I pull a dubious face, but she doesn’t look away. She folds her arms on the table and locks her gaze to mine. “It means we stay the same as we’ve always been. We enjoy each other when we’re in the same place, and we wish each other well when we’re not, all with no romantic strings attached.”
I press my lips together for a beat. “And you’d be okay with that? Even after we’d been intimate in ways we haven’t been before?”
“I would.” Her dimple pops. “And who knows? Maybe I won’t need a sex experiment friend with benefits for very long. Maybe I’ll get so good at being a sex goddess that by next summer I’ll have a boyfriend to keep me out of your hair.”
“I don’t want you out of my hair,” I say, silently adding, And I don’t want to see you with another man.
Fuck. She clearly has no idea that my feelings for her are way more complicated than “a friend I’d like to get naked with.” And she’s just as clearly fine with being nothing more than buddies who bang.
She thinks of me as a friend she trusts, nothing more. It’s a good thing and will make it a hell of a lot easier to move on from this odd interpersonal place without undue drama.
But still…
It hurts. Hurts like my ribs are about to squeeze my heart into a juicy, love-sick stain in my chest.
Thankfully, our server returns with water and food at that exact moment, granting me a few much-needed seconds to pull my shit together.
After she leaves, I stuff a handful of scalding hot fries in my mouth, wincing as I realize how recently they must have come out of the fryer. My struggle to chew and fan my tongue at the same time makes Bridget laugh, and by the time I swallow, I’m collected enough to say, “I still don’t think it’s a good idea, but…”
She freezes, her grilled cheese halfway to her lips. “But?”
“But if you’re serious about doing this with someone else if I say no…”
“Oh, I’m serious,” she assures me, dropping her sandwich back to her plate. “Dead serious. I’m not going to let another year of my life pass me by like this. I’m going to have kisses and passion and maybe…” She takes a breath, seeming to second-guess herself for a second before she nods. “And maybe even love. Why not, right? Why shouldn’t I fall in love? Why shouldn’t someone fall in love with me? Once I learn to stop making everything so awkward, it could happen.”
She’s not awkward. She’s perfect exactly the way she is.
Except for the fact that she wants me to teach her how to attract other men. And that she doesn’t feel the same way about me that I feel about her.
But how could she? The level of adoration I have for this woman borders on ridiculous. I would lie down on fiery coals and let her walk all over me if it were the only thing that could make her happy. Hell, I’d lay down my life for hers if I had to.
What’s a little friends-with-benefits sex-ploration in comparison?
It’s going to wreck you, that’s what it’s going to do. You’re never going to be the same. You’ll never be able to go back to the way things were before. Every time you see her, you’re going to think about what it’s like to have her naked and under you, making those sounds she makes and feeling like the answer to every question.
Her forehead furrows. “Right?”
“Absolutely right. You’re going to make every man in this town fall head over heels.”
“I don’t need every man,” she says, hope sparking in her eyes. “Just one.”
Mission accomplished.
Aloud, I say, “Then we’ll start tomorrow night.”
Her lips part, but I cut her off before her protest can emerge into the French-fry perfumed air. “We’ll need at least twenty-four hours to make a plan, and I’ve been up since five a.m. I need a good night’s sleep before I jump into a project of this magnitude.”
“You make it sound like an earthquake.”
“You’ve got a lot in common with an earthquake,” I admit. “You both make me anxious.”
“Really?” she asks, her smile widening. “You’re nervous, too?”
“Very,” I confirm, popping another fry in my mouth.
“You don’t look nervous.”
“Looks can be deceiving.”
Her eyes dance as she takes a bite of grilled cheese and chews before adding in a softer voice, “Don’t be nervous. I promise I’ll be an excellent lab partner. This experiment is going to go off without a hitch. You just wait and see.”
And I will. I’ll wait and see.
Even though the logical part of me can already see the heartbreak written on the wall.
