I was met by humiliating silence. Why did I keep doing stupid shit like this?
Mortified, I shot off a less salacious message to Silver Fox. Oh and I was wondering—any chance you put your copy of my book on eBay?
To my relief, my phone buzzed. Oh, ha. Yeah. I wrote that thing. It was . . . Uh . . . inspired by what you’d written me.
Fifteen minutes later, I received an email, and it had an attachment. Even though I’d never laid eyes on Silver Fox, I was as excited to read his fictional scene as I once might have been to hear Dylan’s new music. But one of these things was real, and the other was not. How was it possible I felt something for Silver Fox without really knowing him? I didn’t even know his name. Was that infatuation? Or was he stroking my ego, releasing dopamine into my drug-starved brain, and making me feel like I was falling in love?
I’ll take dopamine for two thousand, Alex.
Double jeopardy!
As soon as I could, I closed the bookstore and carried my laptop upstairs to my little study. I could clean up and deal with inventory and money later. I was dying of curiosity.
Claire,
To answer your first question—no. I wouldn’t auction your book. It comes out next week, right? Exciting!
On to your second question . . .
I wasn’t going to send you this because it felt wrong while I was seriously pursuing my Lizzie, but that seems to be done. I hope this isn’t creepy. Remember, you did ask for it.
While you had fictional characters to play with, this is a scene without context. As such, it reads like a letter to Penthouse. Still, I think I needed to write this. Imagine if you will that this is what might have happened after I shared my feelings with her.
I don’t know if it’s what you’re expecting, but it is what it is. I can never run for political office now, lest you uncover my identity and share this with the world. Seriously, though, I hope you know this is for your eyes only.
True confession, I’m nervous. Is this how you feel every time you send your works off to be read? If so, I suddenly empathize and would like to formally apologize for not couching my original review in more praise. If I tell you now that you’re a gifted storyteller and wordsmith, will you refrain from any harsh criticism? I can dish it out, but I can’t take it.
Without further ado—assuming you’re still reading this email instead of jumping straight to the climax . . . Enjoy.
SF
I opened the attached file into Word, praying it wouldn’t be a total train wreck of poor writing.
A half-empty bottle of wine stood sentinel from the bedside table, watching silently as I lay upon the black-and-white checkered comforter, waiting for her to emerge. Would she return fully dressed, putting her shoes on as if we hadn’t turned a new corner? Would she make an excuse and leave me again with unfulfilled desire?
I wasn’t greedy. As long as she stayed, I wouldn’t ask for more.
The door cracked open, and she stood, lit from behind. Her hair had escaped her braid when we’d first kissed, and a halo of brown and gold surrounded her obscured features. The silhouette of her shape teased my raw desire with promises.
“Turn off the light,” I said, emboldened by her sultry gaze.
With a click, the room plunged into darkness temporarily, until my eyes adjusted again. I felt more than saw her settle next to me. The mattress dipped. The cover shifted. Her hand laced through mine. I sat half up and roped her toward me.
If she had second thoughts about where things were heading, she hid them well. Before I overcame gravity, her mouth was on mine, satisfying one need, birthing another exponentially more demanding. We fell together, tangled, a blur of hands. Fingers unbuttoned, hands gathered fabric, shirts dropped to the floor, and pants, slowly, excruciatingly, slid down legs.
The urgency abated as reality caught up, and I saw her at last as she appeared in my dreams. I savored the moment, drinking her in, a sea of beauty washing over the desert of my impoverished imagination. She hesitated, too, as her eyes dragged down every inch of my body, lingering on some inches longer than others. Her devilish smile was all the approval I’d ever need.
When she moved, it was a languid dance. Her arm rose and fell on my shoulder. Her finger left a trail of gooseflesh in its wake as she mapped the path to my ever-growing passion. I stayed her hand before she could transform the potential into the transactional. She pouted, but I kissed her until she purred, and then I touched her at last.
