How Long You Should Wait to Have Sex: a Novel

by Sorgen, Monique

  “You think?”

  “Yeah! I mean he did just put a major damper in my plans to meet the love of my life tonight. But his whole over-sharing thing is hilarious!”

  “Really? I find it pathetic.” I could see where she gets that. But as far as I’m concerned, that type of pre-judgment, based on superficial quirks is what leads her to her whole problem with men. She always falls for the games, and in so doing, she always ends up dating jerks.

  “You just don’t like him because he likes you. But I’ll tell you one thing, Lacey, a guy like that will never cheat on you.” She considers what I said, and I think I may have gotten through to her.

  ~

  Unfortunately, Marty blows all my brilliant prepping by looking like an eager beaver waiting for us as we come out of the bathroom.

  “Oh look, you’re here,” Lacey remarks sarcastically, while shooting me a look that says, “Do you see what I mean?” And I do a little bit.

  “Well you did spill my drink,” Marty retorts, in good fun, “so I was thinking that you probably want to buy me a new one.” And that’s the kind of thing you should say if you want to be introduced to Lacey’s icy death glare. I respond to the humor of his comment, of course, but Lacey is not amused. Marty isn’t dumb, though, he quickly understands that the humor was lost on her, and finally gets to the thing he was trying to say from the start. “Look if you don’t want to buy me a drink, I was thinking that maybe I could buy you one.”

  She looks at him annoyed, “Fine, Marty. But it’s going to take a lot more than one drink to get me to sleep with you.”

  Marty isn’t scared of that, “Good to know.”

  Suddenly I realize that I left my purse in the bathroom. Lacey’s not going to like it, but I have to leave her alone with Marty again, “I’ll meet you guys over there. I forgot my purse in the ladies’ room.” I point to the bathroom as I whip around and bang right into another man, who spills yet another drink on me!

  “Oh, no! So sorry,” he says. This night is not going at all like I planned. I try to maintain my sense of humor so that I don’t lose all hope of meeting someone great tonight. Men are not attracted to girls who are in pissy moods.

  Half to myself I mutter, “I guess it’s only appropriate for a dress I pulled out of the dirty laundry.” And then I look up at him… I only wish I had looked at him before I made that stupid comment about the laundry because He. Is. Perfect.

  His deep dark blue eyes stare at me sympathetically, as he flips his brown straight hair off of his forehead. Without giving him too obvious of a once over I can tell that his body is slim, his stature is confident, and he has a smile that goes on for days. How can I fix what I just said?

  “When I said ‘dirty laundry’ before, I meant that as a metaphor.” He laughs sweetly. “Sure, I’ve got dirty laundry,” I go on, “who doesn’t?” I should stop talking, but his adorable way of laughing complicitly at every awkward thing I say, inspires me to continue, as if I were some hilariously funny stand-up comic, “I mean if this dress could talk!” Then, quickly correcting myself, “--Not that it would say anything bad about me… if dresses talked…” I taper off, not wanting to add any more nonsensical banter to his first impression of me. I’m starting to understand how Marty must’ve felt.

  That said, this gorgeous stranger crouching across from me is chuckling throughout my silliness. He has apparently completely overlooked the fact that I’m making no sense whatsoever, and I actually think he’s enjoying my embarrassment in some sick, twisted, and deeply charmed way.

  “Actually, this is the second drink that was spilled on me tonight,” I admit.

  “I’m so sorry,” he says sincerely, “let me make it up to you. What are you having?”

  “Anything that’s clear,” I reply, “seeing as how it’ll probably end up on my dress.”

  He laughs once again. I’m starting to think he likes me, which is great news because I like him, too. Why wouldn’t I? He laughs at everything, and he never stops smiling, which is totally endearing because it makes him look like he’s always having fun, or perpetually happy. That’s the kind of person I need in my life. Is it too soon to be thinking about marriage? Well, I don’t even know his name, so probably yes. Thankfully, he is ready to overcome that obstacle.

  “I’m John. You’re funny.”

