by Kendall Ryan
I can’t help the grin that breaks out across my face. I’m so fucking relieved, and she’s so fucking cute.
She tucks an unruly strand of hair behind her ear before asking, “When?”
“You free tonight?”
“Yeah.” Jessa chuckles, all sparkling eyes and blushing cheeks. “What did you have in mind?”
Shit. I hadn’t thought that far.
“I’m thinking dinner. Drinks. My treat. How does that sound to you?”
“Good.” She sighs happily, and damn, do I love that sound.
“Good.”
I echo the sentiment, enjoying the way the sunlight peeks through the blinds and lights up the freckles across her nose. Never mind the fact that we’re shamelessly flirting before eight in the morning.
Glancing at the clock, I wince. “You think you can handle the rest of this? I should head to work.”
“Sure. Storing your ex’s breast milk is a lot easier than I thought it’d be.” The words come out so fast that Jessa only realizes how strange they are a moment too late. She scrunches her eyes closed and recovers with a sheepish smile. “Yes, I mean.”
“Great.” I chuckle, squeezing her hand. “I’ll see you later.”
The whole drive downtown, I grin like a little kid on Christmas morning. By the time I reach the shop, my face is actually sore from all the smiling. I guess it’s been a while since I used these muscles for a stretch. Jessa brings that out in me.
Throughout the workday, that stocking-stuffer giddiness dissolves into a nagging concern that I jumped into this too quickly.
Dinner and drinks are fine, sure, but where should I take her? What kind of place would Jessa enjoy?
I’m struggling to come up with a plan for tonight without falling back on old date ideas. Hayes is off today, so I make the mistake of asking Wolfie and Caleb for their input on how to make this night special.
“Erotic body painting,” Caleb says, his expression a little too casual for comfort. It doesn’t help that he’s currently juggling Ben Wa balls, and has been doing so for the past hour.
I roll my eyes. “Okay . . . next.”
“You could just stay in. Cook dinner. Watch a movie,” Wolfie grumbles, ever the homebody.
“Jessa and I spend all of our time at home. I want to do something she’s going to remember.” Preferably with a happy little smile on her lips when she thinks of it. Of me.
But all I get is a shrug in response.
I groan, leaning against the stockroom door. “Guys, you know I’m out of practice. I need serious ideas.”
I wish Hayes weren’t conveniently absent, or else I’d hound him instead. Or have him ask Rosie, his grandmother. Or even Maren. They’re all romantics, so they’d have this figured out in no time at all.
“Oh shit. I’ve got it,” Caleb says, dropping all of the balls with a clatter to snap his fingers like some corny cartoon character. He digs into his back pocket and pulls out two small postcards. “Fuck yeah, this is the best idea ever. You’re welcome.”
I take the postcards, hoping against all hope that Caleb will for once prove to be useful. “‘Spice Up Your Sex Life,’” I read with a frown. “‘A workshop for curious couples.’ Dude, no.”
“Why? It’s the first class of our workshop series. It’s gonna be dope.”
“Because this is a first date, you lunatic.”
“Then what about the other one?”
Lifting the second card, I raise an eyebrow at the words I’m reading. BLOW-JOB BASICS. The glare I shoot Caleb could turn him to stone. “Do you wanna die?”
He lifts his hands in surrender. “You asked me. If you don’t want advice from the modern-day Casanova, don’t ask him.”
I roll my eyes. Fucking hopeless.
I fold the cards in half and stuff them into my pocket. The last thing I need is to add any more fuel to the burning sexual desire I feel for Jessa. Out of sight, out of mind.
Before I leave the shop, I shoot Jessa a text asking her to meet me at the house. I text back and forth with her for a bit about dress code and logistics without giving away too much of the plan. When I get home, she’s already sitting on my front porch, wearing a dark purple dress and a simple pair of black flats.
“Hey,” she calls over the hum of cicadas with a smile and a short wave.
“Hey,” I say, walking up the steps. “You look incredible.”
