by Nancy Warren
She slumped down onto him, a half smile pasted to her face.
“I think we were both wrong,” she panted.
He made an inarticulate sound, like “hunhj?”
“I saw fireworks behind my eyeballs when I came. It looked like the Dale Chihuly exhibit, all those bursts of color. Maybe it’s not about flowers or umbrellas or sea life. Maybe it’s about sex.”
“From now on, whenever I see a Chihuly I will think of you. And this moment.”
He smelled so good. His skin, his hair, everything about him appealed.
After a few minutes, when neither of them spoke, just let their breathing return to normal, touched each other and held on, he groaned. Checked his watch.
“Jess, I’ve got to get going. I’m already late.”
She nodded, feeling she missed him already and he hadn’t even gone yet.
“Mind if I have a quick shower? Don’t want to go to work smelling of sex.”
She wanted to say something smart and funny, but she found she didn’t have smart or funny in stock. She said, “Sure.”
“I’d ask you to join me, but then I’d miss the dinner shift.”
“I know.”
He rolled out of bed and soon she heard him in the shower. Seemed he showered as fast and efficiently as he ate.
He was back out again in ten minutes. He dressed swiftly, walked over to where she was still lying naked on the bed, and said, “Could I get your email or something?”
A spurt of pure joy went through her. He wanted her email.
Yes!
“Of course you can.”
He pulled out his phone and she gave him her email address. She was going to ask for his but decided to wait and let him contact her first. He didn’t ask for her phone number, she noticed, but hey, email was something. Even if he never contacted her, at least he’d asked.
He kissed her, slow and sweet. “It’s been amazing,” he said.
Oh, he had no idea. Amazing was too easy a word for what she’d experienced. She called a good cup of coffee amazing. When her skin was glowing from a power yoga workout she said she felt amazing.
This? Sex with Sam?
She needed a whole other vocabulary.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Tell me, tell me, tell me!” Morgan said the second she walked into their favorite hangout four hours later. Morgan had managed to snag a table and already had a vodka martini on the go.
She jumped down from her seat and pulled Jessica in for an impulsive hug, squealing as she did so. “You look fantastic, by the way. Your skin is glowing and you’ve got that heavy look in your eyes that says I just got laid and it was fantastic.”
“Well, I did. And it was.”
Morgan waited impatiently while she ordered a glass of red wine, then, the second the waitress had moved away, she said, “Tell. Me. Everything. Now!”
So she did. From the very beginning.
Morgan nodded and repeated “told ya so” through the beginning of her date. She was suitable pissed on Jessica’s behalf that the banker not only ditched her but ditched her with the bill.
“Oh, but that’s the best part,” she said, leaning in. “He did me such a favor.”
Morgan did not look convinced, her short-bobbed hair bouncing as she shook her head. “What, you’re on some reality show where you have to burn through your paycheck?”
She leaned closer and told Morgan about putting her room key in the folder instead of her credit card.
“Oh, that is smooth! And the best part is you would never even think of doing something like that on purpose.”
“Of course not.” She shook her head. “It was a total accident. I was so embarrassed. I mean, the poor guy didn’t even catch up with me until I was already at the hotel.” She shrugged helplessly. “And then, what could I do but invite him up to my room so I could give him cash?”
“What could you do?” Morgan echoed, making her eyes so wide with fake innocence that her eyeballs nearly rolled out of their sockets.
They both snorted with laughter. And then, of course, she had to share every glorious moment. Even the telling made her feel hot all over again. The only thing she left out was when they’d swapped secrets in the dark because, well, they were secrets. But she did pull out her phone and show off Sam’s picture, the one she’d snapped outside Starbucks.
Morgan looked at the photo, back at Jessica and nodded. “Oh, yeah. This one? He wouldn’t even need a profile. That photo says it all. He’s gorgeous.”
“I know.”
“So? When are you seeing him again?”
“I don’t know,” she wailed.
“What? Are you telling me he’s the kind of guy who—“
“No. It’s not him. It’s me.” She sighed and kicked her foot up and down under the table, a habit she had when she was fretting. Since Arcade Fire was playing, it was easy to pretend she was air-tapping to the music.
All around them, men and women were interacting, in couples, in groups, or strangers meeting for the first time. There was laughter and soft conversations, some guys at a stag night already getting out of control.
Morgan knew her pretty well. She sipped her drink and waited.
“It’s like I finally figured out how to have a casual fling. A night of wild sex with a virtual stranger. I seriously did not even know his name until we introduced ourselves. That was after we’d already had sex.”
Morgan gave an earthy chuckle and raised her glass in a toast.
“So I figure, all right. I’ve finally cracked this casual hooking-up thing that everyone else seems to do easily and that I never figured out before.”
Morgan nodded. This was not news.
“I thought if I don’t tell him that I live right here in Seattle, then I don’t have to screw up the most perfect, incredible night of sex I’ve ever had.”
She took a sip of her wine. “Well, technically, I guess I already screwed that up because we had sex again this afternoon.”
“Still amazing?”
