Three Little Words

by Jenny Holiday

  The smile slid off his face. “That’s not what I said.”

  Oh. Oh. It had not occurred to her both things could be true: Bennett didn’t want to have sex with her and he didn’t want to date her. Her face blazed. “So if I was such a big fucking mistake, what the hell was that?” Enough with the confusion. She was moving on to anger.

  “You’re not a mistake. I made a mistake. It’s not the same thing. It’s not your fault I’m like this. And I believe in finishing what I start.”

  She dropped her gaze to his jeans. There was still a telltale bulge there. “So what are you going to do now? Go back to your room and beat off, and somehow you’re magically absolved from having had casual sex? As long as you didn’t stick your dick in me, it’s all good?”

  Was she being too mean? He was clearly already upset with himself. But God, why was it that her encounters with Bennett the last two nights—him rejecting her and him giving her a bone-shattering orgasm—had both resulted in her humiliation? How could such polar opposite inputs lead to the same awful outcome?

  “I’m not saying it makes sense from the outside,” he said quietly. “Things don’t have to make sense for them to work.” When Gia’s only response was an eye roll, he said, “I think I should go now. I’m happy to talk more tomorrow if you like. Should we make it an early start? Say six?”

  She made a vague gesture of agreement and watched him leave, the click of the door behind him like thunder in her ears.

  * * *

  She hadn’t said, “Oh my God” when she first bit into the pizza. That was the only way he could make sense of what was happening to him.

  Bennett turned on the shower and hesitated over what temperature to make the water. The obvious answer was arctic cold. But, realistically, he knew it wouldn’t make any difference. The coldest water in the world wouldn’t douse the fire she’d stirred up in him. So he turned the heat up, got in, and took himself in hand.

  Every time Gia had eaten something Bennett had served her in his restaurant, she’d let loose an “Oh my God” tinged with equal parts surprise and carnality. Every single time: the boudin balls, the wine he’d selected, the coffee, the oysters. Even the beets in his salad. Her eyes had widened, and her jaw had relaxed. It was like her body was having an involuntary response that her mind could only react to by saying, “Oh my God.”

  Earlier tonight, she’d clearly enjoyed Mister Tony’s pizza. Mister Tony’s pizza had been, objectively, very good. But there had been no “Oh my God.” No eyes rolling back in pleasure. No greed-tinged sighs.

  It all probably would have been fine—he was practiced at keeping his impulses in check—but damn her, she also kept offering up these perfect, simple solutions to restaurant problems, both his and those of the poor victims of that stupid restaurant makeover show.

  And then her feet were on his lap. Her perfect candy-corn toes that made him want to put his mouth all over her.

  He would have restrained himself, but that photo. That had been his undoing. As it had come into resolution, he’d stared at it in disbelief, pretty sure her decision to focus in tightly on his hands on her legs meant that whatever it was between them tonight, she’d felt it, too.

  And then he’d started wondering, as he kept staring at the picture, waiting for the orange of her toenail polish to darken to its final shade, if there were other contexts in which she would say, “Oh my God!” like that.

  It turned out there were.

  Jesus fucking Christ, he’d never seen a woman come like that. He flattered himself a decent lover. He didn’t do casual, not as an adult, but he’d had his share of girlfriends, and none of them had had any complaints in that department.

  But Gia. The way she just…lost herself. Surrendered to sensation.

  It kind of reminded him of their snowball fight.

  It was the flip side of the version of her who had freaked out at the airline employees. Good Gia and Bad Gia were equally adamant. Whether it was irrational anger or silly joy—or the peak of sexual pleasure—he was starting to understand that Gia, when she was in, was all in.

  The warm water pounded down on him, and it only took a few strokes before he put himself out of his misery.

  He knew, though, that the reprieve was temporary.

  It was going to be a long drive tomorrow.

  Chapter Six

  FOUR DAYS BEFORE THE WEDDING

  Bennett didn’t do casual, but Gia didn’t do serious, and this was why. Because serious meant you were stuck with the person—you couldn’t just flee—no matter how awkward the morning after was.

  And this one was awkward. Painfully so.

  After they threw their bags into the car in the predawn dark and Bennett, ever the chivalrous southern gentleman, held the passenger door for her, Gia reminded herself of her motto: One man is as good as another.

  The only way that wasn’t true was when you started to hang on to them, when they became differentiate-able.

  And that way lay ruin.

  As soon as she got into the car, she picked up her phone and texted Wendy.

  So hi how are you also I fooled around with the best man last night SORRY

  Normally a text like that would have been directed at Elise, who was Gia’s bestie among besties. They’d met during Gia’s one year at university—Elise, three years older, had been Gia’s resident assistant. They’d fallen instantly into friendship, even as Elise had earned her stripes advising Gia as she considered dropping out to model.

  So normally Elise would be the recipient of any relevant “I need to deconstruct this sex” texts.

  Not that very many of them were relevant—it wasn’t often that Gia needed to dissect the emotional aftermath of a sexual encounter. But Elise, all settled and married and knocked up, liked to live through Gia, so Gia sometimes amused herself by telling Elise about her best and worst experiences.

