The Truths about Dating and Mating

by Jaycee DeLorenzo

  Normally, I’d make a remark about his inability to get it up, or would grab his forehead to see if he had a fever, but I was too astonished to say anything more than “Oh.” It wasn’t like him to turn down a technically attractive babe who was ready and willing. In fact, as far as I knew, this was a first. And I wasn’t even going to examine why that knowledge pleased me to no end.

  ***

  I was fighting to stay awake. We’d been sitting in the stuffy room for almost an hour and the only bit of news that had even remotely related to our show was that the air conditioner would be turned on the following Friday.

  The meeting could have been finished in fifteen minutes, but Dr. Quinn dragged out every last insignificant item until I wanted to cry out, “Okay, enough already! We’ve got it! Move on!”

  But I didn’t dare.

  Quinn didn’t take kindly to outbursts, or interruptions…or the opinions of his staff, for that matter. He wouldn’t yell – he wasn’t a man governed by his emotions. Instead, he would pin me in place with his cool gray eyes, and remind me in his eerily calm voice that if I had a problem with the way he ran things, I was free to leave at any time.

  And he wouldn’t just mean the meeting.

  No matter how popular our show was or how much revenue we generated for the station in underwriters, Quinn wouldn’t hesitate to let us go if we didn’t play by his rules. He’d make an example of us if we challenged his authority.

  What did Dr. Wilkinson see in such a domineering autocrat? Was it a sex thing? Did Quinn spend so much time bossing people around in the office that he was willing to relinquish control in the bedroom? Or did Dr. Wilkinson get tired of all her feminist ideals and want a domineering man? Maybe neither of them gave up the power. Maybe they both fought to be the one in control - as a form of foreplay, perhaps - and that struggle made for some really hot sex.

  I was probably over-thinking this one. I couldn’t help it, though. Most people stood behind the maxim that ignorance was bliss when it came to other people’s sex lives, but I couldn’t help wondering what other couples were like en flagrante.

  Some couples didn’t require much imagination to figure out. Chelsea and Parker were a shining example. I had no doubt their bedroom life emulated their public life, with him on top and in control, and her quiet and submissive beneath him. And not in a hot, kinky way, either.

  And then there was my mom and Chief Breckenridge. While I wasn’t clamoring to know the particulars of their sex life – even my voyeuristic curiosity has its limits – I was still intrigued about their relationship in general. How was it possible for a man who upheld the law to get involved with someone who had spat in the face of the law all her life?

  I stuck my tongue out and crossed my eyes. All this speculation was making my headache worse, and the uncomfortable hard-backed chairs were doing a number on my lower back. I rubbed my temples and winced when I felt a spasm above the base of my spinal cord.

  I studied Ian as he doodled in his notebook. He’d decorated the entire outer edge of the page with strings of barbed wire, some of the barbs dripping blood and others reflecting light. My brows rose in amusement when he sketched a tiny cloaked ninja warrior swinging from the wire at the top of the page.

  Despite his strange composition, Ian had some real talent. Even his simple doodles showed an incredible and lifelike sense of depth and shading. I once tried encouraging him to pursue a major in Art, but he wouldn’t even consider it. All his life, his stepfather had been telling him that he would never amount to anything. Ian was determined to prove him wrong. There was no stability in a career in art, and stability was very important to Ian. Still, it was a shame to see all that talent go to waste.

  My gaze shifted from Ian’s doodle to his hands. After Amery’s confession last night, I had to admit I was curious. I pressed my lips together, tracing the lines of his long, slender fingers and the width of his palms. He wore a ring on each hand, one silver and one black. They gleamed dully in the overhead fluorescent lighting, and I couldn’t deny that there was something kind of sexy about a man who wore rings. His palms were large and broad, just the kind you could imagine infusing your body with warmth as they spanned your back or your waist. I knew from the few massages he’d given me that his touch was smooth and gentle, and he could coax all the tension out of one’s muscles. I sighed as I imagined how those hands could work the stiffness out of my back. I wondered if I could talk him into giving me one of his magic massages after the meeting.