  “No actually, I’m Samantha.” He laughs again, as I realize that my name might ring a bell for him, after all, I did make a plan to have a plethora of eligible men whom I don’t know meet me here tonight. I decide to explain further, “I was supposed to wear purple.”

  He stares at me blankly.

  “Samantha. Purple. K-Bar. That means nothing to you?”

  He shakes his head no, still smiling happily.

  “Okay,” I give up, “I’m gonna go clean up, and I’ll meet you at the bar.”

  He nods, and we go our separate ways.

  O. M. G. that was exciting! He is so hot. And his smile is so sweet. And those eyes, they’re so kind and innocent, like a puppy dog, begging to be loved. And the way he laughs, like he’s enjoying life, like he’s enjoying me… I can’t believe my plan is working. I put it out there that I wanted to meet him, and I made it happen, with three hours left to go! Even if, in this case, I didn’t actually “make” it happen. Whatever. It is happening!

  Chapter 5

  John and I have been drinking, talking, and laughing for a while now, and so far I’ve done a pretty good job of keeping my cool despite the fact that I’m already crazy about this guy. The way he smiles all the time, and laughs sympathetically at absolutely everything I say, good or bad, makes me feel like he totally gets me. He gets my sense of humor. He gets what makes me angry, and passionate. And somehow, he manages to keep a positive attitude about everything. He even manages to find a positive outlook on my boss, when I explain all the ways in which Henry is indisputably, out of his mind sadistic. I wish I could look at everything as optimistically as John does. Well, maybe if I get to hang out with him enough, I’ll be forced to meet him at his level of optimism. I’d love to figure out how to do that.

  They say that when you meet the one you just know. I always thought that was bullshit, but I guess that’s only because it had never happened to me before. I know I’ve only known him a few hours, but everything is so easy with him. That’s how I always pictured it. The banter simply flows—mostly because he laughs at my jokes, which naturally makes me funnier. Talking to him is effortless. Smooth. Almost uplifting. I sound drunk, don’t I? I’m pretty sure it’s not just the alcohol talking though. I swear, I felt a connection to this man from the first moment our eyes locked. God that sounds cheesy. But I guess feelings, when they come, are cheesy. Maybe that’s just something I have to accept and embrace. Yes, I think I might love feeling cheesy. Bring on the cheese!

  “So, do you like doing PR?” he asks.

  “I love it. People give me their problems and I fix them. It’s creative and empowering.”

  “I love your confidence!” he announces, genuinely impressed.

  It’s always hard to ask a guy what he does because usually his whole sense of self-esteem is riding on how successful he is. His career often gives away his income level, which if it’s too high, makes him worry that women will like him for the wrong reasons, and if it’s too low, makes him worry that women will judge him. The answer also informs how creative or passionate a person might be. What kind of thinker they are. Are they analytical, literal, logical, or simply not into thinking at all. Basically, I’m saying that I realize this is a simple and yet loaded question, especially for a guy. But it’s his turn, and he’s gonna have to face the music.

  “What about you? Do you like what you do?”

  “How could I not? I’m a heart surgeon,” he names his job with the humility of someone stating that he’s a garbage man. I try to stay calm and act normal, like that’s no big deal.

  “Wow,” I blurt, as casually as I can muster, “so what’s your favorite part o
f that?”

  “The money,” he jokes. I’m laughing on the outside, but inside, I’m also doing a victory dance. I know it’s ugly to care, but when a guy doesn’t have money, I’m the one left dealing with his low self-esteem problems and depression about how he can’t afford to do nice things with and for me. I don’t even need “nice things”! But I get it, when a man doesn’t have money, he doesn’t feel like a man. I didn’t tell him to feel that way about it. I would never feel that way about him. But he does, so it’s always a little relief when he’s got that crossed off his list. Not that I would like John any less if he didn’t. As noted, I like John!

  Not wanting to come off materialistic, John explains what he really likes about being a doctor, “No, I enjoy saving lives, too.” He’s altruistic. He’s generous. He’s caring. I like this man.