Chapter Ten
Bridget
Shep sends me off with a chaste kiss on my forehead and a promise to call me tomorrow, but my skin still buzzes all the way home.
Because tomorrow night, a mere twenty-four hours from right now, I’m going to be kissing Shep again. And this time, there won’t be any reason for us to stop or for him to run away.
This time, we might get to second base for real.
Maybe even third.
Third base? Get real, woman. If the chemistry stays this hot, the two of you are going to end up banging like bunnies. Or something worse than bunnies. Like salmon or rhinos or short-nosed fruit bats.
The inner voice, in addition to knowing more about horny animals than I realized, also has a valid point.
I’m not usually one to rush into things like this—there’s a reason I’ve only slept with one person—but I’ve known Shep since we were kids. It doesn’t feel like rushing, and even if it did, I’m beginning to realize there are limits to my self-control.
Like with dessert. I can walk by every donut shop in town, but put a slice of Theo’s homemade lemon ricotta cake with raspberry filling in my path, and I’m a goner. There is no dietary promise I won’t break to get that cake in my belly ASAP.
And Shep is cake on steroids.
I wrinkle my nose as I let myself into my apartment and flick on the light.
No, not steroids.
Shep is lemon ricotta cake after years of no lemon ricotta cake. Hell, of no cake at all. Shep is a perfectly sweet, perfectly tart, perfectly enormous slice waiting in a bakery case at the end of two long, lonely years of making due with cinnamon-dusted rice cakes and fat free, sugar-free biscotti, the kind you have to soak in coffee for five minutes to soften it up enough to keep from breaking a molar.
The second he’s out of the case and on my plate, all bets are off.
I’m going to devour him.
Even better, I’m pretty sure he’s going to devour me. I know he feels it, too, the heat and hunger that pulse between us every time our eyes meet lately.
Soon, I may no longer be a one-hit wonder.
It’s not what I intended when I first approached Shep with my bang theory, but now there’s no denying that there’s a very real possibility we’re going to sleep together.
I’m going to sleep with Shep.
Have sex with Shep.
Shep and I are going to be naked—together, at the same time—and do naked things together, and I’m not talking about a game of beach volleyball at the nudist colony up the coast or skinny-dipping in the not-at-all-shark-infested waters Theo’s so deathly afraid of.
It’s simultaneously thrilling and…terrifying.
I have faith Shep won’t laugh at me or kick me out of bed for sucking at sex, but I’m still dreading the moment when he realizes how little I know about how to rock a man’s world.
I try to cheer myself up with a cup of salted caramel Sleepy Time tea and reassure myself that he knows what he’s in for or he wouldn’t have said yes to this sex-periment in the first place.
But by the time I shower and slip between my cool sheets, the dread tugging at my stomach has tied itself into a full-fledged knot. In the shadows of my lonely room, my booze-and gummy-toxin-inspired bravado is fading fast.
I have to do something to shore up my flagging confidence before this sneaky worry spiral makes me
bail on something I really don’t want to bail on.
Snatching my phone from the bedside table, I shoot out a quick text—Shep? Are you asleep?
Shep: Nope.
Bridget: Me either. I mean, obviously I’m not. I’m texting you. Ha! Well, this is off to a great start. Can I get a do over?
Shep: What’s on your mind, Bridget?
Bridget: What do you think?
Shep: You’re worried the Sox aren’t going to make it to the World Series?
Bridget: Yes, Shep. I’m lying awake at midnight, sweating in my sheets even though the window’s down and it’s barely fifty degrees outside because I’m worried about baseball and how the Sox are going to fair in the playoffs.
Shep: Sweating? Hmm… Maybe you should kick off some covers.
Bridget: I already did. The quilt and the sheets. And I’m only wearing a T-shirt and panties, but I’m still burning up.
Shep: What kind of panties?
Wait. Forget I texted that. Moment of weakness.
Bridget: Moment of weakness, huh?