  In the end, I supposed I could understand how a woman could get turned on by his hands. Not me, of course, because they were still Ian’s hands, and that would just be…wrong (I think), but from an objective viewpoint, they were still pretty sexy.

  I slid my gaze in the other direction and rapped the dull pads of my fingertips against the surface of the table. Amery looked up from the section of hair she was examining for split ends and raised her brow in question. I tipped my head in Ian’s direction. My eyes darted to his hands and back and I wiggled my brows suggestively.

  Amery’s face morphed from confused to alarmed. She settled on a death glare.

  I tried to suppress the giggle that rose in my throat, but it couldn’t be contained.

  “Ms. Rossini!”

  I snapped to attention so quickly that I accidentally bit the tip of my tongue. Son of a… “Thowwy,” I lisped.

  Quinn held out his hands. “Something you’d like to share with the group?”

  I ducked my head. “Nope. I’m good.”

  “In that case, now that I’ve been so fortunate as to secure your attention, we’ll move on to The Truths about Dating and Mating.”

  I picked up my pen and adjusted my notebook, trying to look attentive and studious. Beside me, I heard Ian mutter, “‘Bout fucking time.”

  “First…” Quinn consulted the yellow steno pad in his hand, “we’re going ahead with the individual website, so you two are going to have homework. I need bios and an introduction submitted for approval by a week from this coming Monday. The following Friday I’m going to want a list of frequently asked questions. Ten should be good to start. I’m also going to need some photos, and a list of links on the web where your listeners can get more detailed information.”

  “I can take care of that part,” Amery offered with a small wave. I gave her a grateful smile, thinking that was probably best. Amery was always forwarding me links to sites she thought might help out.

  Quinn hardly glanced up. “You can work all that out between the three of you.”

  “Do you have someone in mind to design the site?” I asked, thinking of Casey.

  “I was going to speak to one of my colleagues in the Computer Science department to see if he could recommend someone.”

  I perked up. “We have a friend--”

  “That’s fine,” Quinn cut me off. “I don’t care who designs it. Just keep in mind that it will be your responsibility to keep the content up to date.”

  “Is that all you want for now?” Ian asked, looking up from his composition book.

  “Yes. Once that’s done, we’re going to start archiving your ‘Letters of the Night.’ Eventually, I want a form or a real-time chat function of some kind where students can submit their questions via the internet. For now, I just want you to focus on your bios and the introduction.” He crossed that topic off on his list, and looked up. “Next, I’ve been informed that you have agreed to do a live forum this coming Thursday for Professor Wilkinson in Social Sciences?”

  “She asked us to answer some questions for her Sociology class,” I said, wondering why he was bringing that up. “Is that a problem?”

  “Not a major one, no. But for future reference, please keep in mind that all public appearances need to be cleared with me in advance.”

  Ian snorted. “How is what we do with our free time any of your business?”

  Quinn pinned Ian with a glare so severe it made me shrink back in my seat. “Everything concerned with this
station and your program is my business, Mr. Hollister. While you may provide the intellectual impetus for the on-air content, the image and all rights of the show are still the property of this college, and as faculty director, I determine whether live appearances, promotions, giveaways, or advertisers are appropriate or not. Had you bothered to read it, you would recall that all of this was covered in the packet you signed upon being hired.”

  Ian slumped back in his seat. “What bullshit,” he muttered under his breath.

  I had to curb the desire to point out that Wilkinson asked us to appear as authorities in the field of relationships and sex, not necessarily as representatives of the show. Something told me he wouldn’t see the difference.

  Finished with us, Quinn moved on to another show, and finally called the meeting to a close another twenty minutes later.

  “What a jerk,” Ian spat as soon as we exited the building.

  I poked his side. “You’re just mad because he called you on not reading your release forms.”

  Ian sneered. “That’s completely beside the point. The guy’s a dick.”

  “Like that’s news.”

  “If I didn’t enjoy this job so much, I’d tell that pretentious, self-important jackass what he can do with his packet.”

  I patted his shoulder. “Let it go.”

