Sex, Not Love

by Vi Keeland

  “Not much to tell.”

  “Ever married?”

  “Nope.”

  “Engaged?”

  “Nope.”

  “Serious girlfriend.”

  “One.”

  I took another sip. “Now we’re getting somewhere. How long was that relationship?”

  “A few years.”

  Although that surprised me, it did make sense. I wanted no part of a relationship because of my sour outlook after my marriage. “Why did you break up?”

  He shifted in his seat. “Life.”

  “Ah. That tells me a lot.”

  “I prefer to live my life looking forward, not backward. You look in the rearview mirror too often, sometimes you miss what’s right in front of you.”

  Huh. Not the answer I expected. But a damn good point.

  The waitress came back to our table. Her timing was perfect for a change in the tone of our conversation. After she took our dinner order, and I finished off my large margarita, I shared something I’d been thinking about earlier as I was getting ready.

  “My mom’s a big gardener. Growing up, she would plant a different flower on my birthday each year—one that would bloom around my spring birthday. Every year, we’d go outside to plant a new one, and all of my birthday plants would be in bloom. When I went away to college, she would snap pictures and send them in my card. It’s kind of goofy, but I loved it and looked forward to it each year. Yesterday, when you showed me your mom’s birthday birdhouses, it made me think maybe we could start some sort of a tradition for Caroline.”

  Hunter sat back in his chair. “I’d like that. What did you have in mind?”

  “You know the big oak tree that’s right outside Caroline’s bedroom window in the yard?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I was thinking maybe we could send her plants every year to hang from that tree on her birthday. You could make Anna and Derek a flower box to keep all the flowers in individual containers with hangers. Then on her birthday each year, we could take turns going over the night before and hanging all the plants on the tree—sort of like a Christmas tree, but a birthday tree instead.”

  Hunter stared at me funny for a minute. I thought it might’ve been a look of disappointment, which caused me to say, “If you think it’s silly, we can just forget it.”

  “No, not at all. I think it’s a great idea.”

  “Oh, okay. You made a weird face, so I thought maybe you thought it was a dumb idea.”

  Hunter scratched his chin and did this squinty thing with his eyes that looked like he was trying to figure out a problem.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Tell me. I saw on your face that you were thinking something.”

  He stared for another minute before leaning forward and folding his hands on the table. “Alright, when I went to Anna to try to get your telephone number after you blew me off with the wrong one, she refused, and when I asked her why, she said, ‘I’m not giving it to you for your own good. She’s as beautiful inside as she is out, and she’ll break your heart when you realize she’s not ready to let anyone in.’” He paused. “Figured she was full of shit and was trying to pass on your rejection so it wouldn’t hurt my fragile ego. Now I’m not so sure anymore.”

  ***

  Hunter didn’t joke around about us having sex when we left the restaurant. To my surprise, he didn’t even attempt to come up to my room after he walked me into the lobby.

  “Thank you for dinner, even though I should’ve been the one who paid since it’s your birthday. And thank you for picking me up at the airport, letting me crash at your house, and shuttling me all over.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  I pressed the button to the elevator. “I guess I’ll be in touch next year for our first joint Caroline-birthday-tradition present?”

  “Going to need to exchange numbers to get in touch next year. Think you can give me the right number now that we’ve made friends?”

  I smiled. “Sure.”

  Hunter dug into his pocket for his cell and extended it to me, but when I went to take it, he latched onto my hand. “Kiss me once more.”

  I looked around the hotel. There were people milling around in the lobby, even a family with kids. “I’m not sure our kiss would be G-rated enough for the lobby.”

  As if it was in cahoots with the man, the elevator dinged, announcing its arrival. Hunter took my hand and pulled me inside. He pressed the button to close the doors and tugged me close. “Now we have privacy. What floor?”

