by Kelly, Hazel
“I want exclusive rights.”
“Excuse me?”
“I want you to be my girlfriend.”
I put my beer down. “Are you joking?”
“No,” he says. “I want every inch of your mind and body to be mine and only mine.”
“You want to date me?”
“I do.”
“And no one else?” I ask.
“No one else.”
“Anonymous sex parties included?”
“That’s what I’m saying.”
I lean back in my booth and consider his offer. “Is this just one of those times when guys will say anything to get what they want?”
“If you’re asking whether I’m asking you to be mine because I want to fuck you, then yes. That’s obviously one of the reasons.”
“And the others?” I ask.
“I would’ve thought you were above fishing for compliments.”
“I wasn’t fish—”
“You were, but it’s okay. It’s a fair question.”
I press my glossy lips together.
“I think you’re gorgeous, for one thing,” he says. “So gorgeous I’d rather look at your face than Botticelli’s Primavera.”
“What?”
“It’s my favorite painting.”
“Oh.”
“It’s also the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen before I met you,” he says.
I feel heat rise to my cheeks.
“You actually have the same lips as the people in the painting. Plump, kissable lips that drive me to distraction.”
Suddenly I’m so conscious of my mouth I don’t know what to do.
He lays his napkin on the table. “I’ll take you to see it sometime.”
“At the Met?”
He shakes his head. “At the Uffizi,” he says. “In Florence.”
“That would be cool,” I say, wishing I’d said something smarter.
“Because I want to spend my freedom on you.”
“That’s sweet, Owen. I’d like that.”
“But more than that, I want you because I admire your strength.”
“My strength?”
“I admire you for doing what’s right,” he says. “Even when it’s the more difficult path.”
“Thanks.”
“And for standing up to me.”
I narrow my eyes at him.
“I never thought I’d fall for a woman who didn’t always tell me what I wanted to hear, but meeting you has been good for me. I can feel it in my bones.”
I smile.
“And other places, but of course you already knew that.”
I shake my head. “It always comes back to filth with you.”
“I was starting to get mushy there. It was necessary.”
“Well, for the record, I didn’t mind your momentary mush. On the contrary, I quite liked it, and I appreciate the nice compliments.”
“Is that a yes?”
“To your girlfriend proposal?”
He nods.
“It’s a yes,” I say.
“Great,” he says. “I’ll send the contract over to your office first thing Monday morning.”
I furrow my brow. “The contract?”
“That’s a joke,” he says. “Your word is more than enough for me.”
“Sounds good,” I say, wishing I could say the same.
But I’m starting to feel like his words—as fantastic as they are—will never be enough. I need more of him, more from him. And I don’t see that changing any time soon.
F I F T E E N
“Sounds like things are getting kind of serious with you guys,” Ruby says, tilting the wine bottle so the last dribble of chardonnay drips into her glass.
“There’s another one chilling in the fridge,” I say.
She hoists herself off the couch and heads to the kitchen. “Well?”
“It’s too early to tell. We’ve only been on a few dates.”
“Sexless dates,” she says. “Which basically means he wants to marry you.”
“I’m not sure I’d go that far,” I say, pulling my feet up onto the couch. “We’re just trying to be adults and give this thing a chance.”
“I still don’t understand why you both have to be martyrs about it.”
“Because I want to make sure our connection isn’t just physical,” I say, hugging my knees to my chest. “So we don’t end up wasting our time.”
“Physical connections are not a waste of time.”
I drop my chin. “If you think I’m ever going to be supportive of your new adventures in cradle robbing, you’re the one who’s wasting my time.”
“It’s not like he’s underage.”
“Just because he’s eighteen doesn’t make it okay. You should know that,” I say. “You’re a professional.”
She makes a pouty face. “But I like having hot car sex. Why do people outgrow that?”
“Because they move out of their parents’ house.”
She scrunches her nose. “Ouch.”
“Seriously, you need to get him out of your system ASAP so you’re not heartbroken when he leaves you for a sixteen year old.”
“I know you’re right,” she says, topping up our glasses. “I just thought it would be fun to be a cougar for a second.”
“You’re not even old enough to be a cougar.”
“Still. I told him I’d take him to the new Marvel movie.”
I raise a palm. “That you’d take him? Can you even hear yourself?”
She groans. “Fine. I won’t see him again. And I’ll delete Tinder again while I’m at it.”
“Good, because you have a problem.”
“Not with satisfying eighteen year olds.”
I cringe. “Gross, Ruby.”
“At least my Bieber Fever is cured.”
“Yeah, because your lookalike only lasts for fifteen seconds.”
“Pretty much,” she says. “Anyway, enough of my tragic love life. You think Owen’s the one, don’t you?”
“I told you it’s too soon to tell.”
“Is it? Because there’s something different about you since you guys officially started dating.”
“Is there?”
She nods. “You seem…strangely calm.”
I stick my lower lip out.
“Horny, but calm.”
