The Science of Loving

by Candace Vianna

  All my insecurities bubbled to the surface because I knew I wasn’t the type men like him attracted to, not on my own. My looks were unremarkable, although, I’d been told if I tried harder, I might be able to fake pretty. My interests were incomprehensible, and conversation with me was mind numbingly dull. Fruit flies weren’t exactly sexy. I closed my eyes; I needed to get out of here before I made a bigger fool of myself.

  I stood in front of her, my hands gripping the counter on either side of her legs to keep her from being jostled. Somebody had done a real number on her. The way she said ‘Nobody special’ broke my heart—who made you feel like you were nobody?

  I closed my eyes, rubbing my nose in her soft hair. I didn’t know what shampoo she used, but it smelled really good, like fresh melon. I bent down pushing my forehead against hers, willing her to look me, but she resisted—oh honey, we’re going to have to work on this shyness of yours—I held her face so she couldn’t hide. She had such expressive eyes, and when a blush stole sweetly across her cheeks, I knew I was a goner. I wanted to kiss her. I wanted to dine on her lips and worship every inch of her body.

  I shook my head. “You can do better than that, sweetness.”

  “I grow fruit flies.” Okay, wasn’t expecting that.

  “Fruit flies?” She shrank. What does she think I’m going to do? “For medical research, they possess about seventy-five percent of the genes commonly associated with human diseases. Right now we’re studying the ones involved with muscle disorders.”

  “Hey, that’s cool. So you’re a scientist?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh, she’s way more than just a science geek,” Danny chimed in, leaning a hip against the island next to us. “She’s like this mechanical genius. She can fix just about anything. That’s how we met.”

  “Oh yeah?” Oh, sweetness, there’s much more to you than meets the eye.

  “I guess I’m handy.”

  “Handy? Picture this.” Danny started in like she was Rod Serling and this was an episode of The Twilight Zone. “It’s late afternoon. It’s raining. Waiting on the side of the road is a stranded motorist when fate decides to intervene in the form of a tiny girl driving a hot muscle car.” Hold on, she drives a muscle car? Okay Danny, I may forgive you for Ashley.

  Danny left The Twilight Zone, continuing normally. “So, I got the hood up and I’m looking at my engine. Why? I don’t know. I don’t know shit about engines—hey, Lurch, we both know you’re not any better—anyway; this midget comes over and asks if I need help. I’m stuck on the side of the road in the rain. Hello, of course I need help. ‘All right,’ she says. Just like that; like it’s no big deal.”

  At this point Danny’s shaking her head in wonder. “So she tells me to get in the car and try to start it. The car kind of coughs and rattles and starts shaking like a wet dog. She tells me to turn it off then does something behind the hood. She yells for me to try again and damn if the bitch didn’t start right up. Then she tells me we have to go to Pepboys. Once we get there, she goes inside and comes out a few minutes later with some car stuff and starts ripping the guts out of my car. Gotta tell you, I was kinda worried when those wires started flying. She’s a savage… She put the new ones in, and it’s run great ever since.”

  Danny’s smug expression told me I was gaping, but you have to understand, my family’s mechanical ineptitude falls on a catastrophic scale: fires, floods, explosions. We were so bad, my grandfather once called a priest to perform an exorcism on his tools. “So, you’re a gear head.”

  “I like older cars. They’re simpler to work on. The newer ones are all about computers and you need specialized tools,” Angie said. She’d stopped fidgeting; she was definitely more comfortable talking about cars. Unfortunately, Danny was right; I could barely pump gas.

  “So what kind of car do you drive?”

  “A ‘67 Shelby GT 500. It’s a mustang.”

  “So wait, you grow fruit flies to study muscles and you drive a muscle car?” I put her hands on my guns and flexed, rattling off the cheesiest line I could think of. “I guess I’m gonna have to hit the gym if I want to keep you interested, what with your obsession with muscles and all.” Her blush was so pretty I decided I was going to make her blush every chance I got.

  “I really do need to go.” She pushed at me trying to get enough room to slide off the counter.