  “Fifteen. But I’m not going—”

  The rest of my sentence was swallowed into a kiss as Hunter planted his mouth over mine. Perhaps it was third time’s a charm, or perhaps I was aware that the elevator ride wouldn’t last very long and subconsciously didn’t want to waste even a second, but I didn’t bother to try to fight it. I opened for him, and my body melted into his the minute his eager tongue found mine. The electricity that had been zapping between us since the very first kiss ignited like a two-hundred-and-twenty-volt switch had been flipped on. Hunter gripped my wrists and held them behind my back, which only made my need to touch him even more desperate.

  When the kiss broke, I was confused. My heart raced, my breaths were ragged and uneven, and the elevator doors I’d watched close were now open again. Apparently we’d risen fifteen floors, and I hadn’t felt a thing. Hunter knelt and picked his cell up from the floor. I’d dropped it without even realizing. That seemed to be a common thing when he kissed me—my ability to focus on anything other than the kiss disappeared.

  He held out his phone and cleared his throat, although his voice was still hoarse when he spoke. “If you want me to be a gentleman and stay on this elevator, put your number in. Otherwise, we’re going to your room until you give it up.”

  I collected myself and nodded, still unable to find my voice. Before that kiss, I’d had every intention of giving Hunter my phone number. What was the harm? He lived three-thousand miles away, and I was reasonably assured he wasn’t a serial killer. Plus, we now had an annual gift to coordinate for our sweet Caroline. But my still-racing heart reminded me that this was a man I should minimize contact with. There was no specific reason, yet I knew it was the right thing to do. It was like when someone throws a punch and you instinctively raise your hands to protect your face. Hunter’s kiss sent my body into self-protective mode. Smiling up at him and taking in his handsome face one last time, I punched seven digits into his phone and offered it back.

  “You sure it’s the right number this time?”

  I lied. “Yes.” Then I practically ran out of the elevator. “Goodnight, Hunter. Happy birthday. Take care of yourself.”

  Chapter 10

  Hunter

  12 years ago

  Nine hours on a bus that smells like urine. Happy birthday to me.

  The last time I made the trip from Berkeley to UCLA, I’d been fucking miserable. The air conditioning had been crap during one of the worst heat waves to hit southern California in a decade. A month later, summer’s heat had cooled into fall, so at least the temperature wasn’t making the already bad smell into pungent hot piss. Still, next time I needed to get to the terminal earlier so I didn’t get stuck sitting next to the nasty bathroom.

  The only good thing about this trip was that the seat next to me was empty. And I’d fully taken advantage, spreading my charcoal pencils and sketchpads all over the place. I was shading the angles of a drawing due Monday for my structural design class when my phone buzzed in my pocket. I smiled before even digging it out, knowing it was her.

  The season might have cooled, but things were just getting heated with my very own Summer. After spending hours in the fountain together the afternoon we met, she’d had to take off—her parents were picking her up for a weekend back down in San Diego where they lived. We’d exchanged numbers, and I’d wound up texting her at two in the morning that night after having a few too many beers with my brother
and his friends. Even my drunken texts that rambled on about how gorgeous she was didn’t scare her away. Over the next six weeks, we texted or talked a few times a day, yapping about all sorts of shit that I didn’t normally talk about. But recently, as my visit neared, our texts had taken a hot and heavy turn. We’d gone from talking about her stepfather being an asshole, my mom’s death, and our plans for the future, to what we wanted to do to each other when we were together again.

  I typed in my password, and her new text popped up.

  Summer: Truth or dare?

  I smiled. Considering I was sitting on a bus, there wasn’t much of a choice. Plus, it seemed to be our thing. I always picked truth. Summer always picked dare.

  Hunter: Truth.

  Summer: Hmm…. Okay. Let me think of something good.

  A few minutes later another text arrived.

  Summer: What’s the grossest thing you’ve ever done with a girl?

  I knew the answer without even needing to ponder, although I wasn’t sure she’d like to hear it. I typed back.

  Hunter: Are you sure you want the truth on this one? What if it grosses you out?

