by Hazel Kelly
Needless to say, I’d survived less comfortable purgatories.
Plus, thanks to my childhood, delayed gratification had become a sort of super power of mine, so the scone itself would likely break before I did. My mom even said once that I would’ve rocked the Marshmallow Test, and she studied psychology in college, so she would know.
To clarify, the Marshmallow Test is not that game where kids stuff their cheeks dangerously full of marshmallows. That’s Chubby Bunny, and we weren’t allowed to play that growing up… though now that I think about it, I suppose one could argue it’s a test of a kind, too, just not for anything positive.
The test my mom was referring to, on the other hand, was first done by a Stanford psychologist who was attempting to measure self-discipline in little kids. Basically, the researcher put one kid at a time in front of a cookie and said if she could wait for him to return in a few minutes, she could have two cookies instead. Obviously, some of the kids weren’t up for the challenge and gobbled their cookie up on the spot. Others, however, came up with a myriad of ways to resist and distract themselves- from singing to closing their eyes to sitting on their hands- just to get the better reward.
The interesting part is that they followed those kids for decades and discovered that, apparently, whether or not they had the self-discipline required to delay gratification as kindergartners was directly correlated to how successful they went on to be as adults. Granted, the result seems obvious once you know it, but it always intrigued me that such a simple demonstration could have such far-reaching implications.
Of course, I’d finally had the cookie I’d been waiting so patiently for, and I had no idea what the long-term consequences were going to be yet. All I knew was that the memory of his lips on mine filled my gut with an irrepressible warmth and giddiness that made me feel decidedly uncool in the best way ever.
However, the fact that I’d ignored Piper’s last five calls was having the opposite effect. Not that I didn’t want to talk to her. I did. She was my best friend, and I got the sense that her first two months of college hadn’t passed nearly as quickly or enjoyably as mine. So I really needed to be there for her right now.
But what if she could tell by my voice that something was off? What could I possibly say to hide the fact that I’d missed her calls because I was lost in Logan-themed daydreams?
I looked out the window to where Nina was balancing on the curb, nodding as she pressed her phone to her head. My own phone buzzed a second later.
My heart sank at the thought that it might be Piper again, and I decided I would absolutely have to text her back and promise to call her later that afternoon, at which point I would simply keep the topic of conversation on her as much as possible and hope for the best.
But when I pulled it out of my small purse, it was Logan’s name on the screen. I took a deep breath and realized that if the Marshmallow Test involved texts from him instead of cookies, I’d be fucked.
“I can’t stop thinking about your tits.”
Shit. There he goes with the dirty talk again. How did I never know he had this side? And why the heck did I find it so attractive? “You’ve never even seen my tits,” I texted back, feeling slightly awkward for referring to my own chest that way.
“Precisely,” he answered. “Which is why I’m picking you up at five o’clock sharp.”
My lips twisted with intrigue. “What if I have plans?” I asked. Not that I did. Well, Nina and I had briefly discussed getting drunk and going to the student union to watch the DDR club practice for shits and giggles, but that was only if nothing better came up.
“Cancel them.”
“Do you really want to see me, or are you just trying to get your dick wet?” I typed without hitting send. It wasn’t the kind of thing that would normally come out of my mouth, but I’d heard Nina say it on a few occasions when she was being dismissive of guys she wasn’t interested in, and I had every reason to believe the word wet would get him riled up.
It certainly seemed to work on me, anyway.
I didn’t want to freak him out though. Then again, he had just said he was sitting around thinking about my chest, so maybe it was the perfect time to say something vulgar. I could feel my cheeks burning at the mere thought of sending it, but the thought of catching him by surprise was too tempting to resist.
I squeezed my eyes shut and hit send. Then I waited. When nothing came back right away, I started to panic and spent the next two minutes reminding myself to breathe between sips of coffee.
Finally, my phone buzzed.
“Fuck, woman. Keep talking like that and you’ll find yourself with no more than five minutes to get ready.”
“Ready for what?” My heart fluttered at the equally terrifying and exciting idea that he might say “my dick” or something, which had been all I could think about ever since he wouldn’t fucking show it to me.
“It’s a surprise.”
I swallowed. I wasn’t sure if I liked surprises.
“Sorry about that,” Nina said as she slid into the cushy chair across from me.
“No worries.” I shoved my phone in my purse. “Everything okay?”
She groaned. “Not in Sadie’s world, I’m afraid.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
She shook her head, and I could tell by her eyes that she meant it. “I’m going to be talking about it all night, unfortunately, so I’d rather just chill for now if that’s cool.”
“All night?”
She shrugged. “I told her I’d come over later. It was the only thing that seemed to calm her down.”
I hoped everything was okay. I liked Sadie.
“You should’ve started,” she said, sliding the plate of scones towards me. “Sometimes you’re too polite.”
Shit. If Southern Belle Nina thought I was too polite, maybe I was. Then again, I’d just sent that filthy text.
“Especially when I was being so rude.”
