Just Friends With Benefits

by Schorr, Meredith

  A few seconds later, while flat on my back with my eyes shut, I felt his hands on my waist gripping the bottom of my shirt and I sat up slightly so he could pull it over my head. I opened my eyes to his bare chest but avoided eye contact because I was still trying to justify sleeping with him again despite any effort by him to ‘up his game.’ I promised Suzanne I would move on. I promised myself I would move on.

  Mere moments later, as I rocked back and forth above him, I fought the urge to let him slip out of me so I could curl into a ball on the opposite side of the bed. I looked down at him, his eyes were closed tight and his teeth were clenched. I knew I wasn’t gonna come this time and whispered, “Can we switch positions?”

  When Hille opened his eyes beneath me, I said, “I’m tired” and laughed to avoid crying.

  Hille flipped me over so he was on top and a few thrusts later, we were both flat on our backs—Hille satisfied, me not-so-much, but it wasn’t his fault.

  “You okay?” Hille asked.

  I looked up at the ceiling and said, “Yeah, I’m fine. Been a long day, that’s all.”

  Hille said, “Get some sleep then. Tomorrow will be here before you know it.” Then he turned his back to me and said, “Night Steph.”

  To his back, I said, “Goodnight, Craig.”

  Twenty-three

  The next morning, I woke up before Hille. The apartment was so quiet, I figured Hope and Paul were still sleeping, too. I glanced over at Hille who was snoring with one arm over his head and a pillow between his knees and quickly jumped out of the bed, grabbed my bag and went to his bathroom to shower. I didn’t want to be alone with him and have to make forced conversation. It was just too hard and I always seemed to make most of the effort anyway. Well, duh, Steph. Of course I put more effort into it. I was the one with the crush. He was just along for the ride.

  While getting dressed in the bathroom after my shower, I heard voices from the living room. I did a half-assed blow-dry of my hair, stuck it in a clip above my head and put on a little make-up before joining the others.

  Still in his sweatpants, Paul yawned loudly from the couch. “Don’t you look pretty, Steph. How nice of you to make so much effort for us.”

  Hille was standing by the window talking on his cell. I tried not to care who he was talking to. “You never know who I might meet on the train. Gotta be prepared,” I said.

  “Yes, and that includes wearing nice panties” Jess said. “No period granny panties.”

  Hille, no longer on the phone, walked over, shook his head in disgust and said, “Nice, Jess.”

  “You’re so uptight, Hille. You hate the period, farts, doody talk, don’t you?” Jess asked.

  “All the above are kind of personal bodily functions. I just think they should stay that way,” Hille said.

  “Tell that to Paul,” I said. “He seems to think his farts are for the world to experience with him.”

  “Aren’t they?” Paul asked. “I’m off to shower, peeps, but before I do, I want to leave you with something to remember me by.”

  I knew what was coming and shielded my eyes with my hand as Paul dropped his pants and showed us his business. Admittedly, I peeked through my fingers a little but I’m pretty sure Jess and Hope did, too.

  Eric wanted to head back early but first we went to the Malibu Diner. It was packed and I stood outside with Eric and Paul while we waited for our table. They wanted to smoke. I just didn’t want to be near Hille.

  “You have fun last night, Steph?” Eric asked.

  “Um hmm. Not exactly what I had expected. I barely spoke to Paul at all, though, so I can’t really complain,” I joked. Looking at Paul, I said, “Seriously, this was supposed to be your birthday celebration and we didn’t even celebrate.”

  Shrugging, Paul said, “I know. I didn’t exactly plan on fighting with Hope and the whole pregnancy thing—well that was unexpected, too.”

  With some force, Eric pushed Paul but laughed and said, “Pregnancy ‘thing?’ If Jess hears you call it that, she’ll go ape shit on you.”

  “Joking. Besides, Steph, you had more time to throw yourself at Hille,” Paul said.

  Disgusted, but more at myself than at Paul, I couldn’t think of anything to say. I looked up at Eric, forced a smile and said, “Eggs or pancakes/french toast—protein vs. carbs? That’s my dilemma.”

  Laughing, Eric said, “You have that dilemma every time, Cohen!” Then he softened his voice and added, “Follow your gut. It’s not life or death. You know what I mean?”

  “I think so, Eric. Thanks.” From inside the diner, Hille knocked on the window and motioned for us to come inside. Eric squeezed my shoulder gently, smiled and said, “Let’s get some breakfast.”

  ~ * ~

  On the way home, I spent most of the time looking out the window but instead of noticing the waving kids in passing cars, I saw myself on top of Hille and felt like I’d swallowed a lump of coal.

  “Steph?”

  I turned away from the window to look at Hope and said, “Yeah, what?”

  “You just grimaced. You okay?”

  I faked a shiver and said, “I’m fine. Just a bit cold, that’s all.” Then I forced a smile and said, “Thanks.”

  It was past nine by the time I got home and after putting on my pajamas, I brushed my teeth, washed my face and got right into bed. I stared at the ceiling, contemplating whether to get up and pour a fresh glass of water to keep on my night stand. I glanced over at the half-filled glass already there and decided it wouldn’t kill me to drink two-day old water and closed my eyes.