My low voice probably gives away exactly how attracted to her I am. Don’t get me wrong, she even looks incredible in yoga pants and a T-shirt with spit-up down the front. But this outfit has my heart fluttering like a caged butterfly.
Jessa cocks her head, her hair tumbling over one shoulder like a chocolate fountain. “Thank you.”
When I get closer to let her inside, I note the dark lipstick accentuating her already plush lips. She smiles when she catches me staring. The girl is hot as hell, and I’m pretty sure she knows it.
I grin back, swinging the door open and bowing my head like some sort of Victorian dandy making way for a queen. The gesture earns me a lilting laugh that echoes down the hallway of my home. Tonight is going to be fun.
“This is what I’m thinking. We head back down Lakeshore Drive toward the shop, and have dinner and drinks at this upscale little patio bistro down the block. Then when we’re done, we can take a walk down to the lakefront and watch the sunset. What do you think?”
“Sure, sounds like fun to me.” She grins, leaning over one of the dining room chairs, her cleavage peeking out of the top of her dress. Hot damn. “You’ve got the whole night planned out, don’t you? For once, you don’t need my help,” she teases.
“Untrue. How about this . . . you’re in charge of what we order,” I say, splaying my hands on the table like we’re making a very serious business deal.
Jessa purses her lips and pretends to ponder this for a moment. “Works for me,” she says with a shrug, that mischievous smile sparkling through her eyes.
With a smile, I empty the contents of my pockets out on the table. “Can you give me five minutes so I can change, and then we can—”
“What’s that?” She points to the postcards I just tossed on the table between us.
Shit.
“Oh, ah, yeah . . . Frisky Business has this new initiative where we’re offering classes to the public. Sex education, more or less. I’m not really involved; it’s Caleb’s project.”
“Wow,” Jessa murmurs, picking up the postcards and scanning them.
I’m still scrambling for something else to say when she lifts one card, flipping it toward me.
“This one is tonight. ‘Spice Up Your Sex Life’ at eight o’clock.”
“Yeah,” I say with a grunt. Goddammit, Caleb.
“Cool. Looks interesting.” When she lifts her gaze to find me standing there like a dead-eyed mannequin, she squints in confusion. “Did you still want to change?”
“Shit. Yeah, just give me a minute,” I say like an idiot.
I shuffle back toward my room, a little in shock. I didn’t peg Jessa as someone who’d think a class called “Spice Up Your Sex Life” is a cool or interesting thing. Frankly, I didn’t find it cool or interesting until I heard the words fall out of her delicious mouth. Now I can’t stop thinking about it.
In my room, I quickly whip off my T-shirt and change into a short-sleeve button-up and a pair of dark-wash jeans. Catching a glance of myself in the mirror, I cringe at my haircut. It’s grown out substantially, the dark strands starting to curl across my forehead and around my ears. Not a lot of time to keep everything looking sharp when you’re a single dad.
I rub some product between my palms and style my hair back into some semblance of order. One spritz of cologne later, and I’m ready to go.
Back in the dining room, Jessa looks up from her phone, her cheeks turning pink when she sees me. “You look nice,” she murmurs with a tilt of her head.
I laugh and thank her before I help her to her feet. Grabbing my keys from the
bowl on our way out the door, I take her hand and don’t let go.
Despite it being a Friday night, the patio isn’t overpacked, large enough to comfortably seat a decent-sized crowd. We’re served quickly, and before long, two mounds of butternut squash casserole sit on plates before us, steaming with the promise of a damn good meal. It’s difficult to remember to eat my own food, watching Jessa wrap her lips around each delicious bite.
When she finishes, she lets out a little moan and happily squirms in her seat. “I’ve gotta learn how to make this.”
The waiter comes by, topping off our glasses of merlot with a smile.
When he’s left the table with our empty plates and my credit card, she leans in and whispers, “Dear God, how much wine have we had already? I can’t keep track when he’s coming around every two minutes to make sure my glass is always full.”
