by Gina Kincade
Ryder’s brown eyes widen then narrow. Different from mine, his eyes are a lighter brown—caramel-colored, and he has these warm golden starbursts close to his pupils. But right before he kissed me his eyes were dark, maybe even darker than mine. I might not be able to gauge his emotions from his stone-like face, but his eyes always give him away.
Or do they?
I don’t know him—the man who’s cornering me even more into this alcove, almost awakening my fear triggers with his serious expression and the way he keeps shaking his head.
“Did I want to kiss you?” He sounds incredulous.
Something about his tone, the way he’s cornering me, is irritating. Although, in this kind of situation, if it were any other man, I’d be fearful. I’d be panicking. But somehow, I’m irritated, so I say, “Yeah,” sounding annoyed and angry and probably juvenile.
My butt bumps against the alcove behind me, and he places both his hands on the wall close to my head, caging me in. He’s leaning down, looking furious, like the first time he’d worked with Dr. Murphy who made a comment about male nurses being paid muscle, rather than real nurses who care for their patients. I’d had a talk with Dr. Murphy after that about sexual harassment and hospital administrators breaking down on physicians who seemed bigoted against male nurses. I pretended to be buddy-buddy then lied and said the admins were asking me for an interview about his conduct. I scared the shit out of him and that made me so happy.
“Look at me.” Ryder’s voice is a growl.
“I am,” I holler, knowing I’m gazing at him just as furiously as he is at me.
“I’m not sorry I pushed the kiss that far because I want you. I fucking want you so bad I can hardly think of anything else. I’ve never wanted a woman the way I want you. And I’m irritated you can’t tell that I wanted to kiss you, that you even had to ask.”
“But I was the one who—”
“Asha, you weren’t the one, okay? I kissed you. I’ll pay the consequences of it.”
“Consequences?”
“Consequences.”
I shake my head. “What are you talking about?”
“Like the fact that I’m not sure if you—”
“Oh, I did, buddy. I wanted that. I wanted to kiss you, be kissed by you.”
His shoulders loosen, his face softens. A full-blown smile emerges, making my heart beat wildly. “Then why are we fighting about it?”
I tilt my chin up. “I. Don’t. Know.”
He chuckles as he slides his big hands on my shoulders. “I want to kiss you. Right here. In the hallway. Where other doctors and nurses can see us.”
“Oh,” I whisper.
His dark brows pucker. “Or did you only want the one kiss?”
I shake my head.
“Do you know what you want? From me?”
It hits me then. He’s as insecure about whatever it is we’ve got going on as I am. Wow. Ryder. Insecure? He’s adorable, looking at me with a cross between desire and something holding him back. I’ve never wanted a man before. But I think I want Ryder.
I think I want him to become my very first lover.
He growls as we hear more people approaching. Taking my hand in his, he leads me away from the alcove, his face back to somber mixed with a little pissed off. I even like him pissed off. I’ve got it bad for him.
I try to keep pace with his long legs and whisper, “Do you know what you want from me?”
He glances down at me as a huge group of new hospital workers are getting a tour from one of our volunteers who’s talking about when building this side of the hospital, the construction workers found fossils, some of which are framed along the walls.
When we pass the tour, he nods while he’s looking down at me.
“Do you know what you want from me?” he asks again.
He answered my question without telling me what his answer is. Frustrating man. Although that’s fair, it’s driving me bonkers and leads me to use my imagination for his answer.
What if he only wants sex?
I mean, he kind of looks like the kind of guy who would only be interested in sex. I think they call it sex on a stick—the type of guy he is. Or am I objectifying him? I think I am.
I’ve been better at relationships than physical intimacy. I dated a man for almost a year before he gave up on me and the fact that I wasn’t ready for sex. His name was Scott, and I understood why he ended things with me. I’m broken. Oh, not all of me, but there’s a part of human coupling that’s very normal to most others that isn’t to me. Sex scares me.