Her skin, like cream, silky smooth and soft, rippled wherever I sailed. Her mouth made a perfect O when my thumb caressed her nipple. Helplessly, I wrapped my hands around the small of her back and pulled her closer, and when I pressed my lips to her breast, she groaned. Her hips rocked toward me, inviting me, and I sighed. I’d dreamed of her for so long, and now she was here. In the flesh.
My fingers slid across her flesh until I touched between her legs. With an effort, I drew my mouth away and watched her as my middle finger glided across her slick heat. She writhed, twisting like a willow in a storm.
A soft moan became a rasp. “I need you.”
I needed to be inside her, but I would die happy watching her face contort with the pleasure I gave her. She reached for me. I caught her hand and pressed my lips against her palm.
She said, “Let me touch you.”
Instead, I moved down, away from her grasp. When I slipped a finger inside her, she said my name. And when I bent to run my tongue against her, she screamed it.
Time stood back, swirling, biding its despised return. I lost myself in delicious delirium, wanted, wanting, and she gave herself to me in soft sighs and shouted interjections. She wrecked my sheets with her fists. She guided me with her yeses and encouraged me with her hips. The bed shook, and she snapped her thighs together.
Time clawed its way to dominance, and I crawled to her side. The peace of her post-ecstasy would be enough to satisfy any man. Her eyes opened slowly, and she said, “I want you.”
When I started reading Silver Fox’s scene, I half expected him to spend entire paragraphs extolling the virtues of the breasts, but by the time I reached the end, I was—how did he say it?—in need of a cold shower. This exchange was not conducive to my health. I almost hoped Dylan would show up on his motorcycle and invite me to his place.
Or Max. If I was being honest, while I read Silver Fox’s fantasy, I wasn’t picturing Dylan at all.
The door slammed, and Layla came in talking to someone. I cleared my throat, and she spun to face me, saying, “Gotta go. I’m home now,” into her phone before hanging up.
“Who was that?”
She almost never talked on the phone. Typed, yes. Spoke, not so much.
“One of my moderators. Something happened while I was driving home, so she called.”
“What happened?” I imagined the band breaking up or a stage collapsing.
“Some trolls were flooding the comments section of the blog with all these nastigrams. Ashley’s freaking out.” She laughed. She got off on all the craziness of her online world. “We’re troll proof, though. My posters live for flame wars.”
She headed toward her bedroom, but I suddenly wanted to pick her brain. “Hey, Layla?”
Her hand rested on the door handle. “Yeah?”
“Have you ever fallen in love with anyone online?”
Her mouth twisted as she thought. “No. Fallen in hate, yes. Gotten into plenty of feuds. I’ve flirted with some people. I assume they were men. It’s hard to know for sure.” She side-eyed me. “Why, are you using a dating app?”
“I was just curious. You never date anyone here, and you’re always online. I just assumed . . .”
She came and sat on the sofa by me, one foot under her knee. “Yeah, well. Unlike you, I have no intention of remaining here. So I’m not gonna get tied down.”
“Nobody online either?”
“First of all, people who flirt with me on my site are usually after something. They think I have connections, backstage passes,
something. I don’t. But I never trust that anyone is pursuing me for me.”
“So what if I met someone online?”
Her one eyebrow rose just as her jaw dropped. “Talk.”
“Nothing much to tell. Remember that reviewer?”
“The three-star guy? You’re still talking to him?”
“Crazy, huh? Turns out he’s pretty great.”
“Just be careful. I’ve seen real relationships form online, but at the best of times, people are presenting a fiction of themselves.”
I considered that. “Maybe, but what’s odd is that I’ve been more honest and open with him than with people I know in real life.”
“It makes sense. When you don’t have to deal with small talk or the realities of the physical world, you can get to the essence of a conversation. I see that a lot, and many friendships form between the most unlikely of people over some common point of view. I’m always amazed at how quickly total strangers will jump straight into sharing intimate details online. Things you wouldn’t imagine telling the neighbor you’ve known for twenty years.”
