The Art of Dating

by Messe, Ellie

  “I don’t want to talk about that.”

  “That’s fine; I like listening to myself talk.” I roll my eyes as he drops the box the bagels down on my cluttered coffee table. Picking up my legs, he sits down, dropping them on his lap. When I attempt to pull them away, he grabs my ankle, holding them there. “I think you’re embarrassed, but I’m worried you feel I took advantage of you.”

  “I don’t think that,” I answer honestly.

  “Well, that’s good.” He exhales loudly, “So it’s because you’re embarrassed?”

  "I'm not embarrassed." I don't think.

  “Then what did I make you feel?”

  “Confused,” I admit, pulling my bottom lip between my teeth.

  He licks his, raising his eyes to mine, “You’ve got to stop doing that.”

  “What?”

  “Biting your lip. I’m trying to do right by you and when you do that it becomes increasingly harder.”

  Is he admitting that I’m turning him on? “Habit, sorry.”

  “How did I confuse you?”

  “Because you’re not Cole,” I answer honestly.

  He laughs, “You’re right about that, but go ahead and elaborate.”

  “I shouldn’t be doing…things, with you, if I’m pining away for him.”

  He shrugs, “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t want to lose you when this is over. Lines are going to be blurred, and hearts are going to get broken.”

  He chuckles, “Who’s heart? Are you admitting something there, Duck?”

  Tugging hard, he finally releases my legs, allowing me to curl them tight against my body, “No, but I don’t want to risk it.”

  “Are you scared you’re going to fall in love with me?”

  “You’re so cocky. What if you fall for me?”

  “I can fuck you without loving you.”

  Butterflies bounce off the walls of my stomach, “I’m the ugly duck, remember?”

  Shaking his head, he stares at me before speaking, “You were never the ugly duck, just a little lost maybe.”

  Averting my eyes, I play with the sleeves of my shirt.

  “I’m not sure what there’s to be worried about, to be honest. Unless you’re a virgin or something.”

  “I’m not a virgin.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “I don’t know, Logan! I’ve already told you that.”

  He scrubs his face, sighing. “What are you feeling?”

  “Annoyed.”

  “I mean about what happened,” He growls, “When you freaked out, what were you feeling?”

  I shrug, “Embarrassment because I thought I was dreaming, ashamed, dirty, confused, and like a bad person.”

  “All that because I fingered you?”

  “You did not finger me; my clothes were still on.”

  “Alright, all that because I rubbed you?”

  “I don’t know, Logan!”

  “You do know,” He says, leaning forward to dig into the box. Removing a bagel, he takes a bite before continuing, “You just don’t want to admit it.”

  “Admit what?” I’ve already confessed my emotions, what more does he want?

  “You panicked because you liked it, you liked letting go, and the fact you were able to do it without Crull freaked you out.”

  “Cole.”

  “Whatever.”

  I sigh, adjusting so I sink deeper into the couch. I’m sure his reasoning is part of it, but it still doesn’t feel like that’s the whole story. Ugh, I hate being a woman; chock full of feelings and hormones that don’t do anything but confuse you and get in the way.

  “Admit it.” He says, breaking the silence.

  “That’s not it.”

  “So, you didn’t enjoy yourself?”

  My cheeks burn as embarrassment rises to the surface, “Let it go, Logan.”

  “Look how red you’re getting. Admit it; it’ll make you feel better. I know it would make me feel better. I love knowing I’m the best at everything.”

  “I should lie just to bring your ego down a notch.”

  “So, you admit it then?”

  “Fine! Yes, I admit I liked it. It freaked me out you could accomplish something in two minutes that he hasn’t been able to do in five years, but that doesn’t solve the riddle of why I want to puke every time I think about it or why I want to cry right now.”

  “Back up.” His face lights up with that stupid smug smile, “What did I accomplish that he couldn’t?”

  A new wave of heat kisses my face, “Nothing, let it go.”

  “Sure will not.”

  “Why is this all on me?” I sit up to better face him, “What about all that stuff you said in the elevator?”

  “What about it?” He asks around a mouthful.

  “All that mushy, love note stuff.”

  He laughs, covering his mouth to prevent spitting bits of bagel across the room, “Telling you how badly I want to fuck you is hardly a love letter.” Butterflies cannonball through my stomach.

  “Not going to happen.”

  “Why not?” He asks, almost offended.

  “Because you're helping me win back my ex? Don’t you see how horrible of a person I would be if I did that?”

  “You mean if you acted as though you were single?”

  “No, it would be wrong to lead you on with the intent of being with someone else.”

  “I highly doubt you’d be interested in Noel after being with me.”

  “Cole.” I correct, grabbing a bagel for myself. “And you and I are friends, right?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “So, no sex.” I shrug, the weight slowly starts to peel off my shoulders, maybe I just needed to talk to him all along.

  “Why can’t we be friends who sleep together?”

  “Because that’s wrong.”

  “In what world?” He laughs, “I’m single, you’re single, I’m well aware of your plans to get back with Cal, you might as well get off while you can seeing as Big C isn’t up for the job.”