Shep: Yep. I’m already back to thinking about the playoffs. And my to-do list. And what time the hardware store opens tomorrow morning.
Bridget: Seven a.m.
Shep: You’re sure?
Bridget: I’m sure. I’m outside the door waiting for them to open at least once a week. Running a business out of a hundred and fifty-year-old mansion means a constant state of repairs-in-progress. And my handyman refuses to purchase his own materials. He brings his toolbox. That’s it. I have to run to the hardware store or the lumberyard for anything else he needs. And make him tuna sandwiches with extra mayo and triple pickles, too. And he likes the tuna brand that smells like cat food.
Shep: Slacker. You should fire his ass.
Bridget: I would, but I already fired the only other remotely capable guy in town for stealing cooking wine from the kitchen and passing out in the rose bushes. I’ll have to make do with what I’ve got for now.
But you weren’t really thinking about when the hardware store opens.
Were you?
Shep: Sometimes my moments of weakness last longer than I’d like.
Bridget: This isn’t a moment of weakness, though. Is it? For either of us? We’re not weak. We’re two adults who have made an informed, rational decision about what’s best for us and everything is going to be fine.
Shep: The gummy worms finally wore off, didn’t they?
Bridget: Oh yeah. Hard. They wore off hard.
Shep: I thought they might. It’s fine to call this off, Bridge. Seriously. Don’t think twice about it. We can pretend tonight never happened.
Bridget: I don’t want to pretend it never happened. I don’t want to let fear win. I’ve already let fear win way too often in my life.
Shep: Fear isn’t always a bad thing. It’s one of the ways our brains keep us safe.
Bridget: And keep us stuck. It’s called negativity bias, we studied it junior year in my Psychology of Customer Service class. Human brains are hardwired to remember bad things more than good things, giving fear and other negative emotions an unfair advantage. So in order to get one over on fear, we have to make a conscious effort to be brave, even when not under the influence of gummy worms.
Shep: Sometimes admitting you’ve started down the wrong path is the bravest things you can do.
Bridget: But kissing you doesn’t feel wrong to me. Does it to you?
Shep: No. It feels good. Really good.
Bridget: Really good?
Shep: Really, really good.
Bridget: Yeah. It feels that way to me, too.
So I don’t want to back out, I just wanted to touch base with you now that I’m completely me again and let you know that I’m nervous. But excited, too. And that I’m going to do my best not to be the worst research partner ever.
Shep: I’m not worried about that. Not even a little bit.
That has nothing to do with why I can’t sleep.
Bridget: So why can’t you sleep?
Shep: I don’t want to hurt you, Bridget. That’s all I care about. No matter what else happens, as long as you promise me you’ll be okay when it’s over, I’m cool.
Bridget: I’ll be okay.
Shep: You’re sure?
Bridget: Not a hundred percent, no. But I’ve got a better chance of being okay with you than with anyone else, and I really need to make this change, Shep. I need it more than I need to stay safe in my hermit hole. It doesn’t feel safe in here anymore. It just feels lonely.
Shep: You want me to come over? We don’t have to start the experiment. We could just snuggle and be Not Lonely together.
Bridget: That sounds really nice, but I’m already a pro at snuggling. And I kind of think we should stick to the formula to make sure we don’t get sidetracked along the way. We’ve only got a month until you leave, and there’s a lot of ground to cover.
Shep: Okay. So what’s the formula again? Refresh my memory?
Bridget: Enthusiasm plus Skill and Practice plus Confidence equals Irresistible to Target Audience.
Shep: So we start with Enthusiasm and Skill?
Bridget: You have to master the skill before you can practice it, so yeah. But I think I’m okay on the enthusiasm front.
Shep: Your enthusiasm levels are solid, but I’m not sure there’s such a thing as too much enthusiasm.
Bridget: Got it. I’ll work on ramping that up a notch.
Shep: You don’t need to work on anything. I’ll take care of that part.