But with Ryder, I wasn’t scared. And maybe I should just go with that. Maybe instead of focusing on a relationship, I should focus on sex. Because this is Ryder, a guy who, for once, had me feeling and feeling great while I was making out with him.
I’ve never heard of him dating. I doubt he’s the kind who dates. I doubt that he thinks of me in terms of wanting to take me to the movies and talk and hold my hand, although he is. But that’s just so he can pull me along. I’m pretty sure he’s the kind of man who has sex. Just sex.
Despite how intimidating he is—not just his big buffness, but also his attitude, as well as usually a man who only wants sex would scare me—something about him makes me feel like I’m not so broken. Like I can be normal with him. Maybe.
It’s a heartbreaking thing, knowing that something so many others take for granted is something that frightens me to the point of tears. Not to toot my own horn, but I will. I’m a strong woman in so many other regards. I got through medical school. With honors. I can smart mouth men like Dr. Murphy because, Ryder’s right, he’s a dick and Dr. Murphy doesn’t intimidate me. I do very normal things like grocery shopping and hanging out with friends, but all the time I know there’s something intrinsically different about me. And that hurts. Makes me feel alone.
So maybe I should jump on the Ryder bandwagon. Literally. Maybe I should finally figure out this sex thing and how to be more normal. Not worry if Ryder likes me and wants to watch TV with me and get to know me. Just think about sex.
I swallow and slowly nod, doing as he did in answering but not telling him what my answer is.
We’re close to the emergency department, and he slows to a stop, turning and looking at me, still holding my hand.
His huge chest rises and his eyes darken. “My shift ends soon.”
I nod. “I have another twelve hours to go.”
He smiles. Actually gives me a real warm smile. “You’re so tough. Twenty-four-hour shifts are brutal.”
I shrug, feeling embarrassed of the compliment.
“You want to—You have a phone?”
I nod again. “It’s in my locker.”
He nods. “I’ll give you all my dets.”
“Dets?”
“Details. Sorry. Army talk.”
I smile. “I like it. Yes, give me your dets.”
“Then you’ll call me? We can…” He licks his lips, never finishing his sentence.
Even though I graduated with honors and am kind of known to be intelligent, it’s taken me this long to replay and realize just what Ryder said in the hallway, that he wanted me, he’s never wanted a woman the way he wants me.
My stomach is both buoyant and roils when I realize he was probably talking about sex. Just sex. I realize then that I’m calling casual sex with Ryder just sex because…I don’t know. Casual sex sounds like a statistic while just sex sounds kind of fun.
Can I have just sex?
Should I have just sex?
I nod. “Yeah, then we can…” I’m trying to sound fine with the idea of just sex, but my voice cracks.
Ryder looks in both directions up and down the hallway, then swoops in and kisses me. It’s not a sexy kiss. It’s sweet and kind of sloppy and he’s smiling.
“Just had to do that,” he says as he tugs me along back to the emergency department.
If I’m going to have just sex with Ryder then I can’t get any kind of ideas that he might want a
relationship from me, like I, silly me, did with that sweet sloppy kiss. I can’t think he might want more. I can’t think he likes me. He’s just attracted to me. That’s it.
And for once, I’m attracted to a man, so I should take advantage of that. See if I can take what was broken and turn it into normal.
And it’s normal to have just sex. That’s what many people do.
I gulp as we enter the emergency department. Strangely, Ryder isn’t letting go of my hand.
Yeah, I really can’t make more out of this than just sex.
If I can have just sex.
With Ryder.
Gulp.
Asha
“Hi!” I almost scream into my phone’s screen.
My therapist is Skyping me after I texted her to see if we could chat, even though it’s in the evening. Somehow I got off my shift two hours early, thanks to someone over-scheduling MDs. Which is fine, because in twenty-four hours I’ve only slept a total of three. Maybe more like two and-a-half hours.
When texting my therapist, I tried to make it sound non-emergency related, but I did mention I was kind of desperate to talk, not in the I-think-I-might-kill-someone kind of desperate, but more in the I’m-crawling-out-of-my-skin sense.