  Summer: Now I’m totally intrigued and need to know…

  I chuckled. Okay, you asked for it.

  Hunter: I sucked a girl’s toes once. I should add that she’d just gotten out of the shower, so they were clean.

  Summer: Is that something you’re into?

  Hunter: Not at all.

  Summer: You just wanted to try it?

  Hunter: No. She asked me to.

  Summer: Hmmm…

  What did that mean? Hmmm...

  Hunter: Did I gross you out?

  Summer: Not at all. Just the opposite. I think it’s sexy that you’ll do something you aren’t into just to please your partner.

  I wanted to demonstrate my dedication to pleasing her in the worst way.

  Hunter: Your turn. Truth or Dare?

  She typed back immediately.

  Summer: Dare.

  I knew what I wanted. Hell, I had a stiff one growing in my pants from just the thought of what I wanted to dare her to do. But I didn’t want to be a dick and type send me a skin shot. So I went light, tossing the ball in her corner.

  Hunter: Send me a sexy pic.

  My phone went quiet after that for a good ten minutes. I’d started to get concerned that I might’ve upset her when it buzzed again.

  Summer: Use your hands to shield your phone so no creepers on the bus see over your shoulder.

  Fuck yeah.

  A few seconds later, a picture flashed on my screen. Summer was completely naked, even if I didn’t get a full look at everything. She was kneeling to the side with her legs closed and had one arm positioned across her chest so it covered almost both her breasts, except she’d left her pointer and middle finger spread wide so her left nipple was on full display. As if that wasn’t the sexiest thing I’d ever seen, the face she made was the frosting on the cake. Her head was tilted down in a shy way, but her lips were parted in a pout as she looked up at the camera from under her thick lashes.

  Fuck. She was every guy’s wet dream. Open, free spirited, face like an angel, and body like the devil. I stared at the picture so long, I hadn’t realized how much time went by until Summer texted again.

  Summer: Say something. Was that too much? What are you sitting there thinking?

  Hunter: You want the truth?

  Summer: Of course.

  Hunter: You’re fucking gorgeous. I’m wondering if I should slip into the piss-smelling bus bathroom to jerk off now or try to hang on until I get to my brother’s place.

  Summer: LOL. Happy birthday, Hunter. Can’t wait to say it in person.

  She probably thought I was kidding. I took a deep whiff in. God, this bus reeked. Jayce’s room, it is. Sorry, big bro. Which reminded me…Summer and I had talked about spending time together this weekend, but we hadn’t made any specific plans, and my brother wanted me to go to some party to meet a girl he was head over heels for.

  Hunter: What are you doing tonight? My brother wants to take me to a party at one of his frat brother’s houses. Want to come along?

  Summer: Hmmm. I promised a friend I’d stop by a party, too. It’s off campus. How about we each go make our appearances and meet up afterward back at the dorms?

  Getting two parties over with at the same time so we could be alone sounded like a damn good plan to me.

  Hunter: I’ll text you when I can escape.

  Summer: Can’t wait to see you.

  I spent the last hour of my bus ride memorizing every detail of Summer’s body as I stared at the picture she’d sent. There was something special about this girl—and it wasn’t just that she was better than a pinup. I even wanted Jayce to meet her, something I’d never given a shit about before. Neither one of us had ever brought a girl home to meet Mom. That thought made my heart heavy, knowing it would never happen now. But for some reason, Summer was different. We’d only spent four hours together in person, though we’d been talking for over a month. Yet I wanted her to meet the only real family I had left. Jayce would like her—hell, we had similar taste in girls.

  Chapter 11

  Natalia

  Since I’d returned from California, I’d missed three Sunday night dinners at my mother’s house, and now I was late for a fourth because our train hadn’t budged in fifteen minutes.

  “Why don’t we just take your car, or better yet, an Uber, out to Howard Beach like we always did when Dad came?”

  Isabella was a smart girl. She knew the answer.