  “Logan,” I glare shaking my head, “It’s not always about sex.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. A relationship may not be built on sex, but it certainly depends on it.”

  “I disagree,” I say, jutting out my chin. “I believe a relationship depends on the people involved. Sex is just a perk.”

  “You’re not allowed to have an opinion until you’ve been properly fucked.”

  I glare at him, “I’ve had amazing sex, thank you very much.”

  “Tsk, tsk. It’s not polite to lie.”

  “I don’t lie.”

  “Then you clearly have no idea what amazing is.”

  “How would you know?” I huff.

  “Because in five years he hasn’t been able to get you off once, it took me, what? Three minutes? Imagine what I could do if I got you excited.”

  “I’d rather be loved than fucked; I don’t need excitement.”

  The corner of his mouth rises in challenge right before my knees are grabbed and pulled towards him. My back hits the cushion with a thump before he crawls up my body. My food drops to the floor as his face nuzzles against my neck.

  “Logan, get off me!” I try to push him, but the guy won’t budge, “God, you weigh a ton!”

  He chuckles, sending goose bumps to follow the path of his breath, “Do you feel the difference?”

  “The difference in what, breathing and suffocating? If so, yes.”

  “You can feel excitement everywhere, can’t you?” He tells me, his scent is an assault on my senses as it taints my oxygen, filling my lungs with all things him. His hand runs down my ribs as he speaks, “What would you prefer; this or scheduled coupling on Sunday nights after playing scrabble with Memaw?”

  “My grandmother doesn’t even live in New York, and I’m not that boring.”

  “Yeah, I call bullshit on that one.”

  “I’m not.” I fight the tremble of my bones as my body comes
alive beneath him. This is exciting, but I don’t want it to be.

  “Prove it then,” His lips press against my jaw, running along my chin, “Kiss me.”

  “Friends don’t do that.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” He mumbles, threading his fingers through my hair, “We’ll be friends in a minute.”

  His lips seal over mine as his hips grind against me, his fingers tangling further into my curls. I give in without wanting to, his lips demand and mine bow immediately. I fight the urge to grind against him, ignoring the ache to pull him closer and swallow every moan that attempts to escape as he shows me just what I’ve been missing out on.

  Coming up for air, I glare at him, even though it’s empty and try to wiggle out from underneath his body. “I hope it’s out of your system now.”

  “Not entirely, but it’ll do for now.”

  “Well, that’s never happening again.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “I’m serious,” My glare becomes determined as we stare each other down.

  Eventually, the fat lard moves off me enough that I can breathe without smelling his sporty scent.

  “Fine, friends?” He says, offering me his hand.

  I stare at it for a moment trying to find out if this is a trick or not. When I’m convinced he won’t misbehave, I accept it, “Friends.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  "This friend thing isn't going to work if you don't stop touching me all the time." I scold, removing his arm from my shoulder.

  "No touching?"

  "Nope."

  "At all?" His face is scrunched in exaggerated disapproval.

  "No."

  "Not even a little?" He skims the pads of his fingers over the back of my hand.

  "Stop," I warn, pulling my hand away.

  "Why?"

  Because I can’t be trusted when you touch me? It’s been nearly a week since we had our little talk. At this point, I think our lessons are just cheap excuses to feel me up. We’ve been practicing ballroom dancing for the event next week. Every day I’m forced to be pressed against his chest, and every day I have to fight the urge to give in.

  "Cause friends don't touch like that."

  "Maybe your friends don't, but mine do."

  "Yeah, well you also sleep with said friends." I give him a knowing look.

  "But not you."

  "But not me."

  "What if you change your mind?"

  "About you touching me or my decision not to sleep with you?"

  He laughs abruptly and shakes his head. "I was talking about me touching you, but now I'm intrigued."

  "I'm not going to change my mind," I mumble, searching for the remote I just had. "About either of them."

  "But what if you do?"

  "Then I'll let you know."

  He lets out a chuckle and hands me the remote that was wedged between the cushions.

  "You'll tell me? When has a woman ever been so forthcoming about something she wants?"

  "Why are you so chauvinistic?"

  "Why are you so argumentative?"

  "I'm not."

  He laughs, "You're arguing right now."

  "I'm arguing to prove a point."

  "You're arguing to prove you're argumentative? I already knew that.”

  "Ugh, you're so annoying! No, I'm arguing because you're chauvinistic. Look, if I want you to touch me, I'll tell you. If I want to sleep with you, I'll tell you. I don't know why you keep throwing me into the lump sum of your prehistoric opinions of women but stop. I'm not like them."

  "Believe me; I'm well aware."

  "Then behave yourself." I elbow him teasingly and turn on the television.

  "Just to be clear, I'm fine with both." He says standing up to stretch.

  "Both of what?"

  "Touching and sex."

  "What?" I ask in genuine confusion.

  "I'm fine if you touch me, and I'm always fine if you want to sleep with me."

  "Oh, come off it!" I whine, throwing a handful of popcorn at him. "You heading out?" I ask, collecting the glasses and near empty bowl off the table.

  "Are you kicking me out?"

  "No, you can hang out if you want."