  “But tomorrow’s Saturday.” Danny pouted. “What’s so important that you can’t stay and get shit-faced with us?”

  “Oh, I have this meet and greet for work tomorrow. It’s going to be awful.”

  “It’s a party right? How bad can it be?”

  “My mom’s in charge.”

  “Oh.”

  “Something wrong with Mom?” I asked Danny.

  “Remember that movie Mommy Dearest?”

  “Oh, come on, she’s not that bad. Wire hangers were never an issue.” Angie looked up at me. “She has a habit of ambushing me at these things, inviting guys she thinks are perfect for me. She’s just a force of nature, and it can be a bit overwhelming.”

  “You just need someone to give you shelter. So, what time you picking me up?” I looked down at her as if it was a done deal—that’s right, sweetheart; you’re not leaving until you agree to go out with me—and there was no way I was letting some asshole her mother found anywhere near her. She looked at Danny all wide-eyed and flustered—no help there sweetness—Danny was all but doing a victory dance. I moved back slightly so she could get off the counter. I left just enough space so she had to slide against my body then trapped her against the island. I wasn’t oblivious to the effect my body had on women, and I wasn’t above using it—all’s fair, right? “Time sweetness?”

  “Ummm… 11:00?” She was talking to her feet again.

  I pulled my upper body back to look at her as I pinned her with my hips. “What was that, sweetheart?”

  “Would 11:00 be all right with you?” she stammered, glancing up then away.

  I smiled. “11:00 would be perfect.”

  “Okay, then…” She tried to rally her confidence as she squeeze by me. “Thanks for the blowjob,”

  I chuckled, giving her a one armed hug, nuzzling her hair. “Sweetness, I’ll give you all the blowjobs you can handle.”

  I walked her out to her car. Even in the dark I could tell it was a sweet ride, all shiny paint and chrome. I couldn't wait to see it in daylight. I opened the door for her; helping her with the seatbelt after she got in just so I could smell her hair one last time. “Breathe.”

  I grinned walking back; I think she was suffering from shock. She was about to learn her mom wasn’t the only force of nature.

  Danny was gloating at the door when I came back. “Quietly hot. Yeah, I get that now.”

  “Uh huh, and she has a great personality too.”

  “C’mon sis,” I said, hooking my arm around her neck, “I need another Blowjob.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Red Dresses and Rock Stars

  I was a mess. I tore through my closet in an underwear-clad rampage. My underwear was the only part of my wardrobe I didn't agonize over, and it wasn’t because no one ever saw it. I had really nice underwear—really nice. It’s been my secret obsession ever since a teenage me read V.C Andrews’ Flowers in the Attic—today’s guilty pleasures were a lacy, moss green, Donna Beatrice balconette bra, and matching Brazilian briefs.

  My eyes kept returning to the red dare hanging in the corner. I stood on a precipice. There was an angel on my shoulder insisting it was too brazen, and a devil poking me in the ass, urging me to take the plunge. This was my one shot. I may never have another chance with a guy this hot. I didn’t date hot guys. My dates were either social losers like myself, who desperately tried too hard, or entitled assholes who expected me to be grateful. But the desperate-assholes my mother seemed to find were the worst. Not only did they try too hard to impress everyone around us, they felt I should be grateful enough to immediately fall on their d
icks since I couldn’t get a date without my mother’s help. After all, they were doing me a huge favor. Really?

  Defeated, I’d just begun picking though the jumble of discarded garments on my bed to find plan-A, a grey pencil skirt with a black cowl neck jersey top when I heard my doorbell. I pulled on a robe as it rang again, followed by loud banging. Dodging the clothing strewn about my room, I raced to answer it.

  “Get out of bed bitch! It’s time to get your sexy on.” Oh God, Danny was going to wake my neighbors. As soon as I fumbled the locks open, she burst in like a tornado.

  “Here, I brought coffee.” She shoved a Starbucks cup at me then bounced around my apartment like a pinball. Geez, how much coffee had she already had?