That sounded familiar. It had been easy to tell Silver Fox things about my love life that even Layla didn’t know. “So what’s wrong with that, then?”
“It’s easy to project onto them what you want them to be.”
“Like the people who think you’re all-powerful.”
“Yeah. Maybe you’re letting this reviewer guy stand in for working things out in the real world?”
“I think I’m done with the real world. It’s a bit disappointing.”
She patted my knee. “Preaching to the choir.”
At that, she stood and started toward her own online kingdom where she reigned supreme, but I had one more question. “Do you happen to have the review copy I gave you?” I didn’t want to outright ask if she’d sold it on eBay. Surely, she wouldn’t do that.
She scrunched up her nose, and I braced for disappointment. “Sorry. I lent it to Letitia.”
My stomach lurched. “What? Why?”
“Relax. I didn’t tell her it was you, but she came up to ask me to help her get some malware off her laptop, and when I finished cleaning it up, she was curled on the sofa, already into chapter three, and she wanted to keep reading.”
That appeased me, and I let Layla slip back to her game of trolls and grabbed my phone to hop on Twitter.
So I read the scene you sent. How did I love it? Shall I count the ways?
Dots appeared, and I waited for his reply. Really? Can I beg for you to count the ways? I’ve been trying to write an actual piece of fiction for a while. I don’t know how people do it. I feel like everything I write is inferior.
I knew that feeling well. We all do. But you pulled me into the scene, and while it had me fanning myself, I was also taken in by the emotion. Is that seriously how you’d proceed with a woman? Because, damn.
My thighs ached, honestly. Would it be weird to take care of my own needs while thinking about words Silver Fox had written about another woman?
Moments later, he responded. Why do you say that? Is that not your usual experience?
I laughed. Not hardly. I mean, you didn’t write one word about your own physical pleasure.
Had I actually written that? I blushed.
Yes. I did.
The back of my hand hit my forehead, and I nearly swooned. Break out the smelling salts, I’m heading to the fainting couch. Layla’s admonition to maintain a high alert for pretense brought me down to earth.
You can’t be for real.
Ha. I’ll admit, I haven’t always been as attentive in the past, but I chalk that up to youth and inexperience.
So what changed?
I came to see sex as more than a one-time fulfillment of desire. It’s a slow dance. Don’t go thinking I’m talking about a marathon tantric lovefest. It’s just that I can no longer imagine being involved with a woman if I can’t take the time to appreciate her, savor her, make her happy.
Holy shit.
What are you doing Saturday night?
Are you serious?
Was I? Or was I just horny? No, it was more than that. We’d developed a real connection. Or at least a virtual one. I could no longer find the difference.
Would it be wrong to want to meet? Layla was going to kill me.
Where?
I took a breath. I’ll be at the White River State Park for that concert I mentioned.
I can get there. Where do you want to meet?
What if this was a bad idea? What if he turned out to be nothing like I imagined? Then again, what if he turned out to be exactly what I wanted him to be?
Do you know where the big totem pole is?
Beside the NCAA Hall of Fame?
That’s the one. Could you get there by seven?
Wild horses wouldn’t keep me away.
I set the phone down and processed my mix of emotion. I went straight past nervous to curious and landed on excited. I probably wouldn’t sleep well for the rest of the week.
Chapter 24
I wasn’t sure if Dylan or Max would show up for the book club on Friday. I’d let them both down in the past week, yet for some reason, they came.
Since my life had become a chess game of love triangles lately, I decided to clear that area of discussion off the board and delve into other aspects of Little Women.
“Raise your hand if you think Jo should have chosen Laurie.” I waited for everyone to agree so I could say, Great. Let’s move on. But only Midge and I raised our hands.
