by Hayleigh Sol
Still, Emma and Simone, the romantically inclined, weren’t big fans of my casual approach to dating. Lisette was often too clinical about sex—I suspected she hadn’t yet experienced a truly mind–erasing climax—and Holly, while like–minded about avoiding long–term entanglements, was almost always in the wrong time zone or too busy jumping off a mountain to reply to an emergency text.
And this felt like a sex emergency.
Maya would help me weigh the pros and cons and, as she knew and accepted me for who I was, including my three–hookup–maximum rule, was likely to talk me out of fooling around with Garrett again.
Which was the advice I wanted right now.
Right?
Of course it was. Especially when I was feeling emotionally delicate after my brother’s news.
Me: I’m a horny heartbeat away from texting Tracie’s brother for a repeat of our last sexy encounter.
Maya: Ah, the hot surfer–dude who’s not a surfer. I don’t get it, I thought you were a fan of his moves last time.
Me: That’s part of the problem. He might’ve actually earned himself a spot on the Greatest Hits list.
Maya: So…?
In the emptiness of my apartment, I sighed, and tried to think of a way to explain my hesitation to my friend. If I told her I was attracted to Garrett for more than his body and bedroom skills, that I was afraid I’d catch a case of the feels by spending more time with him, she’d be thrilled.
That was the only drawback to seeking stay–single–and–happy advice from your friend when she was in the rainbows–and–unicorns stage of a new relationship. She wouldn’t be able to help herself from yanking me up on that unicorn with her. But everyone knew unicorns were mythical creatures.
Me: Dustin and his girlfriend are in town and he’s planning to spend T–giving with our sperm donor.
Maya: Holy crap, really? Wait, not that I don’t want to unpack this major news with you, because I’m sure you’re not feeling great about it, but what does that have to do with you and hot Garrett?
Me: That’s just it. You’re right that I am having all kinds of feelings about the Dad situation. I’m…concerned that I might be reaching for a booty call just to make myself feel better. Physically, it’d probably work aces. Mentally, well…
It didn’t take the psychology degree I hadn’t completed to see that I’d had a pattern in the past. When my father had left, I’d been at that awkward, least secure part of a young woman’s life. Fifteen, with weekly breakouts, and boobs that seemed to pop overnight. Wanting a boyfriend but knowing my crush would never see me in that way.
My mother had never been great for boosting my self–esteem, but I’d been more of a daddy’s girl anyway. And Dad was free with his compliments and affection.
A little too free, as it turned out.
But, when Dad and all of his wonderfully supportive, body–image positive comments split, it yanked the rug out from under me. Aaron transferred to our school around that time, his growing interest in me providing a band–aid to my shaky self–confidence.
We had sex for the first time a week after my father invited me to his wedding. Sure, the date coincided with Homecoming and our anniversary, but there was a little voice in the back of my mind that whispered, see, Dad, somebody loves me and wants me around.
In college, whenever Aaron broke up with me because he was “so confused”—he was confused a lot—my self–esteem took a hit. The first time it happened, I’d gotten drunk with friends and slept with some dude from my humanities class. For an hour or two, I’d felt desirable, wanted, again. The morning after, I mostly felt cheap and easy.
I’d scrubbed myself extra clean in the shower, calling myself a slut for screwing the first guy I saw so soon after Aaron had dumped me. But my own slut–shaming pissed me off. I was a modern woman, an adult. Guys screwed anything that moved. Why shouldn’t I?
And that became my pattern. I was faithful to Aaron when we were together, but found a dude—or several—to hook up with whenever we weren’t. It was liberating, I thought. After a while, though, I usually ended up feeling ashamed of myself. Not necessarily for having safe sex with guys who weren’t Aaron, like that first time, but more for the realization that I was doing it to feel good about myself again. That was the problem with loving someone who was never quite sure about you. You spent a huge chunk of your life wondering about your own deficiencies.
With maturity comes wisdom—sometimes—and, after a few years of this, I finally understood that I didn’t need a boy, or a slew of them, or even my father, to make me feel like the strong badass I was.
So I switched up my routine and stopped having sex with men when my emotions were high. The only backslide happened when Aaron and I broke up for good. A therapist might say that my decision to only sleep with someone to satisfy a physical need, and not an emotional one, was the first brick in my fortress that I’d deliberately cemented into place.
Dad and Aaron had done their part, obviously, in making that wall big and strong—great job, guys—but I doubt I had the emotional wherewithal to see how much they’d contributed at that point.
Maya knew this part of my history because she and I had both dealt with self–confidence issues—like nearly everyone on the planet, except possibly George Clooney—albeit from different sources and at different points in time. Yet another reason why she was the best person to talk to tonight.
Maya: I see. You’re protecting that big Bailey heart.
Me: You know it only beats for you and the other girls. No stinky boys allowed.
Maya: But, sweetie, would it really be so bad to go out (or go to bed) with a guy you dig more than three times? And, before you bite my head off, I’m not saying you should get married and live happily ever after.
Me: Damn good thing.
Maya: But why not hang out with this guy, as a friend whose company you enjoy, in between all the awesome bangin’?
