Sex Drive

by Susan Lyons

  As he spoke, I did let myself imagine it. All of it. Damien and me together. Working together. Swimming on Bondi Beach. Being lovers.

  Wait. Lovers and business partners? The thought was amazingly appealing but also scary. “Damien, that’s…big. A book is a long-term project.” Had he thought through the implications? “What if we stop getting along?” When I broke up with Jeffrey, I’d not only left the university he worked at, I’d dropped the field of study I’d specialized in and moved away from Canada. Mixing a personal relationship with a work one could have drastic consequences.

  “Does it feel to you like that’s going to happen?”

  “N-no. But it’s so early.”

  “I know. But we’re solid, you and me. Solid enough that, even if the, uh, you know…romantic relationship doesn’t work out, we’ll still be friends. Still be able to work together.” He narrowed his eyes, studying me closely. “Don’t you think?”

  “I’d hope so. But there’s no guarantee.”

  “Life doesn’t come with guarantees.”

  What I had now, with my teaching position and reputation in the academic community, was as close to being safe as anything could be. My career path almost was guaranteed.

  If I opted into Damien’s project and things went well, I’d lose some academic credibility, influence thousands of lives, and have a romantic relationship with a fascinating, gorgeous, sexy man. If things went badly, I could lose everything.

  “Damien, right now it seems as if we could work together.” I spoke slowly, thinking it out as I went. “I like you and care about you. I want to be with you, figuring it out as we go like we said earlier. But I’m scared. If something goes wrong for us personally, the book project could fall apart.” Softly, I added, “When I broke up with Jeffrey, I had to make a whole new start in a different country. I don’t want to do that again.”

  “I’m not Jeffrey. Damn it, Theresa, when are you going to realize that?” He sounded hurt, and genuinely troubled. “Are you going to doubt everything I do, everything I say? I can’t live like that. If you don’t trust me, then we have nothing.”

  Trust him. Could I?

  “The only lie I’ve ever told,” he went on, “was about us being engaged. And that was stupid. I did it on the spur of the moment, to get rid of Carmen without hurting her feelings.”

  “You didn’t tell me who you were,” I said slowly. Then, “But I understand why.”

  “Theresa, I promise I’ll never deceive you again.” His expression was fierce, apparently sincere. “Can’t you leave Jeffrey behind, and just be with me?”

  It was an excellent question. If I hadn’t had the bad experience with Jeffrey, I wouldn’t be lugging around such a huge weight of insecurity. But Jeffrey was ten years ago. I’d matured a lot since then, and especially in the short time I’d known Damien.

  “You’re right,” I said softly. “I’m finished with Jeffrey. I’m a different woman now. I’m…” I smiled at him, knowing I could say the words and believe them. “I’m beautiful and sexy and fun. And smart, confident, and successful.” Attractive to men. It wouldn’t be hard to find a relationship if I wanted one. But the only man I wanted to be with was the one beside me.

  “I trust you, Damien, and I trust me to have good judgment and good common sense.” No longer would I let insecurity and fear cripple my life. “Yes, let’s do the book if your agent can sell it. And let’s swim on Bondi Beach and do everything else we want to. And trust ourselves to work out any problems that come along.”

  His eyes had brightened as I spoke. He squeezed my hands so hard it hurt. “God, Tezzie, I’m nuts about you.”

  I gazed into his eyes and saw all those things again. Respect, passion, affection. And I knew his eyes were telling the truth.

  Joy bloomed inside me and my own eyes teared up. “I’m nuts about you, too.”

  Our lips met in a soft kiss, one that hinted of many, many more kisses to come.

  “Watch your knees and elbows.” A female voice accompanied by a clanking sound jolted me out of my reverie.

  Glancing around, I saw that not only was the plane in the air, the flight attendants were wheeling drink trolleys up the aisle. Damien unclipped his seat belt and I noticed how uncomfortable he looked, crammed into that middle seat. “Let’s change seats,” I suggested.

