Shep’s lips thin in a way that makes it clear he thinks two virgins getting tested for STDs was overkill.
“Better safe than mindlessly jumping into the sex cootie pool and swimming around in it, just asking for some sort of awful infection,” I counter, pointing a finger at his crinkling face. “If you laugh at me again, I’m going to make you stand in the corner for a time out.”
He grins. “You could spank me with your pointer instead.”
I narrow my gaze. “No. No spanking. I have a feeling you’d enjoy that.”
He laughs. “You’re right. I might.” His eyes dance into mine in a way that makes my skin prickle in secret places. “You might, too. You’ll never know unless you get out of your head and loosen up a little.”
“There’s a difference between being relaxed and being irresponsible with your health.” I place my pointer on the desk and thread my hands together in front of me, fighting the sudden urge to cry. “And if mandatory testing before intimacy is a thing most people don’t want to bother with. Then, well…I guess most people won’t want to bother with me.”
“Bridget…” His gentle voice makes the sting behind my eyes even worse.
“It’s fine.” I say, my voice cracking. “This is good. I mean, not ideal obviously. But it’s better to realize the experiment is fatally flawed now than after I’ve wasted weeks of your time.”
He stands, bracing his palms on the well-worn wood as he brings his face closer to mine. “You’re not wasting my time. And you have every right to ask for what you need from your partner. It doesn’t matter if it’s not the way most people do things. I’m sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?” I sniff and reach for a tissue, fighting to play off my impending tears as an allergy attack. “It’s not your fault I’m an old-fashioned hypochondriac.”
“You’re not a hypochondriac. You’ve got a legitimate point, and as someone who cares about you, I think you should take every possible precaution to make sure you stay safe and healthy.” His eyes tighten at the edges. “I just didn’t want to paint an unrealistic picture of the way things are out there. You want me to be honest with you, right?”
I nod. “Of course. But I know myself, Shep. If I went into a situation like that without anyone getting tested, I’d never be able to relax and enjoy it. I’d be worried about cooties the entire time, and cooties are the opposite of sexy.”
“They are.” He bites his bottom lip in a pensive way that still makes me think about kissing him. Because almost everything, including talking about STDs, makes me think about kissing him.
But I have no reason to kiss him anymore. The experiment is off, and we’re back to being friends with no benefits.
The realization makes my nose start stinging again, but before I can burst into tears or fake a more serious allergy attack, he adds, “But maybe getting that part of the equation sorted doesn’t have to be.”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, we can figure out a way for you to introduce getting tested into the discussion in a way that’s chill.” He shrugs, a smile quirking at the edge of his lips. “Maybe even fun.”
I shoot him a dubious look over the top of the tissue pressed to my nose.
“Yeah, fun,” he says, his grin spreading. He stands, clapping his hands before rubbing his palms together in anticipation. “Give me the night to sort out my thoughts, but I think I’ve got something. You free tomorrow afternoon?”
“Yeah. I’m off at noon.”
“Perfect. Meet me at the coffee shop on Pilgrim Place at one.”
“Okay,” I say, still skeptical. But also hopeful. “So does that mean the experiment isn’t canceled?”
“Hell, no.” He winks at me as he backs toward the door. “The experiment is just getting started.” He nods toward the spreadsheet he left abandoned on his chair. “But you need to pare that down to your top five must-haves and deal-breakers.”
I widen my eyes. “Five? That’s impossible.”
“Four,” he counters, reaching for the door handle.
“Six,” I say, anxiety butterflies fluttering in my chest, though I’m not sure which is stressing me out more—the insanely low number of variables he’s allowing, or the fact that’s he’s leaving so soon.
Without touching me.
Or kissing me.
Or showing me any of the things on his Bang Theory list.
“And now you’re down to three.” He tuts beneath his breath. “You sure you want to keep going down this road?”
“You don’t get to decide how many conditions there are,” I say. “This is a team effort.”
“It is, but I’m head scientist on the project,” he says, pushing on before I can argue. “I have more experience in the field, as well as numerous published works on the subject.”
I prop my hands on my hips with a huff. “Oh yeah? Like what?”
“I wrote ‘Need You in the Night,’” he says, sending another ripple of awareness across my skin. Just thinking about that song is enough to make my heart—and other body parts—ache in the best way. “And ‘Know You Well,’ and I’ve got another love song on the album dropping at the end of the month.” He pauses, staring deeper into my eyes. “If you’re a good student, maybe I’ll let you hear it before anyone else.”
“I’m your partner in this, not your student,” I correct, before admitting, “but you’re right. You have more experience. I’ll narrow my list down to three, but you have to do the same.”
“I don’t have a list to narrow down.”
I smile. “Exactly. You have to come up with three things.” I reach for the spreadsheet, plucking it from the desk and holding it out toward him. “You can take this with you for inspiration if you need it. I’m happy to help you with your homework.”