“There aren’t words.”
Morgan considered. “Then, technically, it doesn’t count as a screwup.”
“Good.”
“Why didn’t you tell him you live here? ’Cause I am not getting it.”
“Because I’ll wreck it. I’ll get serious and want more out of the relationship. I’ll try and get him on a five-year plan. I’ll send him application forms for MBA programs and try to make him into somebody he’s not.” She took a deep breath. “I’ll fall in love with him!”
There was a long silence. She glanced up at Morgan, who was looking at her with understanding and maybe a hint of pity. “Oh, honey. You didn’t.”
She figured it was safest not to answer.
* * *
“Earth to Sam.”
Sam jumped at the sound of Pete’s voice. He was standing in the kitchen of Benedict. He got the feeling the chef had called him before and he hadn’t heard him. Truth was, he’d seen a tray of Valentine Fantasy desserts and slid right off into his own fantasy. Except it wasn’t fantasy.
It was memory.
“Yeah, sorry. What’s up?”
“Table 5. They’re in from New York—loved the meal—wanted to compliment you personally.”
“Good. Be right there. Thanks.” He pulled his head out of his ass with an effort. Mingling with the customers was part of his job and he usually enjoyed it. He loved hearing how great his place was, who wouldn’t?
He got himself out front and met the New Yorkers, accepted their praise and posed for a photo with them. Then he made the rounds. “How was dinner? How’d you like that wine? Our sommelier had it brought in specially, you know. Isn’t that dessert wicked? Chef says it tastes like sex.” That got a laugh, as it always did. And he tried not to think about Jessica.
At least, not until the place had cleared and he’d closed up.
He sat in his tiny office behind the kitchen and made the schedule for the following week. Valentine’
s Day was next Friday, a big day and it fell on a weekend. He scheduled full staff, pulled in extra kitchen help.
That done, he wrote an email.
Dear Jessica,
What was he doing? Writing to his long lost great auntie? He crossed out Dear Jessica. Tried again.
Hey, Jess,
Maybe she hated Jess. Maybe it was the name kids used to tease her with in grade school.
Hey, Jessica,
Not great, but he could always come back and fix it. He’d be here all night if he didn’t move past the salutation. He rocked back on his chair. Thought about the woman he’d said goodbye to only a few hours ago.
I miss you.
Oh, jeez. Why don’t you write her a love song while you’re at it? Or a poem? Get her name tattooed on your ass?
He deleted I miss you.
Now he was back to:
Hey, Jessica,
The curser blinked, like it was tapping its feet with impatience, saying, Come on already, I don’t have all day here. He began typing once more.
I was looking at a Valentine Fantasy dessert and all I could think of was you. You look good in chocolate. And you were wrong. Sex doesn’t taste like chocolate, it tastes like you.
Was that gross? Too personal?
He crossed out the last two sentences. He liked the reference to the dessert, though. He thought she would too.
Oh, what the hell. She lived in Chicago. It wasn’t like he was embarrassing himself with someone he could run into in the street.
I feel stupid even saying this, but I miss you.
If you feel stupid even saying it, dumbass, then don’t. He crossed that out. Thought for a second.
If you were still here, I would invite you to my place and I would cook you dinner. I boasted about what a good cook I am, I would like to prove it.
I’d invite you for dinner, but I’d get in eggs and things for breakfast. Because I’d be hoping.
He had no idea what to put as a sign off. Love was too personal. XO was too cute. Sincerely was for business letters. He ended with nothing but Sam.
Then, before he could delete the whole thing and start over, he pushed Send.
And then he headed home wondering how he could feel lonely for someone he’d only known for a single day.
CHAPTER NINE
Jessica woke up on Sunday with a full to-do list. Work out, get groceries, call her mom for their weekly check-in. It was a pretty unofficial ritual, but Sunday was a day that usually worked for them both to catch up and exchange advice.
She brewed coffee and checked her email. There wouldn’t be anything from Sam, she told herself. He was way too cool. She’d probably hear from him Monday or Tuesday—if she heard from him at all.
So when she saw SamIAm she clicked on it right away, her coffee forgotten.
Hey, Jessica,
Okay, casual, but he’d emailed her one day after they’d seen each other, so that was good.
I was looking at a Valentine Fantasy dessert and all I could think of was you. You look good in chocolate.
She felt warmth begin to cover her body. If she closed her eyes she could relive that night, almost smell the chocolate.
She read on.
If you were still here, I would invite you to my place and I would cook you dinner. I boasted about what a good cook I am, I would like to prove it.
I’d invite you for dinner, but I’d get in eggs and things for breakfast. Because I’d be hoping.
Oh, wow. He hadn’t exactly said he missed her, but it was implied in his wishing she were still around. Right? Or was he merely saying he wanted to have sex with her again?
He’d signed it simply, Sam. No love. Not even an XO.
But he’d emailed and she figured that was pretty damned good.
She took a sip of her coffee and the flavor exploded on her tongue. Dark, rich, sensual.