  “What about your claustrophobia?”

  “I’m not claustrophobic. I did have a tension headache, but it’s gone. It was the Jeffrey thing.”

  “The…” A horrified expression crossed his face. “Oh my God, you thought I wanted to use your work without giving you credit.”

  “I’m sorry. I overheard you on the phone in the airport and it sounded like…Yes, I leaped to a conclusion. The wrong one. Not because of anything you did, but because of my own insecurity. Please forgive me. Honestly, it won’t happen again.”

  He was scowling. “I’d really like to punch that guy out.”

  “You know,” I said slowly, realizing something, “I’m not blameless in that situation. I leaped to a conclusion then, too. And when he tried to explain, I refused to listen. Yes, I still think what he did was shabby, but maybe his intentions weren’t as bad as I thought. Or maybe they were, but the point is, I didn’t find out. I judged, and I left.”

  Damien nodded. “I hear you. And?”

  “And I won’t do it again.” I smiled as I thought of something. “If there’s a problem, I’ll remember what that older woman, Delia, said. Talk things out, make up, and move on.”

  “Good plan.”

  “You forgive me?”

  He gave me a warm, easy smile, and I knew he was putting the whole thing behind us. “I will if you give me your seat, Prof.”

  I unfastened my seat belt and stepped into the aisle. “It’s all yours.”

  A couple of minutes later, we had resettled. With our seats reclined a little and the armrest between them pulled up, I turned toward Damien, deliberately putting my back to the bald man, who still seemed intent on his novel. Or was he pretending, out of politeness? How much of our conversation had he heard? It had to have been at least as entertaining as whatever he was reading.

  Embarrassed, I said in a businesslike tone, “What’s the next step with the book, Damien?”

  “We’ll come up with a proposal that’s so strong, they can’t say no.” He clasped my hand, as if touching me was the most natural thing in the world. I wasn’t even sure he was aware of doing it, which somehow made it even more special. “It would be great to work on it during this flight. Much easier doing it in person than through e-mail.”

  Oh no, he had no intention of shutting me out. This was our project from the start.

  “Sounds good.” A thought occurred to me. “I know you’re part Aboriginal, but only a quarter, and I’m a total outsider. We want to make sure we represent Indigenous Australians accurately and respectfully, not offend the very people we want to help. I think we need to involve some Aborigines and Torres Strait Islanders. Maybe have an advisory board?”

  “Fine idea. We could ask some community leaders.”

  “Perhaps also some people who have no public profile at all. Just normal indigenous people, urban and rural.”

  “I like that. It would be a good mix.”

  Tentatively, I said, “Do you think any of your Aboriginal relatives would be interested?”

  “Oh, man. Er, let me think.”

  “You said they thought your Kalti books exploited what they’d taught you. Well, this should be a project they’d approve of.” Maybe he could rebuild his relationship with them.

  “It should. My granny would like it that I was respecting them and coming to them for guidance. Yeah, that’s a cool idea.”

  “What about your parents? They probably won’t like this project.” I’d got the impression he avoided his folks, which seemed sad. I hated to think our book would make things worse.

  “I’m a big boy. I don’t need approval. Understanding would be good, but tha
t’s not likely to happen.” His jaw firmed. “You know, it’s past time I had a serious talk with them.”

  “Good for you.” I squeezed his hand. “I hope you can help them understand.”

  “We’ll see. How about your parents? Will they think it’s a waste of your talent?”

  “Uh…” I blew out a puff of air as I reflected. “They’ll worry about my professional reputation, but when I tell them our goal, how many people we hope to reach, I think they might even be impressed.”

  He’d started to frown again while I spoke. “Damn, Theresa. Is this going to hurt your reputation? I don’t want that.”

  “I know. And it might, but that’s my choice. My decision.” I smiled. “And it’s made.”

  “If I’d realized I was asking you to—”

  “Decision made,” I cut him off.