  But in this case, she figured that since Wendy was marrying Bennett’s best friend, she should probably fess up—in case news of last night got back to her through her husband-to-be.

  Gia was surprised the reply came right away given that it was six in the morning and Wendy was on vacation. But that was Wendy for you. She probably got up early to work in secret.

  LOL. Don’t be sorry. I bet that was…intense.

  That’s one word for it.

  I thought you said he wasn’t your type.

  Well…

  Will Mr. Buchanan be granted a repeat performance? A two-before-you’re-through?

  The answer to Wendy’s question—the horrible truth—was that although Gia would grant Bennett a repeat performance, he wasn’t going to grant her one. That was uncharted territory, and more than she wanted to admit, even to Wendy. So she went with a vague reply.

  I don’t think so. He’s in the one-and-done camp.

  Poor guy. At least he tasted glory the one time.

  Haha. Anyway, we’re on the road now—just coming up on Richmond, Virginia. If all goes well, we’ll be there super late tonight.

  Don’t push yourselves. There’s no hurry re the dress. I canceled the Wednesday appointment, and the tailor confirmed she can do it pretty much anytime the rest of the week. You guys must be exhausted. Spend another night on the road. And consider granting Bennett a repeat, because I have confirmed that Tobias Almanza is a no go.

  Why?

  So I thought initially he was kind of prickly and stuffy, but, damn, get some booze into him and he turns into Hector. Remember Hector from Jane’s wedding?

  How could I not? *searches for vomit emoji*

  Wendy was referring to one of the groomsmen in Jane and Cameron’s wedding. At the bachelor and bachelorette extravaganzas in Vegas, everyone—except Wendy—had tried to pair Gia off with Hector, the only other single member of the wedding party. But Hector had been a gross player. One man is as good as another didn’t literally mean any man. It meant One desirable, respectful man is as good as another. Gia had standards. She had choices.


  She glanced at Bennett.

  She usually had choices.

  Why can’t this Tobias dude be an old-school British gent? Or, wait, Idris Elba. He’s British, right? I’ll take Idris Elba please.

  Oh, girl, he is so far from Idris Elba, I can’t even.

  Why do all of your husbands have such bad taste in friends?

  Probably because they’re so amazingly excellent at picking wives. No good judgment left to pick decent friends.

  Touché.

  This was the part where a lot of people would text something meant to be comforting, something along the lines of Don’t worry, someday your prince will come. Wendy didn’t go in for that bullshit, though. She knew Gia was not waiting on a prince. So she just sent Gia a selfie of her and the other girls goofing off on the beach along with:

  We can’t wait to see you. It’s not the same without you. And lest you think I’m a self-obsessed bride, I would like to inform you, soon-to-be BIRTHDAY GIRL, that we have PLANS for you.

  Now there was a declaration of love that meant more than anything any man could say.

  It wasn’t that Gia was antilove, in theory. It worked for other people. She’d seen it happen to all three of the girls, and she was truly happy for them.

  It just didn’t work for her. She’d come close once, with Lukas, and she’d gotten burned. But in retrospect, that hadn’t been love. It had been a one-sided infatuation with an asshole who’d tried to make her into his fantasy woman. Thank God all she’d really let him control was her hair color. And as she’d later learned, it was easy enough—and downright fun—to change back to whatever the hell color she wanted it to be that day.

  No, that had been her one foray into “love,” aka letting a man control her.

  And it wasn’t as if, in the years since, she’d had to walk around protecting her heart, actively trying to avoid falling in love. It hadn’t come up. She’d never been tempted—not once. When she got the niggling sense that she might be getting overly fond of a guy, she set up a test, he failed it, and that was that. She’d never had any problem moving on.

  So she’d been left to conclude that she was not made for love.

  Not romantic love anyway—she was fiercely devoted to her friends, even if they were falling like dominoes.

  “Do you want to drive through somewhere for coffee?” Bennett asked, halting her little foray into self-analysis as he pulled away from the hotel.

  “God, yes.” The vision of a huge steaming cup of coffee made her forget for a moment that she was mad at him. Also, thinking about coffee was a lot more pleasant than thinking about Lukas.

  “Or we could stop for breakfast, if cold Wall of Cheesy Garlic Bread isn’t your thing at six a.m.” He nodded at the pizza box he’d placed between them.

  She demurred on breakfast, so they pulled into a drive-through. Once she had her coffee and he an iced tea that he’d added several packets of sugar to—he was so weird—and they’d gotten on the highway, he cleared his throat.

  “So, ah, I just wanted to say again that I’m sorry about last night. It won’t happen again.”

  “Well, that’s too bad,” she shot back before she could think better of it. But damn, that orgasm. She could talk herself in circles inside her head, but the truth was she would gladly grant Bennett a repeat performance for another one of those.

  He smiled, and she decided to press her luck, because she really was curious—and she’d chilled out since yelling at him last night. He didn’t want her—so what? One man was as good as another, right? “But tell me, this rule of yours about not having casual sex. Doesn’t that make for some serious…dry spells?”