Megan Atwood, my therapist, is laughing as her image comes into focus.
I landed her as my therapist back in college, when I was attending University of Washington. So I’ve known her now for six years. Almost seven.
“How’s one of my favorite people in the whole world?” She chuckles. “I like your text by the way. So how does it make you feel when you’re crawling out of your skin?”
Here’s why I stick with her. She’s funny. Deadpan funny, especially with therapist jokes, like how something makes me feel. And she’s helped me so much, as well as she doesn’t mind Skyping even though I live in a different state from her, and she doesn’t mind chatting for a few minutes if she’s got the time. She’s the most generous soul I’ve ever met, and I want to be like her.
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, I couldn’t figure out any other way to say I needed to talk, but if you were busy that it would be okay not to.”
Megan’s pink hair—Yeah, that’s right. She rocks pink and purple hair. Sometimes blue and green, even if she is in her fifties.—is softly braided over one shoulder, but it wiggles every time she giggles.
“I can talk, missy. So what’s up?”
I swallow. I just had an appointment with her a couple days ago, so she knows the only reason why I’m asking to talk is because something big happened. And only she would understand that kissing a man is a big deal to me.
I summon the courage to talk as openly as possible. “I kissed a guy.”
Her face lights up. Her pink braid sways. “That’s great. Wait. Is it great? Did you like it, kissing this guy?”
I nod. “It’s the first time I’ve enjoyed it. Ever. First time. I already said that.”
She beams yet again. “Awesome. And you like the guy?”
I’m in my car at a far-off parking lot of a local coffee shop, hoping for some privacy, instead of the hospital parking lot. But it’s slamming here. Must be that after-work, espresso-fix time. Someone annoys me by parking close to where I am. It’s getting dark, and I doubt anyone can see me, but I feel boxed in all the same.
Even though my windows are rolled up, I’m worried the person parking close will eavesdrop. So I speak in a low tone. “I really like him, but…but am I normal enough to do this?”
“Do what?”
“Kiss a guy.”
“It sounds like you already have.”
I purse my lips. “I mean, continue to kiss him.”
“Does he want that?”
“Yeah. I think. Yeah. He said…yeah.”
She laughs. “This wouldn’t be the guy you work with? What’s his name? It’s so cool. Something about his name and the way you described him made him sound like James Dean.”
I nod, smiling. “That’s a perfect description, except he’s a lot bigger and darker than I imagine James Dean would’ve been. He’s kind of huge, hulking, mostly somber, and does have a rebel-without-a-cause vibe.”
She squeals. “I love it! He sounds perfect. And you forgot to tell me his name.”
“Ian Ryder.”
“Right. Ryder. God, I love that. So do you want to continue kissing him?”
I swallow, noticing that the guy parked next to me is finally leaving his car. Something about the way the man holds himself and his jet black hair reminds me of my brother, reminds me of our lost relationship and why I reached out to a therapist in the first place when I was only nineteen. The guy marches towards the coffee shop, like a man on a mission. So similar to my brother now. But not when we were best friends. Back then he had a fluid grace that I always admired, a freedom to his movements, to his speech, to everything he did. And especially his wide smile. He used to have that on his handsome face almost every minute of the day.
Not now.
I look at Megan, tears suddenly flooding my eyes as I think of my past colliding with this present moment. I ache for my brother, but I won’t call him. I’ve tried too many times. And I ache for Ryder in a completely unexpected way, so I confess, “I really liked kissing him.”
“Oh sweetie, that’s good, isn’t it?” I can tell she notices the tears in my eyes from the concern inflected in her voice.
I nod. “I guess. I—I never thought I’d feel like this. I never thought I’d like it when a man kissed me, touched me. I mean, he only held my waist, a little of my butt—”
“Whoa. Wow. He grabbed your ass?”
I nod again. “And I liked that too.”
“This is really good news, Asha.”