Me: Because…
Maya: Because you’re worried you might end up liking him as more than a friend.
Yes. Not that I admitted it. I still felt the need to guard bits of my marshmallow–ness, even from my best friends.
Maya: Actually, and I hate suggesting this because you’re amazing and any man would be lucky to spend time with you, but…what if this Garrett is also only interested in a bang buddy? Have you had the talk with him yet?
Me: You mean, “Where is this going? And the answer had better be: ‘nowhere.’”
Maya: Ha, yeah, that talk.
She might be right, now that I thought about it. If Garrett and I were on the same page, I wouldn’t really have to worry about emotional entanglements. His, or mine.
Me: So, to be clear, you’re sanctioning a booty call tonight. As long as both parties are clear on the fact that this will only ever be two friends hooking up.
Maya: I don’t know if that’s precisely what I was trying to say… There is still the possibility, remote though it may be, that even Bulletproof Bailey could end up wanting more. And, pay attention here, my darling best friend: that would be perfectly okay.
Me: It’s adorable that you think so. Alright, love. Guess I’m off to get my O–face on.
Maya: Lord, that was not a visual I needed. Have fun.
Me: Hey, are you still up?
Garrett: This sounds like a booty call.
I think I need to change the way I text. Although…
Me: Would you object if it was?
Garrett: After that kiss earlier? Hell no.
Excellent. I texted him my address and told him to wear something sexy. He lol’d at that.
He made incredible time, arriving forty minutes after his last message. Either he’d been heavy on the gas—hopefully as eager to get naked with me as
I was with him—or he’d hit very little traffic.
“Hey, sorry I didn’t get to say goodbye to your brother and his girlfriend before you left the restaurant tonight.”
“Shh, no talking.” I attacked his mouth before the front door had closed behind his biteable ass.
Hmm, wonder if he’ll let me bite his ass tonight.
I pulled him toward my bedroom and worked on removing his clothes as he mirrored the action with mine. When our lips separated to remove shirts, he made some comment about my nice place, but that violated my directive.
“Naked now. Talk later.”
As I managed to wedge a hand into his pants, he seemed to fall in line with the program. The heat I felt when we’d kissed in the parking lot earlier must’ve been simmering all evening; his touch quickly engulfed me in flames. We came together like a clash of wills, racing each other to see who could make the other climax first.
My favorite kind of competition.
Sprawled out and catching our breath in the wreckage of my sheets and pillows, I did get a chance to chomp on his muscular ass cheek.
“Somehow, you being a biter doesn’t surprise me.” He rotated his head to face me as I dragged a pillow back into position at the head of the bed and settled an overheated cheek on its cool surface.
“S’your own fault. Your butt is practically begging to be chomped.” My smile was a drunken leer that turned into a grin when he looked over his shoulder at his own ass.
“Yeah? I never thought it was anything to write home about. Kinda flat, ya know?”
I reached out a hand and gave the anatomy in question a friendly pat–pat–pat. “Edibility is in the eye of the beholder. And, please tell me, who is writing home about someone’s butt?”
“Probably anyone who’s ever seen yours.”
I raised up and looked at my own bubble butt. Shaking my head, I sent a disbelieving look his way.
“Seriously, I’m crazy about your curves; your ass is the stuff of my teenage fantasies.”
We both chuckled and, excellent hostess that I was, I asked if he wanted some water before he left.
“Before I go, huh? That eager to get rid of me already?” His tone was joking, but did I detect a flash of disappointment in his eyes?
Or was that my own?
This was why we needed to have the talk.
“Garrett…I like you, and I really like doing you—”
“Are you breaking up with me?” His smile this time was bigger, more like what I was already used to seeing on him.
He’d provided me with the perfect lead–in, even if he’d been teasing. I could reply with the same levity. “Ah, but that would mean we’d been dating in the first place.”
“True. I guess I didn’t make it all that clear when I asked you to try out a new menu item for my restaurant.”
“Uh, I was told that was my penance for accidentally thinking you were your sister’s cheating fiancé.”
His mouth twisted into a half–frown as he tsked and shook his head as much as he was able with it mashed against the other pillow. “Evidently, we’re going to have to work on our communication if we’re going to be a successful couple.”
If he hadn’t been kidding, I would’ve had a panic attack over that word. I didn’t “couple”. Not even a little bit.
As he rolled onto his side, more fully facing me, I was momentarily distracted by the glorious sight of his David–like chiseled perfection. And, maybe by the intriguing stirring going on south of his taut abs.
“Bailey…hey, my eyes are up here.” I dragged my attention back up to those icy irises, only slightly less brilliant in the diluted light coming from the living room. “I like you, too. I’d like to take you on a real date, if you’ll let me.”
Shit. So much for Maya’s genius idea.
It was harder to say no than I wanted it to be. Especially with that guileless look on his too–handsome face. “Garrett, the thing is, I don’t really date. I mean, I do…” His brow wrinkled in cute confusion. I sighed and tried again. “When I go out with someone, it’s very casual; everyone knows it’ll never lead beyond the fun stuff or the hanging–out stage or whatever you want to call it. No titles, no expectations, no obligations. And, when it stops being fun, that’s it. No angst–filled drama or hurt feelings.”