I lean in, mirroring her movements. “Oh, I have no idea. I thought it was your job to monitor our drinking tonight,” I whisper back with mock concern, and she swats me playfully on the arm.
“You’re right. I only had one job,” she fake laments, the low-hanging string lights reflecting the humorous sparkle in her eyes.
I love to see Jessa carefree like this. I lean back in my seat, the wine buzz making me more sentimental than usual.
“You’ve got a funny look on your face,” she says softly, gazing at me from over the rim of her glass. “What are you thinking about?”
Falling in love with you. The thought is so immediate and unexpected that I have to bite my lower lip to keep the words from slipping off my tongue. That’s the merlot talking.
“I’m thinking about . . .” I say the words slowly, stalling for a few more seconds as she waits patiently with a knowing smile, giving me all the time in the world to respond to the simplest of questions. “How glad I am that you and I are here tonight. Together.”
There. Honest, without showing all my cards just yet.
“I’m glad too,” she says warmly, tilting her head to the side so her curls bounce in an adorable way. “Thanks for asking me out.”
I tilt my head to match hers. “Thanks for saying yes.”
The waiter returns with my card and I settle the bill, aware of Jessa’s eyes on me the whole time. We talk for another hour until the final drops in our wineglasses have disappeared.
When we stand, Jessa steps closer to me. I usually don’t like when people invade my personal space, but when it’s Jessa doing it . . . hell, she could step on my toes any day of the week.
She looks up at me through her long dark eyelashes. “What’s next?”
“How does the lakefront sound?”
“Honestly?” Jessa frowns, crossing her arms over her chest. “Kind of chilly.”
I could kick myself for not bringing a jacket on the off chance she’d need one. Goes to show you how out of practice I am at this stuff.
“True. Want to head back then?” I reach for my phone in my back pocket to call a car.
“I’m not ready to go home yet,” she murmurs, her gaze wandering to the glowing city lights around us.
I’m not either.
“What about checking out that class then?” I hear myself asking the question, but I’m as surprised as she is when the words leave my mouth.
What the hell, Connor? How much wine have I had?
Jessa’s already wine-tinted cheeks deepen with color, her blue eyes focused on my lower lip. Just when I think she might lean in, she bursts into laughter.
“You know what? Yes. Let’s go. Why not, right?” The look on her face is absolutely joyous and completely infectious.
I’m grinning back at her when I scoop her hand into mine and lead us down the road back toward Frisky Business. The walk is short and pleasant, the night breeze cool enough that Jessa tucks herself against my arm.
All is perfect until we step into the shop and walk smack dab into a garish display of dildos under a sign that reads:
COMPLIMENTARY. THANKS FOR JOINING US!
Whose fucking idea . . .
Caleb. It’s got to be. Fucking Caleb.
The look of pure shock on Jessa’s face has me swimming in a pool of regret. I’m such a fucking jackass. Way to ruin an otherwise perfect night. I’m about to spew some lame apology when the instructor emerges from the back and waves us inside.
“Y’all here for the sex-ed class? Come on in, folks. Welcome.”
Still cursing silently, I follow Jessa to the back of the store where a gathering of couples are mingling around the coffee machine situated just outside the meeting room. Jessa turns back to me, the expression on her face equal parts excitement and trepidation.
“No turning back now, huh?” she whispers, a familiar sparkle returning to her eyes.
I’d have to agree. I think we’re well past the point of no return now.
10
* * *
JESSA
This has officially become the most unique date I’ve ever been on.
We’re sitting in the back room at Frisky Business with six other couples. By “we,” I mean I’m sitting next to Connor, who’s looking so hot it’s unfair. His knee is so close to mine that I can almost feel the heat of his skin through the denim of his jeans. Between the closeness of his body and the fact that we’re literally sitting in the back of a sex-toy shop that he owns, it’s getting really, really hard to focus.