  “But it’s also nice to be able to afford to do all the stuff I want.” See? He gets it. That’s what I was talking about!

  “Like what?” I ask, “what do you like to do?”

  “I like to eat out, go to concerts, travel…” This is all the stuff I like to do. We have everything in common, so far. Then again, why wouldn’t we? We’re clearly soul mates.

  Suddenly I remember the conversation I had with Anna Rubin this morning, where I told her all the things I want to do with my new guy. John is a doctor. A surgeon, no less. I have to ask.

  “Were you messing with me before? Are you sure you don’t know the meaning of the purple dress?”

  “I honestly have no idea what that refers to.”

  “So you don’t know Anna Rubin?”

  “Why would I know Anna Rubin?”

  “Because you’re a surgeon. And she’s a nurse in a surgeon’s office.”

  “And you think we all know each other? Like famous people do?” he laughs.

  “Just tell me the truth, John. Did she send you?”

  “Send me where?” He finds my question hilarious, and I don’t know if I should believe him or not.

  “Here. To K-Bar. To meet me.”

  He turns pale white, “Oh my God, I’m sorry, were you waiting for a blind date?” Maybe he really doesn’t know.

  “No. I mean, yes. Kind of. But not really. Nobody sent you here to K-Bar to meet Samantha in the purple dress?”

  “No, but you have definitely peaked my curiosity. Do tell.”

  For the first time, I realize how ridiculous my plan must sound to people. This girl (me) is such a giant control freak that she thinks she can just orchestrate meeting the love of her life by calling up everyone she knows and having them send bachelors. How do I explain this without seeming dumb?

  You know what? If he is the one, then he needs to know this about me. If we’re gonna spend the rest of our lives together, he’ll accept that I have a strong personality, determination, ambition in everything I do, and a “no-fail” attitude. These are good qualities, aren’t they?

  “I guess this is the part of the evening where we begin to share the intimate details of our personalities,” I reveal, inducing yet another one of his endearing laughs.

  “I didn’t think I could become more intrigued, and yet I just did.”

  How to explain?...

  “Okay, so you know how I do PR for a living, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, as a birthday gift to myself, I decided to throw myself a party consisting of me, my friend Lacey over there in the tight fitting dress, and a whole bunch of guys that I have never met before, sent by my friends as possible long term romantic partners for me.”

  “So wait, it’s your birthday?”

  “Yes. I mean, no. Not until tomorrow. Or midnight. So like an hour from now.” This is what I mean about him. I just revealed a potentially embarrassing aspect of myself, which I happen to admire in me, but which I realize some people might take as a little insane, and all John heard, was that it was my birthday. And he cared that it was my birthday.

  “I did notice an above average number of men in this bar tonight. Are you saying that was your doing?” he asks with a gigantic smile on his face.

  “I would guess so. Sorry.”

  “No, it’s fine. Either way, I’m talking to the most desirable girl in the place! And I’m impressed that you did this.” You see? He’s amazing. “But why now? Why this birthday?”

  “You know how it is, sometimes when your birthday comes around, you take inventory. And on this birthday I realized that I have yet to date a guy I would want to marry. So I needed to try for that.”

  “So you invited all these guys here to meet you for your birthday, and you’re drinking with a complete random.” I’m not comfortable calling John a “random,” since I already know that he’s the one, but I guess it always has to start with someone who’s a little random at first.

  “Talk about being in the right place at the right time!” I tease, cracking him up again. Then for clarity I add, “I mean you, of course.” His laugh tells me that he got what I meant.

  Then, just as everything was going perfectly, I asked the question that would reveal his first flaw.

  “How about you? How come you’re not married yet?” He goes silent, and I realize my mistake, “Or, are you?”

  “No. I was. I’m divorced.” Okay. Divorce I can live with. A lot of people have starter marriages, and it usually teaches them lessons that make them better the second time around. I could learn from his experience.

  “Oh… sorry,” I squeak.

