“You let him spend the night?”
Silence. This was not an easy conversation.
“Josie? You never let guys spend the night.”
“He watched Downton Abbey with me last night. We fell asleep in front of Netflix after four episodes.”
“Men don’t watch Downton Abbey unless they’re trying to get in your pants.”
“Well, it worked.”
Another squeee from Laura. “You never, ever let guys stay over,” she repeated, her tone of utter marvel making Josie’s stomach flutter.
“I know, but he doesn’t know that, and you’re yelling as if I were your deaf great-grandma, so cut it out.”
“Okay,” Laura whispered with great affect, like someone on stage.
“Why are you calling?” A gurgle in the distance told her Alex was making coffee.
“To complain about my sex life. But yours is much more interesting. Do tell!”
“Tell what?” Josie asked dryly.
“Is he perfect in bed, too?”
“God, yes,” Josie murmured into the phone, cupping her hand around it. “Even better than the other day by the river.”
“What river?”
“You had sex with him the day after I gave birth?”
“Yes,” Josie hissed. More distant gurgling.
“You picked up a doctor at my birth and then fucked him by the river while I was humping ice packs like a bride on a Sybian at a bachelorette party?”
Long pause. “I really can’t go with that analogy, Laura.” Alex sauntered back in, gloriously buff, carrying two mugs of coffee. He handed one to her.
Perfect. Dr. Fucking Perfect. No man had ever brought her coffee in bed. Then again, no man ever had the chance to…
“He just brought me coffee in bed,” she hissed into the phone.
“Did I interrupt sex?” Laura squealed.
“No, but you’re about to,” Alex said in a cheerfully loud voice.
“Byelauragottago,” Josie said in a rush as she turned off the phone. Coffee, schmoffee.
If she needed a little something to wake her up…
Or something big.
“Want to shower?” he murmured in her ear as she took one last sip of her hot coffee, suddenly alert. Shower sex would be a first for her; her nipples tingled at the thought. His hands caressed her belly, one sliding down already as the warmth of his arms around her, pulling her up, made the world melt away yet again.
A nagging thought crossed her mind, intruding. “I have to be at work by ten!” she gasped. Her phone said 8:35 a.m.
“We can have a quick shower.” Yanking her arm, he bent his knees, exerting enough gentle force to make her lose her footing and crash into his wall of muscle.
“Wait! We need a—”
“Condom,” she interrupted, pulling out of his arms and circling the bed, opening the drawer and snatching one—fast. They ran to the bathroom. He’d beaten her by seconds and turned on the shower, the spray arcing over the curtain rod in places and making her shriek.
“You raised the nozzle!” she shouted.
“It was set at the height of a dachshund.”
“Hey!” Standing on tiptoes, she tried to stare him down but was faced with his nipples instead. Playful and goofy, she reached out with her teeth and nipped one. Arms clinched around her and the sense of playfulness dissipated instantly, as if a switch flipped inside her that aroused every sense, making the feel of her bare skin against his hard legs, the push of his erection against her belly, and the lush movements of his hands on her ass turn her from a silly thing to a sultry woman.