He stared at me for so long, I nearly opened my mouth to say something else. There was a penetrating quality to his inspection that I’d noticed before. One that felt like he was seeing all the way into the darkest corners of his subject’s soul—my soul—while giving away nothing of what was going on inside his own head.
“I’m cool with fun stuff and hanging out.” He nodded once. “I agree to your terms.”
After that intense scrutiny, I wasn’t sure I agreed to my own terms. It would probably be wise to put some distance between myself and Detective Perceptive.
But then he wrapped his arms around me and I lost myself to his compelling kisses and persuasive non–verbal arguments.
Chapter 13
I wasn’t quite sure how he’d managed what very few men ever had, but Garrett stayed over at my place. Probably, I’d allowed it because I was super relaxed from all the orgasms. Near comatose, to be accurate, and too exhausted to push him out the door. At least I hadn’t done anything as monumentally stupid and girly as snuggling into him while we slept.
I hadn’t. But he had.
And if you’ve ever had a guy who was taller than you by a good six inches, with muscles for days, snuggle up to you in a queen–sized bed, you know how easy it is to end up on a minuscule sliver of space at the edge of the mattress.
When I’d tried to gently nudge him back to his side of the bed—yeesh, just thinking of him having a side made me question the wisdom of his sleepover—he’d tightened the arm that was draped over my torso and nuzzled his head deeper into my shoulder. Like an adorable puppy.
Only a person with the blackest of hearts would kick a nuzzling, sleepy puppy out of bed. While I hadn’t engaged in post–coital cuddling in many years, muscle memory seemed to recall the basic mechanics. I ran my fingers through Garrett’s hair, the mindless motion soothing me. It felt…pretty nice, if I was honest.
About as nice as the sleepy smile he’d given me when he blinked his eyes open and saw where he was. “G’morning, gorgeous.”
“Good morning, great giver of orgasms.” His smile widened.
Okay, I could do this, keep things about the fun sexy times.
“Let’s go get some breakfast. D’you have a favorite place around here?”
Morning–after breakfast wasn’t exactly light and casual, but it was late and I was hungry. That was what I told myself as we shared a shower and he washed my back. Which was also not casual–hookup behavior.
Or maybe I was freaking out for no reason.
Over the years, there hadn’t been all that many guys I’d wanted to sleep with more than once or twice. The fact that I wanted to with Garrett was just making me nervous, but that didn’t mean I’d be flinging open the doors and windows of my quarantined heart anytime soon.
Assuring myself that I had everything under control—would it really be so awful to have a fling that lasted longer than ten days with someone I genuinely liked?—I dried my hair while Garrett perused the online menus of a couple of places I’d suggested.
“So, I got the impression dinner with your brother and his girlfriend was rather tense there for a bit.” Garrett’s head was tilted, studying me, as we waited for our breakfast orders. “Not that I object to how you chose to ease some of that tension, of course.” His grin made me smile reflexively.
“Picked up on that, did you?”
He chuckled. “Oh, yeah. Bossy Bailey was definitely in charge last night. I like that side of you, though.” His hands stilled mine where they’d been fussing with the crooked salt and
sugar packets since he’d brought up dinner. “Tell me to butt out if you want, but sometimes it helps to unload on someone else. Is everything okay between you and your brother?”
With such openness and patience in his expression, it was easy to tell Garrett about my brother and where he was spending Thanksgiving. It required a bit of backstory, of course, so I told him I hadn’t really spoken to my father since he’d had an affair and walked out on our family.
But then I found myself telling him I’d always been a daddy’s girl up to that point so his abrupt disappearing act had hit me hard. My father and I had shared inside jokes and taken special trips, just the two of us, every year. He’d been the one to encourage me in school, cheer the loudest at volleyball games, and he’d taught me how to do cool “guy” stuff like build and install shelves and change the oil in the family car. All of that had just…stopped when he’d decided to trade in his old family for a new one.
I’d never forgiven him for that. And I doubted I ever would.
“Jeez, that’s rough. I’m sorry to hear it.”
I shifted my shoulders, as if I could physically shrug off the old hurts and heavy mood I’d brought to the table. “It’s—well, it’s not fine—but it happens all the time, right? To lots of people. Divorce, affairs, unhappy marriages people stay in for the kids’ sake. Human beings just aren’t meant to be monogamous.”
“Do you really think that? I mean, I can see how the way your dad handled that situation—terribly, by the way—would color your perception of marriage. And then, of course, your fiancé cheated, too.” He frowned, then shook his head. “But some people do make commitment work, and they do it the right way. My parents are still together and, by all appearances, happy.”
My initial reaction was to tell him how precious it was that he believed that. But there was a fine line between expressing an opinion in my own characteristically cynical way and bitchy rudeness. If he wanted to believe in happily–ever–after, it wasn’t really my place to disabuse him of the quaint notion. Just like I would continue to support Tracie in her decision to take the plunge into treacherous and turbulent waters. Provided I still hadn’t found evidence to show the groom was a liar and a cheater before the vows.