  When a flight attendant offered drinks, Damien chose a beer and I went with white wine. We raised our glasses. “Here’s to the two of us shaking things up for the better,” he said.

  I knew he was referring to the impact we hoped our book would have, but when I echoed his words, I was thinking of a broader meaning. Of the effect he’d had on me and my life. He’d shaken me out of my rut, as both a woman and a sociologist. And I’d had an impact on him, too.

  “When do you head home to Sydney?” he asked.

  “A few days after the wedding. So I’ll be there when you get back.”

  “It’s gonna be a long month,” he said. “I’ll miss you.”

  “Me too. There’s always e-mail and phone.”

  His eyes gleamed and he leaned close to whisper in my ear, “We can try our talents at phone sex. That’ll make those lonely hotel rooms a lot cheerier.” He nibbled my earlobe gently.

  The erotic touch, the sexy suggestion, got me so hot and bothered I almost missed it when he said, “Maybe you could join me for the last part of the tour.”

  “Wow, I…Let me think. I have grad students to supervise. But I could do that by e-mail and an occasional phone call.”

  “I’ll give you my schedule. We’ll talk about it. My admin assistant Bobby could make the arrangements.” He winked. “Might be able to find a beach or two along the route.”

  The memory of moonlit Waikiki Beach made me squirm. Mindful of the stranger behind me, I said, “Let’s get to work on that book proposal.”

  I was about to reach down for the bag containing my computer when Damien thrust his beer at me and folded his tray table. “Hold this while I get my computer out of the overhead.”

  When he’d set up and opened a blank document, he turned to me. “Need to think about a title. It’s got to be catchy. Let’s brainstorm about what we want to say.”

  For a few minutes, we bounced ideas around, then I said, “How about something around apologies? Perhaps When Apologies Aren’t Enough?”

  “Hey, I like that.” He typed it, then mused. “Or maybe When Sorry Doesn’t Cut It.”

  “That’s good, too.”

  He typed it as well, fingers as deft on the keyboard as they were on my body. “We’ll give Alex half a dozen suggestions and she’ll probably have some ideas, too.”

  After we’d come up with a few more, he said, “Now, what do we say about the book?”

  My fingers itched for the keyboard. “I’m used to working alone,” I confessed.

  “Me, too.”

  “And I’m a bit of a control freak.”

  His mouth twitched. “Oh, really? Well, I’m an easygoing bastard. So, Prof, you hinting you want to type?”

  “Maybe we could pass the computer back and forth?”

  “Here ya go.” He shuffled it over to my tray table, taking care not to knock my glass.

  I typed for a few minutes, then, feeling self-conscious, showed him the screen.

  He read, nodded, frowned, reached for the computer, then revised what I’d written and added a couple of sentences before and after.

  When he’d finished, I leaned closer, reading. He’d taken my passive tense, made it active, punchier. Replaced some of the jargon with layperson’s wording. I realized I’d been writing as if this were a grant application.

  I pointed to the screen and made a couple of suggestions, which we discussed. Then he said, “You want to draft the part about the advisory board? And we’ll need a bio for you.”

  I took the computer back and worked for awhile. Then we discussed, revised, kept adding and honing. And it was stimulating, fun, just as Damien had said it would be. The fact of arms and thighs brushing, the occasional quick kiss, was a bonus. Maybe I didn’t do so well with teamwork, but partnership with Damien was working out just fine. I was relieved, almost giddy with pleasure by the time we’d arrived at a draft we felt happy about.

  When he’d put his computer away and folded up his tray table, he reached over to hook his arm around my shoulders and pull me against him. I wrapped an arm around his waist, feeling his rangy strength, the heat of his skin beneath the white T-shirt. My lover. My coauthor.

  We’d just spent the last hour on the coauthor part and it would have been nice if we could now concentrate on being lovers. I pressed a kiss against his neck, noticing he was getting a five o’clock shadow.

  “Not much privacy on this flight,” he murmured.