I waved her concern away. “Don’t worry about it.”
“And now I’ve made plans to blow you off tonight as well.”
“It’s cool,” I said. “I think I’m going to hang out with Logan.”
“Sweet.” She broke a corner off the scone closest to her. “What are you guys going to do?”
“He said it’s a surprise.”
She laughed. “A slippery dick surprise.”
My eyes widened, and I looked around, but no one seemed to have heard.
“Relax. It was just a joke.”
I let my shoulders shrink back against my chair and wondered if I was ready for jokes like that to become a reality.
“Why do you look so nervous all of a sudden?”
I lowered my voice and turned my shifty eyes on her. “Because I don’t know the first thing about that.”
“About what?”
I craned my neck forward. “Slippery you-know-whats?”
She squinted at me.
I couldn’t tell yet if I was going to regret this.
“How little do you know?” she asked.
I scrunched my face.
“Zoey.”
I sighed. “I’ve given a few uninspired hand jobs.”
Her face fell. “Are you fucking with me?”
I shook my head.
“You’re a virgin?!”
“Shut up,” I said through clenched teeth.
She glanced over her shoulders but seemed unworried about having attracted any attention. “Seriously?” she asked one more time.
“Why is that so surprising?” I whispered, hoping she’d take a hint and follow suit.
“I don’t know. I guess you don’t strike me as a prude.”
“Thanks for that.”
“Then again, those boots…”
“What the hell is wrong with my boots?” I stuck one out from under the table.
“Nothing,” she said. “But they aren’t exactly CFM pumps, are they?”
“CFM what?”
“Come fuck me pumps.”
“Pumps? What is this, the eighties?”
“It’s just an expression,” she said. “Anyway, it’s no big deal.”
I shoved a piece of scone in my mouth.
“Sex, that is. Not the fact that you’re still a virgin. That’s totally outrageous.”
I hurried my chewing and swallowed. “Can you stop saying that word?”
“I mean, who the hell are you saving yourself for?”
I bit the inside of my cheek.
“Oh god.” Her eyes doubled in size. “For real?”
“It’s not like that,” I said. “I haven’t been saving myself for anyone. I just-”
“Just what?”
“I’ve just never been with someone who made me want to be that vulnerable?”
“Interesting word choice.”
I shoved another piece of scone in my mouth, and its sweetness seemed in sharp contrast to the awkward conversation I’d found myself in.
“Maybe that’s your problem,” she said. “Not that you have a problem. It’s totally okay to have principles in a world full of sinners who still believe in saints.”
I washed my bite down with a sip of coffee. “What do you mean?”
“I mean sex is about power, Zoey. Not vulnerability. Stop thinking about finding someone you want to be vulnerable with and focus on finding someone you want to feel powerful with.”
“Whoa.”
“Whoa, what?”
“I never thought about it that way before,” I said. “That’s a totally different position.”
She laughed. “If you like that, just wait till you try reverse cowgirl.”
T H I R T Y T W O
- Logan -
I was walking through the grocery store parking lot when Mr. Petersen called. I did my best to sound normal when I answered, even though there was nothing normal about me going shopping for a romantic picnic with Zoey, a romantic picnic I hoped would lead to-
“Logan, how are you?”
“Great, Dan. You?”
“Not too bad.”
“What’s up?” I asked, worried for a moment that Zoey might’ve called home crying because I wouldn’t let her play with my dick. Not really, but the thought crossed my mind, and I had to suppress the smile it triggered.
“I have a proposition for you.”
“Oh?” Let me guess, you propose I stop spending all my time thinking about fucking your daughter?
“You have a minute to talk business?”
“Of course,” I said, doing a one-eighty away from the store’s automatic doors before finding a patch of brick wall to lean against.
“Because I’m conscious that you’re focused on your studies right now, and I don‘t want to divide your attention.”
As if my attention could be any more divided. “Not at all. What did you want to talk about?”
“I’m thinking about expanding my product line.”
“Oh yeah? In what way?” As his landscaping shop came to mind, I was struck by how much I missed the place’s ever-changing smells, seasonally rich colors, and cheerful customers.
“Well, a woman asked about buying one of your pieces the other day.”
“Which one?” I gave him so many it was impossible to guess. After all, while a painter can pack an apartment full of canvases, there’s a limit to how much furniture can fit in a garage.
“The bench you made with the curved back.”
I nodded, remembering all too well what a bitch it was to sand those slats of wood into those shapes.
“I was mostly using it for display purposes, ya know. Had it surrounded by a bunch of planters.”
“Sure.”
“But some lady asked if she could buy it.”
“I hope you sold it to her,” I said.
“I would‘ve, but I didn‘t know what price to quote her.”
My heart sank.
“So I told her I‘d check with the guy who made it and see if he’d do a good deal for her.”
I smiled.
“Figured it was the least I could do after she dropped two thousand bucks on bushes.”
“Nice.”
“So my first question is, what are you happy to sell it for?”