  “It’s okay. We just… I guess we just weren’t in love anymore.” Yes! Awesome! Perfect! Just what I wanted to hear. I’m not being callous, I’m just excited that I have a chance to reignite his belief in love.

  “Any kids?” I ask.

  “No, thank God. That would just make it hard—er.” Oh, thank you, Lord! I’m too young to be a step-mom, and at this point, I think I would do anything to be with this man, including that, so thank you for saving me from myself. Now let’s just hope that he hasn’t been so burned that he’s sworn off marriage.

  “Would you ever do it again? Get married?”

  “Definitely! I loved being married. I had my best friend right there all the time to do stuff with. Why wouldn’t I want that again?” Ding-ding-ding: Jackpot!

  “That’s exactly how I picture marriage,” I say empathetically, although really I’m going with that tone because I’m trying not to seem too eager or obvious, “like you’re best friends.”

  “Yeah, we had it all…” He gets pensive and maybe a little nostalgic, and for a moment, I wish the conversation hadn’t taken this turn. But then he surprises me again, by snapping out of it, plastering that excited smile right back onto his face where it belongs, and offering, “Do you wanna see my favorite place in the whole city?”

  “And leave all my suitors to fend for themselves?” I quip mockingly.

  “Why do you think I’m trying to get you out of here so fast?” he muses, as he holds out a hand to help me off of my barstool.

  “You really have nothing to worry about though. I was supposed to wear purple, remember. These guys have no way of knowing I was me. They probably think I didn’t even show up. But I like your initiative.” We both giggle as I take his hand and dismount from the bar.

  Touching his hand sends a warm excitement through my body. Man, it’s been a long time since I’ve touched a man romantically. I check his face, to see if he feels it too. He’s still smiling sweetly, so I’ll take that as a yes.

  “I should probably tell Lacey I’m leaving.”

  ~

  Lacey has been getting rejected all night by a variety of hot men, who are immediately interested in her looks, and then just as quickly turned off by how desperately strong she’s coming on. After each new rejection, Lacey returns to Marty at the bar, as if he were her corner man, refueling her with drinks, and boosting up her confidence with compliments, before sending her back into the ring to get knocked around some more. I’ve decided that he’s a good guy. I can trust him despite his
misguided efforts to get her to forfeit her match and recuperate in the locker room with him. I can tell that he cares about her, and he just wants to protect her from being knocked out in such a way that it would lead to brain damage and end her career forever.

  She has just left his corner, after taking another shot of Kahlua flavored liquid courage, and is fearlessly talking to a brand new hunky guy when I approach.

  “I’m not surprised you’ve done well in the Market. You look really smart!” I overhear her say, as she juts out her breasts. I hate to interrupt, but I’ll be brief.

  “Hey, Lacey, do you mind if I take off?”

  She hardly looks up at me as she says, “Huh? Sure. See ya’!” And turns her attention back to the hunk to say, “You know what would make you look even smarter? Glasses!” Ha! I love that girl. That said, she is a little drunk, so I stop by Marty’s corner on my way to the door.

  “Hey Marty, can you make sure Lacey doesn’t do anything stupid here tonight?”

  “She shouldn’t have any problem staying out of trouble, apparently all these guys she’s talking to are here looking for you.” Wow. So it did work. “Anyway, that’s the excuse they’re giving her when they decide they don’t want to talk to her anymore.”

  “Really? It’s going that bad?”

  “I just wish she would realize how much she has to offer. She’s gorgeous. She’s funny, even though most of her jokes are completely unintentional—“

  “Right?!” I interject. “Sometimes I think I’m the only one who gets how hilarious she is.”

  “Yeah, Lacey’s got everything going for her, she just doesn’t realize it. I hate that about her.” I laugh despite myself. “Don’t worry,” he finishes, “I won’t let her have sex with anyone until she’s 100% sober.” Adding at the last minute, “Including me.” He thinks about it, “Yeah, that would be gross. Yuck.” Then realizing how obviously he considered it, “It’s fun to think about though, right?”