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I’ve come to help you get ready for your hot date,” she said as her eyebrows did funny things. “I gotta tell you chiquita, Mat really likes you.” He really likes me?

  “Why?”

  “Who knows what lies in the hearts of men? And more importantly, who cares so long as they open our jars and kill spiders? I hate those creepy things.” Danny shuddered. “Too many legs. And eyes. They have like eight of them.” She bounded down the hall to my bedroom, her voice trailing back. “Sooo… Whatcha wearing?”

  “A robe?”

  “Oh, so you’re gonna play it like that, miss smarty.” She tossed over her shoulder as she rooted around in my closet, tossing garments on the floor much as I’d done earlier. “Besides, you could do worse. Under all my badass ink is a really nice guy, but if you ever tell him I said that, I’ll have to hurt you. Just saying— Jesus, does your grandma know you stole all her clothes?” she muttered. “Whoa… What’s this? Oh, yeah, Mama like.”

  Danny pulled out the red dare. I’d bought it after making a New Year’s resolution to be more like—I don’t know—just more. It was my one and only harlot dress. It was what I saw in my mind’s eye whenever I heard that Reba McIntyre song, “Fancy:” a vintage, formfitting, hooker-red halter back dress with a slit to mid-thigh and a sweetheart neckline. I even bought some red and black CMF stilettos to go with it, not that I’d ever had the courage to wear them.

  “Oh yeah, baby girl’s gonna be hot, hot, hot!”

  “That’s way too…too… this is a professional mixer. And that’s—”

  “Fucking hot. Don’t give me no lip Lucy. I’m gonna get you in touch with your inner skank. I mean goddess. No, I was right the first time.” Danny declared, pulling off my robe. “Oh girlfriend… you’ve been holding out on me.”

  I fidgeted under her surprised stare. “What? So I like pretty underwear.”

  “Yes you do. Mat so owes me,” she muttered, reconnecting my bra straps for the halter back then shoved the dress over my head, bleeding red organza and silk down my body. After zipping me up, she dove back into my closet. “Shoes… Shoes… Shoes…”

  “The matching shoes are on the shelf,” I said meekly, and she wolf whistled when she saw the Louboutins.

  “Okay Cinderella, let’s get you ready for the ball.”

  “I thought fairies were small.”

  “Baby, your order’s been super-sized. You got upgraded to six feet of bodacious hotness.”

  For the next half hour, she primped and painted. After donning a pair of simple pearl earrings, she stepped aside, declaring me done. Staring back at me from the mirror was a 1940s pin-up girl, complete with full red lips and startled, long lashed eyes. The dress clung to me, its brilliant red giving my skin a peaches and cream glow. Danny'd even tamed my curls to frame my face in sophisticated swirls.

  “You know,” Danny said, looking me over with a critical eye, “if I didn’t like dick so much, I’d do you.”

  Yikes!

  I thought about the girl with blushing cheeks and dark liquid eyes as I jumped in the shower, the spray from multiple heads pounding my body as I lathered off the dried sweat from my work out—I’d like to lather her up—Later I promised my cock as I shoved those thoughts down. With Angie already so skittish, I didn’t think answering the door naked, dripping wet with a raging hard-on, would do much for her piece of mind. Hopefully she wasn’t getting cold feet, not that it would save her from Danny—bless her little black heart—who was at this very moment, making sure she didn't chicken out.

  I stood in front of the mirror running through my final checklist—shave, no missed spots… check. Shirt’s buttoned right… check. I adjusted my belt buckle centering it—fly’s closed… che—.

  My cell began dancing across my dresser and my stomach fell. She was canceling. Motherfucker. “Hello.”

  “Mat?”

  “Yeah… Hey Angie.”

  “Hey…”

  Silence. . . .

  “Hey. Baby, where are you?”

  “I’ve driven around the block like five times and all I see are warehouses and businesses.” Thank you Jesus.

  “Yeah babe, my loft’s in a warehouse. I’ll come down to the street so you don’t have to park.”