I squinted at the sky. “You usually mark up your supplier’s products by at least fifty percent, right?”
“Don’t worry about that. I don’t want a cut of your hard work. You pick a price that’s fair, and I’ll give you a hundred percent of the profits.”
“Absolutely not. You’re doing me a favor showcasing my pieces.”
“A favor I’m more than happy to do,” he said. “So figure out what you want to sell that bench for, and if you’re up for it, I’ll get you a list of the other pieces I’ve got here, and we’ll slap price tags on them, too.”
“Yeah?”
“Absolutely,” he said. “On the condition that I can be the exclusive distributor of your furniture until you get your website up and running.”
“I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Thank me by picking a price for that bench before tomorrow afternoon so I can make sure it gets to a good home.”
“What do you think is fair?” I asked.
“That’s up to you,” he said. “But make sure you cost out the construction time and materials, and, if I’m not mistaken, that bench is one of a kind, right?”
“Yeah.”
“So factor that in, too, and I’ll be sure to mention it on my end when I do the deal.”
“That’s awesome, Dan. You’ve really made my day.” Almost as much as I’m going to make Zoey’s.
“My pleasure.”
“Is there anything else I can do for you?” I asked.
“No, but I suppose I do have one other question.”
“Sure.”
“Have you seen Zoey around lately?” he asked.
“I have, actually, yeah.”
“Does she seem okay to you?”
I furrowed my brow. “Why? What’s up?”
“Absolutely nothing it would appear, but she usually checks in more often than she has been, and I’m having a hard time convincing the missus that no news is good news.”
“Right.”
“So how was she?” he asked. “Last time you saw her?”
“Great,” I said, thinking about the way she trembled at my touch and the way her eyelids grew heavy when she clenched around my fingers. “Really great.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. She seemed happy. I don’t want to put words in her mouth-” Unless by words, you mean my… I wrestled my thoughts from the gutter. “But I think she’s really enjoying campus life, and it sounds like she’s being diligent about her classwork. I don’t think you guys have anything to worry about.”
“That’s great to hear, Logan, thanks.”
“No problem.”
“I’ll pass that on to the missus. She’ll be relieved you’re looking out for her.”
“It’s my pleasure,” I said… and hers, I assure you.
I could barely contain my excitement after I hung up. Not only was this going to be a great opportunity to get some brand awareness, but having some extra money coming in would go a long way towards getting my business going.
Plus, I couldn’t hope for more upscale clientele than the people Mr. P had on the books, which meant I might be able to sell items a smaller budget wouldn’t allow for, and that was the dream: to make a living doing what I loved on my own terms.
I grabbed a basket and headed for the wine aisle, since I already had that part of my picnic with Zoey planned out. It was supposed to be a warm night, so I wanted to go with a crisp white. Something nice. Something that would impress her. Something that would make her a happy kind of tipsy.
I narrowed it down to two and sprang for the more expensive one from New Zealand. I wasn’t a wine connoisseur or anything, but I remembered that Piper’s mom always insisted on New Zealand whites for special occasions, an
d I was certainly hoping tonight would be one.
As far as the rest of the picnic menu, I figured a selection of snacks would suffice. That way she could pick and choose what she liked, and I’d be able to fit everything in my backpack. So all in all, I got a small vegetable tray with spinach and hummus dip, a resealable pack of mixed berries because they looked nice, a fresh baguette, a small cheese board, and a little tray of cured meats. The bag of Cool Ranch Doritos probably wouldn’t make it to the picnic, but I had to get something to stop me breaking into the other stuff. I even threw some candy bars on the conveyor belt after I got in line, in case her sweet tooth came to dinner.
As I was waiting for the cashier to ring me up, I found myself worrying more about whether she would like what I picked than the fact that I was about to blow fifteen bucks on a bottle of wine when I’d never met a six-dollar bottle I didn’t like, and it occurred to me how deep into this girl I was.
Not literally, of course. Not yet anyway.
But the more I stared at the picnic items in front of me, the more convinced I became that my feelings for her couldn’t be wrong. Because, if they were, going to this trouble to make her smile wouldn’t feel so completely right.
So what if I was playing with fire? So what if I wasn’t good enough for her?
Nobody else was either.
And nobody else wanted to be more than I did.
Because if there was one girl I’d never give up on, one girl I’d never turn my back on, one girl I’d never stop craving, it was Zoey.
She was the one.
T H I R T Y T H R E E
- Zoey -
“I hate to break it to you, Logan, but this garden isn’t a secret.”
He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, a playful smirk teasing his lips. “Not even a semester at college and thinks she knows everything.”
“It’s the biggest park on campus!” I said, my strappy sandals clacking softly on the paved path.
“Patience,” he said, adjusting his backpack.
“Do you want me to carry that for a few minutes?” I asked, noticing how unusually stuffed it was.
“No, thanks,” he said, smiling at me in a way that made my insides turn to mush before veering down the left side of the forked path towards the English Garden.