His tongue slips out to dampen his lips, raising the temperature in the office several degrees. “No thanks. I can handle it. One o’clock tomorrow. I’ll bring a list, you bring an open mind, and we’ll find our way.”
“I wish I had your confidence,” I say, heart sinking as he opens the door. I don’t want him to leave.
“You will,” he promises. “We’re going to get there, Bridge. Don’t stress. I’ve got you.” And then he’s gone, before I can ask him if he wants to stay and watch a movie or walk down to the square to hit the food trucks for dinner.
But that’s for the best. He’s staying focused on the task at hand, just like we said we would. It’s silly of me to miss him so much.
But I do. Every minute until I finally fall asleep.
Chapter Thirteen
From the texts of Cutter Comstock
and Shepherd Strong
Shep: Hey man, I need to call in a favor. Are you still friends with that girl who works at the free clinic?
Cutter: No. I mean, yes, we’re friends. But just friends. She’s in a serious relationship now. Some guy from England with a stupid accent.
Shep: If I didn’t know better, I’d say you sound jealous.
Cutter: I’m not jealous. I just don’t understand why everyone feels compelled to couple up all of a sudden. Can’t they see that life is more fun without the ties that bind and strangle and lock your cock down to one pussy for the rest of your life?
Shep: Some people find relationships liberating. Like that song Colin wrote—tie me up in your love, set me free.
Cutter: Gag.
Shep: I think it sounds nice. I’d like to stop looking someday. Find that woman who makes everything feel right and lay my single-man burden down.
Cutter: If being single feels like a burden, you’re doing it wrong. Though, from the sound of things, you’re not a complete failure if you need a favor from my friend at the free clinic. Afraid you picked up something not-so-fresh from your last one-night stand, are you?
Shep: No. I haven’t had a one-night stand. I just want to make sure I’m clean. Just in case. I was hoping your friend could squeeze me in first thing tomorrow morning, before their regular
appointments. I looked online, but they’re booked solid until next week, and I’d really like to get an all-clear as soon as possible.
Cutter: Ah, I see. So you’ve gotten tangled up with one of those kinds of girls.
Shep: I’m not tangled up with anyone. But what do you mean by that? One of “those kinds” of girls.
Cutter: The kind who won’t fuck a rock star unless they get proof that he’s really a good boy beneath the leather and eyeliner.
Shep: I don’t wear eyeliner.
Cutter: You should. It would look badass with your beard. And why bother being a rock star in the first place if you’re just going to slump around in an old flannel, dating women who want to snip your balls off and keep them in a box beside their bed while you’re on tour. You should be living your best life, Shepherd, not figuring out how you can sap all the fun out of your existence.
Shep: So much to unpack there, but I’m short on time. Can you call in a favor with your friend or should I book an appointment in Bangor and make the hour drive there and back day after tomorrow?
Cutter: Not sure yet. I shot her a text a few minutes ago. She used to get back to me pretty quickly, but that was before she started dating Lord Fartbreath. I only met him once, so I have no idea if it’s a chronic condition, but seriously, if the man has breath that rancid even twenty-five percent of the time, what is she doing with him?
Shep: And I bet he doesn’t wear eyeliner, either.
Cutter: No! He doesn’t. He’s some sort of ocean scientist. Spends every day in waders stomping around in tide pools. It’s disgusting.
Shep: Are you sure you don’t have feeling for this girl? What’s her name again?
Cutter: Eloise. And no, I don’t. I mean, I like her a lot, and I’m going to miss her reverse cowgirl—she had something weird going on with her lady parts; they were in there backward or something, so it was a uniquely smooth and sweet experience—but I wasn’t soft in the heart for her or anything.
Shep: No more intimate details, please, or I’m not going to be able to look this woman in the eye without blushing.
Cutter: Yeah, you’re cute that way. Probably why you’re attracting the high-maintenance crowd. And Eloise just got back to me. You’re all set. She’ll squeeze you in at 7:45 before their first appointment.
Shep: Awesome. Thank her for me, will you? And thank you for setting me up.
Cutter: No worries. She offered to run my bloodwork, too, if you want me there for moral support.
Shep: Nah, that’s all right. I know you don’t do mornings. I mean, unless you’d like to get some peace of mind on that front, then you’re totally welcome to join.
Cutter: Fuck, no. I haven’t been laid in almost a month, and condoms and I are tight. I don’t need any kids shambling out of the woodwork when I least expect it.
Shep: You make children sound like something from a zombie movie.
Cutter: Except worse, because they don’t just want to eat your brains. They want to devour every piece of you until you’re nothing but an empty husk of a person who thinks bingo night at the Elks’ Lodge is the height of entertainment and can’t stand concerts because the music is too loud.
Shep: So you and your dad are still getting along great, huh?
Cutter: Yeah. Whatever. We haven’t killed each other yet, so that’s good.