  “That’s for sure.” When I glanced up, I saw the young mother across the aisle watching us, an expression of envy on her face and a baby on her lap. A boy of perhaps six occupied the seat between her and her husband.

  The sight reminded me I had a wedding to plan. Reluctantly I eased from Damien’s embrace. “I want to have a comprehensive wedding checklist by the time I get home.”

  “And I’ve been neglecting those galleys.”

  My eyes were tired from lack of sleep, so I pulled out my reading glasses and got to work. For the next couple of hours we worked peacefully, arms brushing often. Looking up to buy chicken wraps, drink water, share the remaining Ghirardelli chocolate bar. Exchanging an occasional comment, a caress, a kiss, but mostly concentrating on our tasks. I did my very best to try not to mumble out loud—less because of Damien than out of courtesy for the man on my other side.

  Every time I glanced his way, he was deep in his book. In fact, when the male flight attendant came by to ask if he’d like a cup of coffee, he didn’t hear. I nudged him. “Sir? The flight attendant wants to know if you’d like coffee.”

  “Oh, sorry.” He turned toward the other man. “Yes, please and thanks. Cream and sugar.”

  When the coffee was on his tray table, he turned to me. “Thanks.”

  “No problem. Good book?”

  “Yeah, it’s a page-turner.” He held it up so I could see the cover, which had a “dark and stormy night” image of a man running.

  “You like suspense?”

  “Suspense and thrillers, the occasional mystery.”

  I extracted my purse from under the seat in front and found one of Damien’s bookmarks. “Here’s an author you might enjoy. The books are set in Australia and it’s a series with a cop protagonist. There’s a touch of the supernatural as well.”

  He glanced at both sides of the bookmark, then nodded. “Thanks for the tip. I’ll look these up.” Then he stuck the bookmark into his book and carried on reading.

  When I turned away from him, Damien was watching me, a grin on his face. “Good work. Thanks.” He stretched, caressed my arm lightly. “How’s the wedding coming?”

  “It’s intimidating and overwhelming, I don’t know how we’ll ever pull it off. But my plan is almost done. I’ll sit down with Merilee and get her input.”

  We both turned back to our tasks. I’d almost finished skimming through the wedding bible and making notes. Even though there were a million things to do, I was comfortable with the process of project planning. It suited me to think ahead and try to anticipate every eventuality. I wasn’t a spontaneous person.

  And yet, here I was with Damien. It didn’t make sense.

  Being with Jeffrey had made s
ense, at least at the time, given what I thought I’d known about him. We were in the same field, both academics; we were a logical match. Damien and I, though…In some ways we were similar, in others we were opposites. It made things exciting.

  I thought about my parents. They definitely had things in common, like their strong drive to help people and their desire that their children be happy, healthy, and successful. Yet Dad was most comfortable in a research lab and Mom loved being out in the world, meeting people face-to-face and working to solve their legal problems. Maybe it was partly their differences—the old “opposites attract” thing—that had kept their marriage strong for so many years.

  They’d made it clear they wanted happy relationships for their daughters, but so far the oldest three of us had let them down. What was I going to tell them about Damien?

  Or was I, yet?

  16

  Damien finished another chapter of proofreading and stretched, rotating his head. Theresa was staring at him, those professorial reading glasses shoved up on top of her head, messing up her hair. “Hey, Prof, how ya going?”

  “Where are you staying in Vancouver?”

  Not exactly a response to his question, but he answered her anyhow. “Think it’s called the Rosedale. It’s close to the radio station where I’ll be taping a morning interview, and to the main branch of the library, where I’m scheduled to chat with a buyer later in the morning. And only a few blocks from the store where I’ll be signing.”

  “Hmm. That is convenient.” Her furrowed brow sent a different message than her words.

  “Not a good hotel?”

  “Oh, I’m sure it’s great. I was just thinking…” She trailed off and didn’t finish.

  He waited. Then prompted, “You were thinking?”