  “I second that,” Amery said, pushing her designer sunglasses up the bridge of her nose. “The meeting’s over, so it’s time to enjoy the rest of the weekend. I, for one, am going shoe shopping with Daddy’s birthday money. Retail therapy always puts me in a better mood. Wanna come?” she asked me.

  “I’ll have to pass. I just spent all my money on my car.” It wasn’t a lie, but I also knew that shoe shopping meant she was driving down to Phoenix and back, and I had no interest in sitting in a car for almost three hours and being ignored by bitchy salespeople who watched me like I was going shoplift. Of course, I wouldn’t even be able to afford a bottle of shoe-polish at any of the high-end boutiques Amery frequented.

  “I could spot you some cash, and you could pay me back,” Amery offered.

  Truth be told, I couldn’t even afford that. “I appreciate it, but I still have to pass.”

  “Fine.” Amery sighed dramatically. “I guess I’ll go by myself.”

  “Have fun.” I gave her a hug.

  “Do you have any big plans today?” I asked Ian after Amery had gone.

  “I’m watching a hockey game at five-thirty. Other than that, I’m free.”

  “Free enough to come over and give me one of your magic massages?” I put my hands together and gave him a hopeful look.

  He hesitated. “Yeah, sure.”

  ***

  “Here, make the bed while I go change.”

  Frowning, Ian stared down at the stack of old sheets I handed him to keep the oil off my good ones. “Sure, I do you a favor and get stuck with the manual labor.”

  “Laying sheets over the bed hardly qualifies as manual labor. It’s not like I’m asking you to make hospital corners.”

  “Fine.” He waved me away.

  I slipped into the bathroom, stripped down, and put on my blue paisley string bikini. I ran my hands through my hair and then sniffed under my arms, wanting to make sure I wasn’t funky. It had been hot in the classroom, earlier. Erring on the side of safety, I applied more deodorant and spritzed on body spray. I didn’t want to freak Ian out by having B.O.

  When I emerged from the bathroom, Ian was folding one of my yellow jersey sheets in half. The other sheet was already on the bed, which had been pulled away from the wall so he could get at me from all sides.

  I stilled when Ian’s eyes locked on my body. His mouth opened just a little bit as he scanned me up and down. “New bikini?”

  I fought a blush. I must have been imagining things. There was no way that look was at all sexual. “No, this is the one I always wear.”

  “Oh.” He nodded and averted his eyes.

  I turned towards my dresser and cued up some mellow music on my docking station. “I’m ready when you are.”

  “Go ahead and get comfortable,” Ian said. He ran a finger under his eye with a frown. “I’m going to wash my hands and take this shit off my face.”

  A shame, I thought. I liked that “shit” on his face. I slid under the sheet and maneuvered myself into a comfortable position on my stomach.

  Ian came out of the bathroom a few minute later, face scrubbed clean, and waving a bottle of oil at me. “We almost forgot this.” He poured a measure into his hands and rubbed them together. “Any areas you want me to pay particular attention to?”

  I did a quick physical inventory of my sorer spots. “My lower back and shoulder blades, to start.”

  “You got it.” Ian walked around my bed and pulled the sheet down to my waist. His fingers brushed my back as he tugged on the string of my bikini top. The tension in the string slackened, sending goosebumps racing over my skin. My eyes rolled happily when he laid his hands on my shoulders and swept them all the way down my back with firm pressure. Oh, yeah. That’s the stuff. Applying a little more pressure, he splayed his fingers and slowly raked them back up. “Oymashugana.”

  Ian chuckled. “I take it that means this is good?”

  “Mmm-hmm,” I said, looking up at him with a dreamy smile. “Keep going.”

  “Bossy bitch,” he said with a teasing wink.

  I smirked. “You know it.” I moaned when he repeated the process and continued to repeat it, coaxing more and more of the tension out of my back. I was only mildly coherent when he withdrew his hands. “Why are you stopping?”

  “I need more oil,” he answered. “Skin burns tend to ruin the effects of the massage, you know.”

  I glanced over to see him pouring more of the oil into his hands. He dropped a knee on the mattress, and swung his other knee over my hips, straddling my back. “So, what are your plans for Friday?” he asked.