Shep: You should ask him if he wants tickets to the Boston show in November. We could fly him out, take him to that seafood place he likes after. It could be fun.
Cutter: Nah, he says music gives him a headache. All music, not just ours, so it’s not personal.
Shep: That’s sad. Especially considering he used to be in a band back in the day.
Cutter: Yeah, it is sad. I can’t imagine what kind of shitty place I’d have to be in for music to hurt me. Music is the only thing that’s always right, you know? No matter what.
Shep: I’m sorry.
Cutter: Whatever. Could be worse. I could be dating a good girl. Just don’t get her pregnant, dude, or your life really is over.
Shep: The longer I know you, the more I realize we have almost nothing in common.
Cutter: Yeah, I’m glad we’re friends, too. Later, asshole.
Shep: Later. And thanks again, man.
Chapter Fourteen
Bridget
After my five a.m. wake-up call to get the Nortons off on their deep-sea fishing adventure, an afternoon coffee is sounding like a piece of heaven. Add seeing Shep into the mix, and I’m floating through downtown, my feet barely touching the sidewalk.
I know I shouldn’t get my hopes up too high, but I can’t seem to keep the goofy smile from my face.
Yes, there’s still an excellent chance our experiment is doomed and I’ll be back to square one—dateless and clueless as to how to de-lonely my nights—but in the meantime I have coffee and Shep.
All I need now is a double-chocolate mocha cupcake and my Excellent Afternoon Equation will be complete.
I arrive at Sips Ahoy a few minutes early, anticipating I’ll have time to order my foamy cappuccino and lay claim to a table before Shep arrives. But when I swing through the door, he’s already ensconced in the corner booth, the one with the extra cushions and the mermaids painted on the wall behind it that’s my absolute favorite. In front of him are two cappuccinos and a mocha cupcake with not one, but two malted milk balls on top.
My smile stretches wider. And then I meet his gaze—warm and confident and clearly as happy to see me as I am to see him—and my lips sparkle right off the sides of my face. My heart spins in giddy circles singing something about the coffee shop being alive with the sound of music, while my brain warns that I’m way too excited to see an old friend.
But I’m too tired to listen to my brain.
At least, not until I’ve had at least one cappuccino.
“You are a god among men. Thank you so much.” I collapse into the padded chair across from him and toss my purse on the floor, reaching for the steaming mug closest to me with a moan. “Come to me, sweet caffeine. I need you inside me.”
Shep clears his throat in response, a sound that turns into a laugh as I grin at him over the edge of my cup. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” he says.
I set down my coffee cup daintily in its dish, primly licking the foam from my lip as I shrug a shoulder. “Maybe I decided adding a little naughty to my nice might be a good way to convince the opposite sex to see things my way.”
He grunts softly. “And maybe this workshop is going to go even more smoothly than I thought.”
“Workshop? What kind of workshop?”
Shep reaches down to the bench beside him and pulls two long white sticks from inside his messenger bag. Two long white sticks with big red candy clouds at the ends of them.
No, not clouds, I realize upon closer inspection.
They’re…
They’re…
“Penis lollipops?” I hiss, reaching out to cover the tops of the obscene candy, pressing them down onto the table between us as I cast a quick glance over my shoulder.
Thankfully, at this time of day, the coffee shop is sparsely populated, and the few other patrons are all busy on their laptops or immersed in intense conversation.
I turn back to Shep and whisper, “If this is a blow job lesson, it’s neither the time nor the place. And I know how to give a blow job. Theo and I got drunk on wine coolers our senior year of high school and watched a very thorough online tutorial. I can blow any cucumber’s mind any time.”
His gaze darkens. “I’d love to see that in person.”
Ignoring the heat his husky words send curling through my belly, I keep my stern face on. “Sometime when we’re not in a public place with children present.”
He skims the shop behind me. “I don’t see any children.”
“Not yet, but one could walk in any minute.”
“And if they do, we’ll put the pops away. Until then, however, they’re part of the plan.” His fingers circle my
wrist, lifting my hand from the plastic-wrapped red peens. “This isn’t a blow job lesson. It’s a role-playing exercise.”
“What kind of role-play?” Scowl plucking at my forehead, I take another glance over each shoulder, irritated that no one’s pushing a baby stroller in the door or lifting a toddler up to view the treats for sale inside the glass case.
Where are all the mothers in this town? Don’t they need an afternoon coffee as much, if not more, than the laptop squad parked by the outlets, sucking up the free internet?
When I turn back to Shep, he has one of the lollipops unwrapped and held in his hand. “You pretend to be an interested party. And I’ll be you.”
My brows shoot up. “You’re going to be me?”
“Yep.”
I lean across the table. “But I wouldn’t have a penis lollipop out of my bag at a coffee shop. I wouldn’t have a penis lollipop at all, ever, because things that are shaped like penises, but aren’t penises, creep me out. I almost had an anxiety attack at Collette’s dildo party.”
Bang Theory Page 10