I want to join her, smiling, and congratulating myself for getting this far in life. But there’s still so much to overcome. “I—I think it is, but—”
“But?”
“But—okay, so, say we do continue kissing. What then? How the hell am I going to tell him I’m a twenty-five-year-old virgin? He’ll think there’s something wrong with me, and then I’ll have to tell him.”
“Asha, honey, I’ve told you all along you never have to tell anyone anything you don’t feel comfortable sharing.”
I sigh. “I know that, but he’s going to want to know why I have such little physical experience, isn’t he?”
“If he’s a good guy, he might be curious but also know it’s none of his fucking business.”
Another reason why I love Megan—she’s real. Swearing and all, to make her emphatic points.
I nod. “Okay, but let’s say I do want to tell him. I want to warn him that I’m—I’m—” She sucks in a warning-like breath, but I say it anyway, “—I’m broken. I’m not normal.”
She sighs. “Honey, you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever known. And so far from broken. Besides, being normal is overrated.”
“You know what I mean about the normal thing.”
She slowly nods. “I do. And I do think you’re normal. But that doesn’t counter your own thoughts right now, does it?”
I glance away, something getting good and lodged in my throat, something that hurts and keeps threatening to make me cry soon. But crying’s okay. Crying’s cathartic. So I blink and let a tear fall. “Thank you for saying I’m normal. It means a lot to me. And you’re right. I do feel broken and not normal, even with all the work we’ve done. But getting close to Ryder today was…was so good. I wanted…more from him.”
Megan smiles. “He must be a good kisser.”
I bite my lip. “He is.”
“And a good listener.”
I blink, surprised she’s said something like this.
She waves a hand in the air. “I’m just saying that a man who’s good enough for you should be a good listener. He should know how to stop when you say so. Maybe even let you take control when you get more physically involved.”
“But—but don’t men want to be in control? Don’t men want to be the
one on top who sometimes gets a ride on the bottom? Don’t men want to dictate…the sex?”
“The sex? We’re sounding awfully academic about this.”
I snort a laugh. “I didn’t mean to, but I only know sex in terms of academia or in terms of my romance novels.”
“Ah.” Megan smiles gently. “Well, real sex is somewhere in between. It’s messy and can be loud and sweaty and someone inevitably ends up with an elbow in a weird place. And not every man needs to be in control. An emotionally stable and healthy man can like sex any which way. To be honest, I think most men just like sex, and they’ll do whatever it takes to get it, like give up their control, if need be.”
Megan then shakes her head. “But aren’t we jumping the gun here a little? I mean you just kissed. You’re not planning on a roll in the sheets any time soon.” She stiffens. “Oh my goodness, you were thinking of doing just that.”
I cover my face with my free hand. “I—I don’t know what I want.”
“Do you want to have the sex with Ryder?”
I laugh and keep cringing. “I might.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that, honey. I just—wow. You are really living life, then, huh?”
The man who parked close to me returns with a to-go coffee cup. He’s distracted with something internally, not really looking at anything as he walks to his car. He looks so much like my brother, Hon. And my heart breaks. The real reason why I needed to talk to Megan comes to light.
“What is it, Asha?” Megan asks, her intuition always spot-on.
The man gets in his car and drives off in a hurry, and I glance back at my lovely therapist, swallowing as I feel the stabbing memories of my past come back to me full force.
“Megan, I know I don’t have to tell Ryder everything about me. I know that. But what if I want to? What if I want to tell some man in my future about…about the fact that I’m still kind of a virgin but was sexually assaulted. That my best friend, who happened to be my brother’s best friend too, put a roofie in my beer, took off all my clothes and was taking off his when Hon found us. That I don’t remember any of it, but at the physical examination some of my hymen was torn and I had vaginal lacerations. I don’t remember a goddamned thing about that night, but I couldn’t sleep without a light on…okay, I still need a light on. I couldn’t sleep alone for…for years. I suffered from PTSD and sought a therapist, you, who I have seen for almost seven years now, and I’m still not fixed.”