I sighed. I guess we were doing this. “Right. So Shawna and Charlie, you both think Jo should have remained alone. Max, you’re being contrary.” I raised an eyebrow. “And Dylan doesn’t care either way. So why don’t we talk about—”
“Wrong.” Charlie held up a finger to draw further attention his way. “I felt that way about Scarlett O’Hara and Jane Eyre, but Scarlett was a brat and Rochester was a brute. Jo’s smart, and Bhaer is sensitive and well-suited to her. Jo’s world is not Laurie’s. She never could’ve been happy with him.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “If Bhaer’s so well-suited, then why does Jo set aside her literary career to run a school with him? Why would she give up her identity for her husband?”
Dylan piped in. “Don’t you find Laurie to be a simpering wimp? Bhaer had an artistic temperament, like Jo. And he was out in the world, where Jo wanted to be. He could meet her intellectually and keep her life exciting. All Laurie has to offer is a childhood devotion. Why would that ever be enough for Jo?”
Dammit. They were making good arguments.
Midge said, “Ah, but does she love Bhaer?”
Exactly my point. “Right!”
Max dropped the anvil. “Your question is moot. She doesn’t love Laurie.”
“But . . .” I had no answer.
“You love Laurie, but Jo does not. She could’ve tried, but she did the right thing by not leading him to believe there could ever be more.” His frown matched mine.
Were they all using this book club to take revenge on me?
At last Shawna raised her voice. “You were right about me, Maddie. Bhaer surprises her and convinces her against her own resistance to take him. There’s definitely a basis for a good friendship, but to me there’s always something sad about Jo’s choices. Her imagination is so powerful, I don’t think any man could ever satisfy her completely. I wonder if she could truly be happy with either of the two men, or if she’d be better off living in a fictional world of her own creation.”
I heard her, and I took her meaning. It was clear to me everyone present knew I’d turned down every flesh and blood man who’d shown any interest. Rather than acknowledge their subtext, I gave them all a pointed look. “Could we get back to talking about the book!”
Everyone’s eyes sought out someone else’s, and they all pulled faces like I was the one in the wrong.
“Fine. Talk amongst yourselves, then. I’m done.” I stood and dropped my bo
ok on my chair. As soon as I got outside, I knew I’d overreacted, but they couldn’t pretend they weren’t all talking about me.
The door opened, and Shawna slipped out. “You want to tell me what that was about?”
“You’re all giving me advice disguised as literary analysis.”
“Oh, Maddie. You really identify far too much with central characters.”
“See? Isn’t that what you just said?”
“Close. But I also said Jo is probably better off without any of the men in her world. You know I don’t think that about you.”
My voice cracked. “You think I should go with Dylan.”
She laid a hand on my shoulder. “Look. You were happy when you were with Dylan. I don’t know if you’d be happy with him now. I’d just like to see you take a chance on someone. You’re going to over-judge every single guy against unrealistic expectations, and nobody will measure up.”
“Well, you’ll be happy to know I am taking a chance.”
She tilted an eyebrow. “Max?”
I laughed. “No.” Then I frowned. “No, not Max. Wouldn’t that be easy, though?” It would solve ninety-nine problems. He’d be happy. He’d stay.
I imagined walking along the stream together, hand in hand with Max, kissing on the bridge at sunset. My heart cramped at how nice that could be, but then I pictured myself sitting on the bridge, alone, after things ran their course, and we’d lost it all. We were attracted to each other, but would we be compatible as more than friends? I couldn’t risk him to find out.
“So who?” Shawna brought me back to reality.
“Would you believe I met this guy online?”
“Letitia’s dating service?”
I winced. “No, we just started talking, and we’re gonna meet. Tomorrow night.”
She grimaced. “Is that safe?”
“Don’t worry. I promised Layla I’d go to see a concert tomorrow over at the state park. We’ve agreed to meet in public before the show. You know that totem pole?” She nodded. “It’s gonna be like Sleepless in Seattle.”
She didn’t look convinced. “What do you know about him? Have you exchanged pictures?”
Dating by the Book Page 22