  “Because driving from the City to Howard Beach takes forever in traffic, and an Uber is a hundred and fifty dollars round trip. The A train is faster and three bucks each way.”

  She raised her perky little nose in the air. “When I grow up, I’m not going to be poor.”

  “We’re not poor.”

  “So why are we in this stalled sweat box right now instead of an air-conditioned Uber?”

  “Because we don’t waste money. We make wise decisions on how to use it.” I pointed my chin at her feet. “You know, like on those hundred-and-forty-dollar Nikes I just bought you. There’s your Uber.”

  She rolled her eyes, but stopped bitching. A few minutes later, the train finally started to move again. It was just in the nick of time, too. I’m not claustrophobic or anything, but the oppressive heat had me feeling like I was trapped inside a sealed baggie with no air.

  Mom’s house was a fifteen-minute walk from the train. She lived in the same two-family brick house we’d lived in growing up—only instead of a tenant to help pay the rent upstairs, now my oldest sister and her family occupied the space. They’d moved in two years ago when she had her second baby so Mom could help with the kids.

  The smell of sauce wafted through the air as we turned the corner to my mother’s block. Of course, this was Howard Beach, so almost every brick house in the neighborhood had an Italian family cooking sauce—or gravy, as most of them called it. But I could actually identify the smell of my mom’s sauce. My mouth salivated as we walked closer.

  I used my key to let myself in. “We’re here! Sorry we’re late.”

  My mother pursed four fingers together while she spoke. “The pasta is going to be overcooked.” She power-kissed both of my cheeks and then moved on to Izzy. “You’ve grown even more in the last few weeks. Now you have more room for meatballs. Come. You can lick the spoons on the cake I just made before you set the table.”

  I followed the two of them into the eye of the storm, otherwise known as the kitchen. My two nieces were in highchairs, the one year old crying and the two year old banging a spoon against her plastic tray while yelling “Ma Ma Ma Ma” nonstop. My sister Alegra yelled hello while dumping sauce from a giant pot into a giant bowl. My sister Nicola screamed fuck while pulling bread from the oven—she’d apparently burned herself. And Mom began scolding her in Italian for her language.

  Yep. I missed Sunday night dinners.
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br />   Jumping in, I grabbed glasses and napkins and started setting the dining room table. When I went back into the kitchen to grab plates, the doorbell rang.

  “Will Francesca ever remember her key?”

  “Your sister isn’t coming. She’s in Jersey for the weekend, down at the shore,” Mom mumbled. “I hope she brought sunscreen.”

  “Well, that makes setting the table a lot easier.” My sister Francesca had an array of obsessive-compulsive behaviors, one of them being symmetry and orderliness. It took her over an hour to fix the table after someone else set it on Sundays. Growing up, I’d shared a room with her, which was how I became interested in cognitive behavioral therapy to begin with—not that she’d let me work with her or even go see a different therapist.

  The doorbell rang again.

  “Natalia, go answer the door.”

  “Why? It’s probably just someone who wants to save our souls.” I turned to Alegra. “On second thought, you should probably get it. Your soul needs saving, floozy.”

  Mom barked, “Go get the door, Natalia. That’s our guest. Don’t keep him waiting.”

  “Our guest?”

  “Go! And brush your hair before you answer the door.”

  I shook my head, but headed to the front door anyway. If Bella Rossi said jump…

  The peephole was so damn high, I had to stand on my tippy toes and crane my neck to the sky. A man stood on the top step of the stoop, facing the street. From the back, he looked damn good in his jeans. Maybe I should have fixed my hair for the Jehovah’s Witness after all. Wait? Do Jehovah Witnesses have premarital sex? I smirked to myself. I really need to get laid. I’m checking out the religious solicitor standing on the stoop next to a statue of the Virgin Mary at my mother’s house.

  With a smile still on my face, I opened the door. “Can I help you?”

  The man turned, and my breath caught in my throat. I blinked a few times, but it didn’t change the face in front of me—the gorgeous face with a smile that slowly curved into something wicked.