  Dropping my head on the pillow, I rolled my eyes. “Why? You have a friend you want to set me up with, too?”

  His laid his hands flat on each side of the base of my spine and gently pressed upward with the heels of his palms. “What?”

  “This morning, Chelsea--” I broke off with a moan when my spine popped.

  “Good or too much?” Ian asked.

  “Very good. Do it again.”

  His hands slid up one rung. “So, what about Chelsea?”

  “She’s trying to set me up with one of Parker’s friends, if you can believe it.” I broke off every few words with more moans as he popped the vertebrae up my back. God, Amery was right; he really did have wonderful hands…or extraordinarily talented hands, at any rate.

  “A blind date for Valentine’s Day? Did you tell her to take a flying leap?”

  My breath caught as I felt his warm breath on my shoulder blade and a curious tingle raced down my spine. I hadn’t realized he was so close. Naturally, he would have to lean forward to work on my spine, but I was suddenly very aware of him and it was making me feel…warm. Very warm.

  Wait, Friday is Valentine’s Day?

  “Huh?” I asked, knowing he’d asked me something but unable to recall what it was. His natural scent wafted to my nose, a unique smell that always reminded me of concrete right before a big rainstorm. It was one I’d alternated between finding comforting and annoying throughout the tenure of our friendship.

  “What did you tell her?” His hands made firm vertical strokes with his thumbs in the space between my shoulder blades.

  My eyes fluttered closed. So good…

  “Um….” I was having a hard time focusing on what he was saying. “Oh, um, that I’m leaving that day open in case Jayden wants to go out.”

  He made a sound of disgust and sat back. His hands returned to my lower back. “Right.”

  How odd it was that I could think clearer now that he no longer hovered over me.

  Ian rotated his thumbs against the curve of my spine, his fingers sliding into the groove
s between my lower rib cage and applying gentle pressure. His hands moved up after a moment, repeating the process with the middle ribs, and then at the top. My eyes opened again when I felt him place the tips of his fingers on the sides of my breasts. Hello, I thought when he pressed down. That curious tingle returned again, shooting down to my stomach this time. To my mortification, I felt my breasts swell and my nipples tighten.

  Um…

  I told myself not to freak. After all, my breasts had always been sensitive and with hands on them – even Ian’s – it was only natural that my body would respond.

  Right?

  “What about you? What are your plans?” I asked, thinking that talking was the best way to keep my mind off the way my body was responding to Ian’s touch. If I focused on his words, I wouldn’t have time to think about how my breasts were suddenly aching to be touched. Thus far, Ian seemed oblivious to the affect he was having on me and I intended to keep it that way.

  “For Friday?” His thumbs were now rubbing small circles in the tissue on either side of my spine, but his fingers hadn’t moved from my breasts. They continued to press into me, making small, circular motions, and driving me all sorts of crazy.

  I gritted my teeth, desperately trying to keep control of myself. Why aren’t his hands moving? And what did he just say? “Uh, yeah,” I said, hoping my response was correct.

  “Casey and I were talking about playing pool at O’Sheas.”

  Right; we were discussing Friday night. “No big date?”

  He made a scoffing noise. “On Valentine’s Day?”

  Ian had been preaching how Valentine’s Day was a commercialized crock ever since we were in high school. Maybe I needed to rethink this talking-to-keep-myself-distracted plan. If I kept asking stupid questions, he was going to catch on that something was up.

  I gave a weak laugh. “Oh, yeah. Sorry. The massage has my brain all mushy.” More like extremely turned on, I thought, fighting back nervous giggles.

  “Okay.”

  The compulsive giggle faded away when I detected an odd, guttural sound in his voice. Did he just growl? No, it had to be my mind playing tricks. I just needed to calm down. I closed my eyes, channeling the calming sounds of ocean waves breaking against rocks and birds chirping in the distance. That’s when I became aware that he was now retying the strings of my bikini top. When had he moved his hands? Better yet, why hadn’t I noticed? Maybe it was because I could still feel them there, still feel their warmth soaking into my skin, radiating outward…or downward, to be more precise.