  Four hours later, my eyes bolted open and I immediately pictured myself looking at Hille admiringly, my eyes fully dilated and so clearly into him, my tongue might as well have been hanging out of my mouth. And then I remembered the questions. The stupid questions. By the grace of God, I hadn’t had the opportunity to ask most of them.

  As I buried my head under my pillow in shame, I wondered why I had to be so fucking stupid, so fucking transparent and so fucking easy.

  Twenty-four

  A few days later, I had ordered sushi, poured myself a glass of Riesling and was in the middle of watching “General Hospital” on Soapnet when Suzanne called. I stopped screaming at the television set at some nurse who was making her crush on Prince Nicholas Cassadine too obvious and told Suzanne I couldn’t make our drink night for the following evening. Suzanne wouldn’t have it.

  “Steph, I don’t know what happened last weekend, but you’re clearly upset about it.”

  I jammed a chopstick into the center of a piece of my Naruto roll and removed a chunk of salmon. “Nothing happened, Suzanne. I’m fine. Just in a funk, that’s all.”

  “The best way to get out of funk is to go out and get your mind off of it. Self loathing is only helpful for forty-eight hours. It’s all diminished rewards after that,” she insisted.

  I took a sip of wine and said, “I really don’t want to go out.” And if I drink alone and make an ass out of myself, no one will know about it except me.

  “Okay, how about you come over for dinner? Luke has a poker game tomorrow night. It’ll be fun. I’ll make you anything you want.”

  Drawing to memory the velvety taste of her homemade sauce, I said, “Penne Alla Vodka?”

  “If that’s what you want,” Suzanne said.

  Being thin had not served to make me any luckier in love thus far and, figuring it didn’t matter if I gained ten pounds gorging myself on pasta and cream sauce, I relented. “Okay. Count me in.”

  ~ * ~

  The following night, Suzanne prepared the main course while I sat at her breakfast bar sipping a glass of Cabernet and nibbling on mozzarella and tomato salad. To her credit, Suzanne actually waited until I started my second glass of wine to grill me about my sullen mood. She tried to tell me I was being too hard on myself. While the pasta cooked, she poured herself a glass of wine and sat down next to me.

  “Do I think it was smart to sleep with the guy again? N
o. But, Stephanie, you had sex with the guy a few times, and you said it was great sex. It’s not that big a deal. Why are you so upset?” she asked.

  “I’m not upset it happened the first time. I just feel stupid that, even after it was obvious it was just sex, I didn’t stop. And it was only great sex the first two times. The third time sucked because I couldn’t stop thinking it was wrong. God, you make the best tomato and mozzarella salad ever.” I started giggling and said, “I don’t know how you cut the cheese so perfectly.”

  “Yes, Luke always says that no one cuts the cheese quite like I do, but I say he takes the cake in that regard.”

  “Gross. Does he take books into the bathroom, too?”

  “All guys do. I don’t know if the crapping process actually takes longer or if they just love to sit on the bowl for awhile even after they finish.” Suzanne’s face turned serious again. “Do you know how many girls have done the same thing? C’mon, Stephanie. Show me one girl who’s never let lust cloud her judgment, aside from the nuns at Sacred Heart. And some of them are probably sporting Ben Wa balls under their habits! Anyway, just be happy you figured it out before you got too vested.”

  After I swallowed my last bite of layered tomato and cheese, I said, “I just feel shitty that he doesn’t consider me relationship-worthy.”

  “Crap on a cracker, Stephanie! What makes you think Hille’s disinterest in a relationship has anything to do with you not being ‘relationship worthy?’ Even Eric said Hille was not the relationship type, right?”

  “No. Eric just said Hille was not one to go ga-ga over a girl.”

  “Exactly,” Suzanne said.

  “Yes, exactly.” My bottom lip protruding in a pout, I said, “I obviously don’t have ‘ga-ga’ appeal.”

  “To Hille, maybe! But there are plenty of guys who would disagree with him and you know it!”

  I placed my elbow on the table and dropped my chin into the palm of my hand. “If I’m so great, why am I terminally single? Why is everyone coupled up but me? And why doesn’t Hille like me enough to be my boyfriend?”

  Suzanne poured the remaining wine into my glass and got up to throw the now empty plate of appetizers into the dishwasher. When she returned to the table, she sat down and said, “What’s this about, Steph? Are you upset about Hille not wanting to be with you because you like him or because your ego is bruised?”

  “Why can’t you believe that I actually like the guy?”

  “I don’t know—from what you say, he seems like a withdrawn prick who knows how to fuck. You deserve better.” Suzanne stood up again, walked to the cabinets above her sink and pulled out a green box. When she returned to the table, she handed me a box of Girl Scout cookies.

  Ignoring the box, I said, “There’s more to him than meets the eye. I saw some of it but each time we started to make progress, something got in the way. I just wanted more time.”