  "Cool. What do you want to do?" He asks, slouching back onto the couch.

  "I don't know."

  "What would you be doing if I left?"

  "I'm not sure, probably work."

  "Work? It's almost midnight."

  "I work better at night, it's weird." I start, loading our dishes into the dishwasher,"I have a hard time concentrating during the day."

  "It's because you think of me, isn't it?"

  "Oh, yeah. I just can't peel you from my thoughts." I answer sarcastically.

  "I knew it." His head lulls towards me, smiling at me.

  I roll my eyes in return coming over to sit back down.

  "Alright, Mr. Excitement, what do you want to do?"

  "It's Friday."

  "Mhm."

  "We have the entire weekend; I'm thinking somewhere warm and sunny."

  I roll my eyes again and shake my head. "No."

  "What? Why?"

  "Because that's not normal."

  "Who's to say what's normal? Why can't I take my friend to the beach for a weekend?"

  "Because I don't want you to. It makes girls feel cheap."

  "No, it doesn't." He argues, "Never, not once, have I made a girl feel cheap. I'm a surprisingly nice person."

  "Well, that’s debatable and anyway it makes me feel cheap. I'm not interested in your money."

  He leans forward, so our faces are almost touching; his lips tug up on the side when my eyes fall to his lips. "I never said you were."

  Looking away from him, I scoot back to gain a little room, “I’ve got a T.V if you want to watch something.”

  “You know, if you want to forget we’re friends for a little while, I know something we could do.”

  “Stop it.” I glare at him, though it holds no weight; the smile he wears tells me he’s only kidding.

  “It was just a suggestion.”

  “The answer’s no.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  I can feel his eyes on me while I channel surf and it makes my body flush. I know what he wants, and I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t want it just as bad.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  “If Devina refuses to date you then I think we should make a pact.” Amy smiles at Logan who leans against the bar next to her.

  Apparently, she has world-changing news that required us to meet her at a bar before she'd tell us. She’s been holding out on us for the last twenty minutes. Looking around the small establishment, I’m amazed by the drastic difference between the weekend crowds and this handful of Monday-night goers.

  “And what’s that?” He smiles.

  “If neither of us is married in two years, we marry each other.”

  Logan laughs, looking at me. I give him a shrug, “We could be like siblings-in-law if that happened.”

  “Sure, Amy. If we’re both still single in two years, I’ll marry you.”

  With a proud smile, she raises her cocktail, “Deal.”

  Clinking glasses, they both seal their arrangement.

  “Now that that’s out of the way do your future wife a favor and give me a drum roll.”

  With a chuckle, he bounces his fingers off the bar counter.

  “I have been named; wait for it…lead designer at Perkins fashion show this Friday.” Squealing, she dances in place, linking her fingers through mine as we shriek at the top of our lungs.

  “Congratulations!” I scream, more than half the bar is glaring at us, but I could care less because my best friend is going to be famous!

  “I’m so excited!”

  Letting me go, she hugs Logan. “You only have a week to prepare?” He asks, wrapping his arms around her waist in a friendly embrace.

  I try not to be bothered by it, reminding myself it’s Cole who I’m after, if anything I should be
rooting for them, my two best friends marrying each other should be a dream come true.

  “We have all of the clothing already,” She pulls away, “I just have to create unique, and tasteful ensembles to highlight each piece for the spring collection.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “Thanks.” Wearing a huge smile, she swoons against the bar. “It’s Friday at nine, can you both come?”

  “Duh!” I tease, she knows damn well I wouldn’t miss this for the world.

  “Logan?”

  “I’d be honored.”

  “Okay.” She claps her hands together, “Let’s celebrate!”

  Even though I was more than capable of taking a cab home from Amy’s, Logan insisted on taking me home himself.

  “What would be a good gift to get Amy?” He asks as we pull away from her apartment.

  “For what?”

  “Something celebratory.”

  “I don’t know.” I say, looking at the carpeted floor in thought, “I can ask if you want. Wait-“ I hold my hand up as I think of the perfect gift. “It’s expensive, but there’s this red skirt suit that she’s been going on non-stop about. I don’t know how much it is or where to find it, but I can find out.”

  “Not now.” He says when I remove my phone. “I want it to be a surprise.”

  “Okay, I’ll text her tomorrow then.”

  “What do you say to going to dinner first?”

  “She probably won’t be able to because she has to get ready for the show.”

  “Okay, how about we go to dinner before?”

  “Like a date?”

  The right side of his mouth tilts, “Yes.”

  My stomach twists, I’m scared by the fact it doesn’t feel like a negative twist, “Logan, I-I don’t know about that.”

  “You’ve had dinner with me countless times.”

  “Yeah, but none of them were dates.”

  “Is there a difference?”

  I scoff, “Yes, there’s a difference. One is two friends getting dinner; the other is a date.”

  “Why can’t it be two friends going on a date?”

  “Because it’s not right,” I admit sadly as Caleb shoulders the car outside my apartment.

  “It’s four days away,” He starts as I collect my purse from the foot well, “Think about it?”

  “Sure,” I promise.