  I raced downstairs, busting onto the sidewalk just as a sweet ride turned the corner. It was all tricked out. Shiny taupe paint with a pair of wide grey racing strips centered on its hood, chromed rims, fog-lights, the works. I waved when she pulled up, trying not to drool on the leather as I climbed in—mmmm… I loved the smell of leather. Good golly Miss Molly, it was a four speed. Gotta love a woman that could handle a stick. What the hell—behind the wheel sat a red-lipped goddess with dark bedroom eyes. Who the hell are you, and where the hell is Angie?

  “Seatbelt.” She wiggled the gearshift nervously, checking her mirrors instead of looking at me. Oh, there you are shy girl.

  “Wow Angie, you look… Just wow.” I was in so much trouble. I couldn’t tell exactly what she wore; only that it was red, really red. I loved red.

  “Danny did this.” She gave me an awkward smile before looking away.

  “Well, Danny done good. I’m gonna have to keep an eye out, ‘cause all the guys will to steal you from me.” She blushed, reminding me of my vow.

  “I don’t think there’s much chance of that.”

  “Yeah, it’s because I’m so hot, right?” I said, making a goofy face.

  “Yes, that’s definitely it.” She giggled, pulling out into the street.

  “So cars, how’d that happen?”

  “My Dad. He’s an engineer. Retired now. Growing up, he was always tinkering with things in his spare time—not just cars, but everything, and I tinkered right along with him—my mom’s more of a social tinkerer, not my forte as I’m sure you’ve figured out—anyway, we were out driving one day. I was sixteen, practicing to get my license, and we drove past this car with a for sale sign in the window. It was up on blocks, covered with dents and patches of grey primer. It had a cracked windshield, and no wheels, not even rims. The leather interior was torn and most of the trim was missing. It was a real eyesore. Daddy went back and bought it the next day. You should’ve seen how pissed my mom got when she saw it parked in front of our house. I think my dad reasoned I’d be more careful if I had a lot of work invested in my car.” Wow, that was the most I’d heard her say in one go.

  “Your Dad sounds very cool.”

  “I’ve always thought so, but he’s my dad, so I’m probably biased.”

  Pulling up to the gates of a private community, Angie spoke to the rent-a-cop minding the guard shack. He took his time checking her out while he pretended to look over some list on a clipboard until he caught my glare—that’s right buddy, she’s mine. Best keep your eyes in your own head.

  Angie’s tension increased as we drove past fairways and ponds with black cart paths snaking through them. Interspersed were large pretentious homes, each one as boring than its neighbor, perched on tiny lots with perfectly manicured lawns. I’d rather stick a fork in my brain then be forced to design these pricey cookie cutter developments. The closer we drew to our destination, the tighter she gripped the steering wheel. By the time we pulled up to the clubhou
se, she was white knuckled and rigid.

  She parked efficiently; setting the handbrake with a ratcheting zip then sat silently staring out of the windshield. “Hey babe, the party’s not going to come to you.”

  “It’s this damn dress. People are going to notice.”

  “Honey, you’ll get noticed no matter what you wear. You know I got your back, right?” I said. “Deep breath baby-cakes. We got this.”

  As I handed her out, I glimpsed the top of a thigh high stocking before her dress settled into place. ‘Wow’ didn’t come close to describing her. Stepping back, I took a good long look starting with those lecherous high heels, up her silk clad ankles and rounded calves. Rich, red cloth brushed her knees and hugged her hips. Its folds dropping across her curved belly, fanning out from one side of a cinched bodice that ended where gentle swells of smooth skin began, sliding into delicate collarbones below a graceful neck. My eyes finally rose from her full painted lips to widening big brown eyes.

  Shit, busted. “Sorry angel, but you just robbed me senseless.”

  He looked stunned at first, his expression changing as he studied me. His eyes warmed as they slowly traveled up my legs and over my body. My chest tightened when he paused at my décolletage and licked his lips. His heated gaze slid up my neck to pause again at my mouth before finally reaching my eyes. Oh my God, he’s blushing.