I’ll admit, when Connor first asked me out, I was hesitant. Scratch that. I didn’t even realize what he was asking. He’s my boss, after all, and our dating would be totally inappropriate. Plus, with every day that passes, I get closer to leaving, and that doesn’t feel fair to Connor or to baby Marley.
But then Connor looked at me, and I looked back at him, and the look in those dreamy green eyes was enough to make my heart ooze out of my chest.
I know what it’s like to feel rejection. Real rejection. The kind that pierces through you, pokes holes in your chest, makes you feel like you’re empty and hollow inside. And I knew I couldn’t do that to him. Not to Connor. Not to a man who’s so sweet, so sincere, he makes me wonder why I ever wanted to leave this city.
Because I’ve been with men who were the opposite of him. Men who were cruel and heartless and cold. Men who rejected me, even when they were with me. Men who looked for every opportunity to tear me down, to make me feel small and insignificant and unworthy of their precious attention. I’ve wasted years chasing after those kinds of men, waiting for them to change, waiting for them to love me the way I wanted them to.
But of course they never did. No amount of love I could give them could ever be enough. They were who they were, and I had to accept that. Or, in my case, have them push me away so many times I felt like I might break into a million tiny insignificant pieces until I decided to stop crawling back to them anymore.
Then finally, one day I started to put myself back together again. I took some time for myself, a year or two, to really figure out who I was and what I wanted. That’s how I’d decided on the trip to Central America.
It wasn’t just about getting away—it was about helping people, doing something that really mattered. Which is why it feels so terrible that any part of me is now thinking about staying in Chicago after all. Even if it is for Connor. Going on the trip is supposed to be for me. It’s supposed to be a part of my healing.
“Friends, lovers, people of all varieties, welcome to Spice Up Your Sex Life.” A twenty-something woman with lavender hair, a septum ring, and an artful half sleeve on her left arm stands at the front of the room with her hands clasped over her heart, and a warm, welcoming smile on her face. “I’m Neda, and I’ll be your guide this evening.”
Neda starts walking around the room, weaving through the rows of couples as she continues.
“Everyone’s spice levels are going to be different. Anything outside of missionary might be spicy for some. Others might have a closet full of whips and chains. We’re all approaching things from different angles, and wherever
you’re coming from, that’s okay. I still think everyone will get something out of this class.”
Her gaze lands directly on me when she says the word “everyone.” Or at least, it feels like her gaze is on me.
Is it hot in here? Am I the only one sweating?
I turn to sneak a peek at Connor’s face, only to find him peering down at me to check mine. I quirk a brow up at him. He holds up his hands and murmurs, “There are no whips or chains in my closet. I promise.”
I bite my lip to stifle a nervous giggle. All right, then. It’s going to be that kind of evening.
“Before we get started, let’s get to know each other,” Neda says, casting a broad smile around the room. “How long has everyone been with their partner?”
The man in the couple next to us speaks first. “Eight years.”
Oh shit.
“Fourteen,” someone says from behind us.
“Two of the best years of my life,” a woman says at the front of the room, placing her hand on her partner’s shoulder.
The instructor reaches our row and stares at Connor and me expectantly. We exchange a look, and he shrugs.
“This is our first date,” he says somewhat shyly.
A few of the couples around us cheer, and Neda gives us an impressed smile.
“Adventure. Good. That bodes well for your future,” she says mysteriously before whisking herself away to the front of the room.
She plants herself in front of the couple who’s been together for two years, and they stare up at her admiringly.
“So,” Neda says briskly, “tonight we’ll be focusing primarily on the concept of accelerators and brakes. Accelerators are things that heat you up. Brakes, on the other hand, are things that make you . . . not in the mood.”
My stomach drops. I’m not sure what I was expecting from a class called “Spice Up Your Sex Life” that takes place in the back of a sex-toy shop, but it’s only hitting me right now just how intimate these topics will be. Dangerously close to being too intimate to discuss with someone I’ve only known for a few weeks and shared a single kiss with.