Bridget: Oh yeah?
Shep: According to feedback I’ve received thus far, I’m pretty good at inspiring enthusiasm.
Bridget: I would agree with that feedback, but I’m trying to become self-sufficient here. To learn how to navigate the jungles of Date-landia on my own once you’re gone. I don’t think I should get in the habit of relying on someone who’s going to be halfway across the country to inspire enthusiasm.
Shep: There’s a reason you needed a partner for this, Bridge. Chemistry isn’t a solo enterprise. Teamwork is an intrinsic part of any successful Bang Theory.
Bridget: That’s an excellent point. I should add it into the equation.
Shep: I think teamwork can be taken for granted. Or you could add a footnote to your formula, stating that one or more partners are required for successful testing of this particular hypothesis.
Bridget: One or more, huh?
So you’ve done that? Been with more than one person at once?
Not to pry, I’m just… I’m not sure I could swing it.
Shep: Too kinky?
Bridget: I think so. I’m usually a big fan of sharing, but when it comes to your hands, I’d rather have them all to myself.
Shep: Just my hands?
Bridget: And your mouth. And other things.
Shep: Other things?
Bridget: Yes. Things like your…
OMG, I can’t! I can’t do it. I’ve never sexted before.
Shep: Never?
Bridget: Never. And I’m not very good with dirty talk in person, either. I told you, I’m tragically behind the learning curve.
Shep: Maybe not. Maybe you just don’t like sexting or dirty talk. That’s a big part of this, too, you know, discovering what turns you on and embracing it. Authenticity and honesty are key, and there’s nothing hotter than a woman who knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to ask for it.
Bridget: But that falls under confidence. That comes last. We have to follow the rules of equations, Shepherd, and solve within the parenthesis first.
Shep: I didn’t realize there were parenthesis.
Bridget: My fault. I should have communicated more clearly. I’ll write it all out on the white board in my office tomorrow. I thought we could meet there to start hammering out the syllabus and make a list of any necessary materials I should acquire for the experiment to move forward smoothly.
Shep: You think you might be approaching this a tad analytically?
> Bridget: Logic is our only weapon in the war against chaos, Shepherd.
Shep: I’ll take that as a no.
Bridget: So seven o’clock tomorrow evening? Meet at the B&B office after I finish up the wine tasting for the guests? I’d invite you to come, but Colin and Kirby are going to be there, and I don’t think it’s wise to let them see us together.
Shep: Agreed. Seven works. I’ll see you then.
Bridget: Great. And thank you. Seriously. This means so much to me. I feel hopeful for the first time in so long, and it’s all thanks to you.
Chapter Eleven
Shep
All thanks to you.
Her words echo through my head all night and most of the next day, buzzing through my skull beneath the hum of the band saw, making me feel like a scoundrel of the first order.
Put like that, it sounds like I’m doing her a favor.
But what I’m really doing is giving in to temptation, abandoning my morals, and charging full speed down the wrong path. I’m helping Bridget with her Bang Theory because I want to bang Bridget, pure and simple. Nothing generous or altruistic about it.
Except that you won’t be banging her, you’ll be making love to her. So you’d better hope she’s as inexperienced as she says, bucko, or she’s going to have your number in no time. And what happens then?
It’s an excellent question.
What happens then? When Bridget realizes I’m in love with her?
Heartbreaking scenarios play on my mental screen as I jump into the shower after the workday is done. But no matter how many times I imagine Bridget’s pretty eyes filled with pity as she tries to let me down easy, I’m still on my way to her place by six forty-five.
Nothing—not humiliation nor dread nor a swarm of killer bees buzzing around her bed and breakfast could keep me from her door.
From her bed.
From her sweet skin.
As I circle around to the back garden, I’m so busy imagining every place I want to kiss her that I don’t realize the wine tasting is still in full swing until I’m in the middle of it.
Bang Theory Page 8