A cool woman would wait. Morgan would tell her not to be too eager. She read Sam’s message again and went all gooey inside. Maybe she’d type an email now, because she had time and she felt like it.
Then she’d send it later.
Hi Sam,
It’s so good to hear from you.
What was he, a client she was hoping to land?
She deleted that.
The curser blinked at her like a wagging finger that seemed to be saying, Everybody else can manage casual sex. What’s wrong with you? You can’t even send a sexy email!
She was hopeless. She abandoned the email. Texted Morgan.
U going 2 power yoga?
Got back: Yep, CU there.
There was no time to talk before their class. They’d met at power yoga when she first moved to Seattle and both took it seriously. They’d bonded over green tea next door at the coffee shop and their friendship had grown from there. They spread their mats side by side in the crowded studio. She liked the vibe, even if it was practically a Lululemon fashion parade. All those flatteringly stretchy black pants with the bands of color, the sexy yoga tops and the toned bodies. It was a mixed-age range, lots of young working yogis like her and Morgan, some middle-aged people, a few old ones. “You’re as old as your spine,” the instructor reminded them as they went into a back bend and she felt like the oldest person in the room.
There were a few men, maybe ten or so. But, she reminded herself, her practice was about her and the mat. So, she tried to concentrate and stretched and strained and sweated in harmony of a sort with a roomful of people.
After it was over they headed to the coffee shop next door for herbal tea. Morgan flopped down on the black faux-leather comfy chairs they’d managed to snag. “What is it about men and yoga? They’re always married, gay or repulsive. I’m thinking of taking up cycling.”
“I hate cycling. I’m always afraid I’ll fall off my bike and get run over.”
Morgan yawned. “I almost fell asleep in Shavasana,” she said. “I need to get more sleep.”
Shavasana, or corpse pose, was her favorite time, right at the end when she lay still and was supposed to meditate for a few minutes. Instead she’d been distracted.
“I was trying to compose a sexy email.”
“You know, if yoga was a credit course, we’d both fail.”
“I know. I feel a lot more relaxed, though.”
“I like what it’s doing for my arms.” Morgan flexed her biceps, which did indeed look buff. Then she dropped the pose. “Sexy emails to whom?” She emphasized the whom like a grammar teacher.
Jessica felt herself fall into fluttery-girl mode. “Sam.” She said it as though there were two syllables in Sam. What on earth was wrong with her?
“I’m guessing he got in touch.”
She nodded. “I tried to email him back, but I was so worried about coming on too strong that I considered recounting a work anecdote.”
Her friend shook her head and took a fortifying sip of green tea. “How are you going to get anywhere if you’re too scared to send an email?”
“I don’t know.”
“Okay, get out your phone. I will dictate.”
Jessica got out her phone, hoping for the best but knowing she could always delete if Morgan didn’t come through.
“Dear Sam,” Morgan dictated.
So far so good, and interesting that Morgan didn’t find Dear too personal.
“I live right here in Seattle. Surprise! Give me your address and I will come right over and jump on your hot, gorgeous bod.” She glanced up. “What? You stopped typing.”
“I am not sending that.”
“You want to know how to send a sexy message? That’s how. You want more sex? Tell the guy you live here.”
Jessica deleted what little she had typed.
Morgan said, “You want unconditional love? Get a dog.”
That was the trouble, of course—she did want love. She felt she’d fallen halfway there when all she’d been trying to do was have one night of earth-displacing sex. How had she screwed it up? Already?
; Morgan pushed her hands through her short, copper bob. Checked out a couple of guys who walked into the coffee shop wearing biking clothes and carrying helmets. Two women, similarly clad, came in right behind them and she lost interest.
“What’s the worst that could happen if you took a chance and told him you live here?”
It didn’t take her long to answer because she’d already thought through the consequences of telling Sam that she lived in town. “I could make a fool of myself. He could have a girlfriend, be a commitment-phobe, pick up female diners on a nightly schedule.” He’d told her he didn’t do hookups anymore, but it didn’t mean he was telling her the truth. He thought she was only passing through town—he could have told her anything.
Except that, somehow, she’d felt his honesty. You couldn’t fake the look he’d had in his eyes. At least, she hoped it couldn’t be faked.
“I hope you get a discount when you get your insecurities bundled like that,” Morgan said.
Jessica sipped tea. “This is all your fault. You were the one who encouraged me to set that stupid New Year’s resolution.”
“You’re right. It is my fault, and I feel terrible.” She grabbed up Jessica’s phone from where she’d placed it on the small table between them, on top of a newspaper where someone had half finished a Sudoku and abandoned it.
“What are you doing?” she asked, feeling deeply suspicious.
Her tone caused the young guy beside them, an intense bearded guy who was reading James Joyce’s Ulysses to glance up from his book. He had graduate student written all over him, but for now he seemed more interested in the human drama playing out beside him in the coffee shop than he was in twentieth century Irish lit.
Morgan punched her thumbs rapidly over Jessica’s phone. Why didn’t she use her own phone? Then suddenly Morgan passed the phone to Jessica, who was so stunned she held it to her ear.