  He laughed. “It does make for dry spells. My last girlfriend was”—his eyes narrowed, and she could tell he surprised himself with the answer he calculated—“was almost a year ago.”

  “You haven’t had sex for a year?” She tried not to sound gobsmacked, but honestly, sex, as long as it was of the safe variety, was one of the world’s few guilt-free pleasures, and she just didn’t see why someone who wasn’t denying himself for religious reasons would abstain.

  “Don’t you find, though, that sex is so much better when you’re actually involved with the person?” he asked, deflecting her actual question.

  “I do not.”

  “Well, okay, maybe your sample is tainted. Have you only dated losers?”

  “I haven’t dated anyone. Not in a relationship, ‘we’re going steady’ kind of way.”

  Except that one time—or so she’d thought. But she didn’t count Lukas.

  It was Bennett’s turn to be gobsmacked. “What? How old are you? And how is that possible?”

  “I’m twenty-nine.” She was going to turn thirty tomorrow, in fact, but she didn’t add that qualification. She was still twenty-nine, and she was sticking to it, thank you very much. She moved on to answering his final question. “And that is possible because love is a state of being to which I’m immune.”

  “So no love. No romance. Just sex.”

  “That’s right.” She chuckled. “In fact, the surest way for a guy to get rid of me is for him to declare his devotion.” He blinked rapidly, taking in her answers, so she took advantage of his silence and asked one of her own. “How old are you?”

  “Thirty-one.”

  “Okay, so how many people have you slept with?”

  “Twenty-five.”

  She choked on her coffee, earning her a concerned glance, which she waved off. When she’d recovered herself, she said, “You only have sex within the confines of serious relationships, but you’ve slept with twenty-five people? Math was never my strong suit, but how does that add up?”

  He chuckled. “I only have sex within the confines of a serious relationship now. Before…” He hesitated. “Before the accident, I was a total man-whore.”

  She’d been about to laugh at that phrase, but the change in his face had her swallowing it. The way his brow knit suggested he was revisiting a painful memory. He seemed like he was on the verge of spitting something out. Like he wanted to speak but couldn’t quite make himself.

  “What is it?” she asked gently.

  “The girlfriend who was driving the night of the accident? The one I told you about?”

  “Yes?”

  “I didn’t love her.”

  Oh, Bennett. He was so hard on himself. “Does anybody really love their high-school girlfriends or boyfriends? It’s always just puppy love at that age, isn’t it?”

  “No. I mean, I never loved her. Not even in that puppy-love kind of way. I never even liked her, really. She was mean and not that smart, which isn’t a very attractive combination.” He pressed his lips together in a grim line for a quick moment before saying, “I was just using her because her brother was a dealer. She was an easy and quick path to drugs.”

  Ah. Bennett was like a rare, complicated flower blooming in many phases. She understood him so much better now. She also understood how hard this burden was for modern-day, morally upstanding Bennett to live with. Before she could come up with anything comforting to say, he added, his tone dripping with disgust at himself, “Of course none of that prevented me from sleeping with her—at least when I wasn’t too stoned for my dick to work.”

  Feeling like anything she might say would only sound hollow, she laid her hand on his forearm.

  He glanced over at her. “I wanted to tell you so you understand that last night really wasn’t about you.”

  She believed him, and as much as she wanted to be impervious to his opinion of her, it was a weight off her shoulders. They looked at each other for a moment—it was just a moment, as he had to keep his attention on the road—but it was a look that said things were okay between them.

  And if that was the case, she was going to attempt to lighten the mood with a little humor. As with last night’s “driving plus confessions” session, she sensed he would appreciate it, that something had been achieved by the confession but that he didn’t want to wallow in
it.

  “So. About these twenty-five belt notches. How many are from your wild youth, and how many were girlfriends you were gaga for?”

  He flashed the lopsided smile. “Twenty-one to four.”

  It tickled Gia that he’d kept track of his preaccident conquests. The way he talked about his degenerate youth, he didn’t seem like the kind of guy who would have bothered keeping track.

  “And I wouldn’t say I was gaga for my girlfriends.”

  “Huh?”

  “I tried to be.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Well, I liked them. I grew to love them, in a way.”

  “So you don’t have to be in love with someone to have sex with them?” She was asking not to bust his chops, but because she was truly interested. He seemed to have such high expectations of himself, yet they didn’t map onto the societal binaries that usually governed sex and love. He was so confusing, but also so stupidly compelling.

  “I wish it could be that way, but no. It’s more like…” He shook his head. “It’s hard to explain.”

  Her stomach growled. Her first impulse was to ignore it, but she forced herself to open the box of garlic bread, pull off a wad of cheese, and put it in her mouth. “Try.”

  “I don’t have to be in love with them, but I have to be with them, you know?”

  “I don’t know.” This was actually kind of satisfying, teasing out these insights. Maybe post-modeling, Gia should study to become a shrink. Too bad she wasn’t smart enough.

  “They have to matter to me,” he said, speaking slowly, like he was articulating his position for the first time. “I have to be all in.” Then he shook his head. “No, it’s more than that. It’s more like I have to know that I’m not going to leave.”