  “Well, you can always take more time. I’m sure he’d be fine maintaining your friends with benefits status while you continue to try to figure him out.” Pulling out the tray of Thin Mints, she said, “Take one.”

  I popped a cookie in my mouth, but the cool minty flavor just brought back memories of Hille’s fresh breath when he kissed me. “No,” I said, shaking my head. “I thought we were fated to be together after all these years, but I guess not. I can’t do it anymore. It’s not worth it.”

  “You said it. Not me. Perhaps you’re right—maybe there is more to him than meets the eye. But you don’t know that for sure, so you’re really not losing anything except great sex which, by the way, you’ll find with someone else eventually. And if it’s fate, it’s not in your control anyway. Time will tell,” she said.

  “Fair enough. Okay, I must pee!”

  As I ran to the bathroom, I heard Suzanne shout, “While you’re in there, take a look at yourself in the mirror. You’re a smokin’ hottie, girl!”

  While in the bathroom, I smiled at my mirror image, noting my blue teeth thanks to the red wine. I shook out my head of thick, long, dark hair and peered into the reflection of my big hazel eyes. Smokin hottie? I never really thought of myself that way. Cute? Okay. Pretty? I guess. Hot? I didn’t think so, but God bless Suzanne for saying so. I was unlikely to be discovered by a model/talent agent, but despite my limited relationship experience, I had attracted the attention of quite a few men in my thirty-two years and Hille wasn’t exactly being charitable by screwing me either. Some might say he got pretty lucky, too. So no more negativity, I decided. Suzanne was right; self-loathing was not the way to go.

  I just hoped my new found perspective on the situation would not fade with my buzz, leaving me back at square one tomorrow, along with a red wine migraine.

  Twenty-five

  Think positive. So my past experience with the online dating scene was less than successful. As Suzanne said, ‘It only takes one!’ He seemed kind of cool on the phone and his pictures were decent. And if there was no spark, at least I’d get a free drink out of it. Unless he was cheap. I let out a sigh, ran my hands quickly through my hair and walked into Rhino Bar & Pumphouse in Georgetown. I hoped he’d be there before me. I hated the awkwardness of waiting and, unlike Hille, had no Blackberry to look at in the meantime. I chanted to myself,

  ‘I will not think about Hille. Will not think about Hille.’

  While I pretended to be self-assured and not at all anxious, I scanned the bar packed with frat boys in Red Sox baseball caps and girls wearing navel-bearing sleeveless shirts and designer jeans. In what was clearly a sports bar, I felt over-dressed in my straight-from-work black pencil skirt, white blouse and black pumps.

  We planned to meet in the upstairs bar and when I saw him sitting on one of the couches, I recognized him immediately except that he didn’t do justice to his pictures. He was heavier, looked like a poster child for the before pictures in a ProActiv commercial and was just plain dorky looking. I knew instantly he would not be my rebound guy from Hille. We made eye contact and I smiled, hoping it looked sincere as I approached him.

  He smiled back and stood up. “Stephanie?”

  “That’s me. Kenny, I assume?”

  He offered me his hand and said, “Good to meet you.”

  Shaking hands with a perspective soul mate was the opposite of sexy. As I shook his hand, I noticed the wiry, pubic-like black hairs that ran up and down his arm. I sat down next to him, leaving ample personal space between us and said, “Same here.”

  Pointing to his left eye, he asked, “Does my eye look red?”

  I peered at his eye which did look very red and said, “Kind of.”

  Rolling his contact lens in the palm of his hand, he said, “I’m legally blind in my right eye which makes it more vital that my left function at full capacity.”

  “Oh,” I said. Scanning the room, I thought to myself, this is going to be a long night. But then I remembered that even though a romantic relationship was out of the question, the date might still be fun. Must think positive.

  “Do you want something to drink?” he asked.

  “What are you drinking?” I asked.

  Kenny coughed while I awaited his answer. Then he coughed again. “You okay?” I asked. “Need some water?”

  Kenny took a sip of his drink, looked at me as if to say something and resumed coughing. With one hand covering his mouth, he got up and gestured with the other hand that he’d be back in a minute and walked over to the bar. While he was gone, I scanned the room again, hoping no one thought he was my boyfriend. And then I felt guilty for caring what anyone else thought and decided to be nice again. When he returned, he had stopped coughing and handed me a bottle of Sam Adams Light. I smiled and said, “Glad you’re okay. I hate coughing fits.” I took the beer from his hand and took a long sip. Raising the beer in my hand, I said, “Thanks for the beer.”

  “Yeah, I swallowed my gum with the beer,” he said. Angling his body toward mine, he said, “So, if I avoid eye contact, it’s just because I have difficu
lty focusing with sight in just the one eye.”

  Leaning backwards, I said, “No problem.”

  Kenny ordered mozzarella sticks and fried calamari to share and I told him about the Pub Crawl I did on St. Patrick’s Day with some friends from work. “I love green beer!” I said.

  “The food coloring has no taste,” Kenny said dryly.

  “I know. But the fact that it’s green makes it more festive. Don’t you think?”

  Kenny gave me a blank stare. “The food coloring is poison.”