“I am horny as shit,” I say. “I’m done with making up for how we met. It’s definitely time to take things to the next level… Or get back to the level we were on before. Whatever.”
She rolls her eyes. “Obviously you want to fuck him. You’d be a fool otherwise. But before I get attached to the guy, I want to get to the bottom of whether or not he might be the one.”
“Uh oh. I feel a list coming on.”
She smiles.
Now it’s my turn to groan. “Lay it on me.”
“I’ve been trying to make a ten-point checklist for how to determine if someone is marriage material.”
“Ten points?!”
“Relax,” she says. “I’ve only come up with seven so far.”
“I’m sure it’s not that black and white.”
“I know,” she says. “But it’s a work in progress.”
“What’s the first point?”
“Are you sexually compatible?”
“I’d say he’s way better in bed than I am.”
“That’s even better than a yes,” she says. “Okay, question number two.”
I take a sip of my wine.
“Can you imagine watching TV with him every Sunday night for the rest of your life?”
My eyes grow wide. “Wow. That’s kind of intense to think about.”
“Well?”
“I guess so, not that we’ve really spent any time watching TV together…or taking each other to the movies.”
She points a finger at me. “Don’t tease me. I told you I’d end it.”
“What’s number three?”
“If you were sick an
d looked like hell and your floor was completely covered in snotty tissues, would you let him come over?”
“Well, I wouldn’t want him to get sick—”
Her mouth falls open. “Oh my god.”
I furrow my brow. “What?”
“Big bonus points for that initial answer,” she says. “But I still need a yes or no.”
I shrug. “I suppose so. I bet he’d be really sweet.”
“Aww,” she says, cocking her head for a second. “Okay, next question. Do you trust him as much as you trust your parents?”
“No, but I haven’t known him long enough.”
Her mouth droops at the corners. “Really?”
I squint at her. “Really.”
“Huh. Maybe my parents are just particularly untrustworthy.”
“Next question,” I say, taking another sip.
“Do you like the idea of him impregnating you?”
I flinch so hard the wine burns my nose.
“It’s a legit question.”
“It may be, but I’m not ready to have a baby.”
“That’s not the point,” she says.
“What’s the point?”
“Whether the thought torments you or not.”
I drop my head on the back of the couch. “It neither torments nor delights me.”
“Fair enough,” she says, nodding like she’s taking copious notes in her head. “You think he’d be a good dad?”
I recall him telling me about the parents he never had and the grandparents he grew to love so much. “I do.”
“Ready for the last question?”
I lift my head, grateful we’ve reached the end. “Shoot.”
“If you found out he married someone else, how would you feel?”
The smile drops from my face, and the first word that comes to mind is devastated.
She turns an ear towards me. “You don’t look too happy.”
“Probably because I wouldn’t be. Also, I don’t like that question.”
She raises her eyebrows. “Which is why it’s such a good one.”
“So what’s the verdict, Doctor Ruby? Based on my answers, do we stand a chance?”
“Well, I’d have to ask him the same questions to be sure.”
“Don’t you dare,” I say, pointing at her.
“Fine, I won’t. But based on your answers, I’d say he’s got a real shot at stealing your heart forever if he doesn’t blow it.”
“I could do a lot worse,” I say.
“And you have done.”
“Thanks for that.”
“Is that new?” she asks, pointing to the orchid on the window sill.
I nod.
“It’s from him, isn’t it? You just made the smuggest face.”
“He sent it to me after he asked me out. Isn’t it pretty?”
“It’s gorgeous,” she says. “And it will last so much longer than a bouquet.”
“Hopefully,” I say, admiring its crisp white petals. “Apparently they’re kind of hard to look after.”
“The secret is to not overwater them,” she says. “You’re better off spritzing the petals individually.”
“Good to know,” I say, suddenly distracted by my phone buzzing across the coffee table.
“Speak of the devil,” she says, reading his name on the screen.
“Do you mind if I—”
“Of course not,” she says.
I accept the call as I rise from the couch. “Hello.”
“Let’s skip the small talk and go straight to what you’re wearing.”
“Very funny,” I say, closing myself in my room. “I’m in a sweatshirt and yoga pants.”
“Yoga pants are so underrated. You should wear them for me sometime.”
I laugh. “Careful what you wish for. Once I put them on, I’m reticent to take them off.”
“Your empty threats have no power over me.”
“So what’s up?” I ask. “I can’t talk too long. Ruby’s over tonight, remember?”
“Oh, right. I’m so sorry to interrupt,” he says. “I was just wondering if you’d like to have dinner tomorrow night.”
“Tomorrow, huh?”
“Yes,” he says. “Saturday, November fourteenth.”
I smile. “You said that like you’re sitting in front of your calendar.”
“I am,” he says.
“You’re not still at the office, are you?”
“Guilty,” he says. “But for what it’s worth, I’ve drawn a big heart on my calendar over tomorrow and written your name inside it.”
“Is tomorrow a special day or something?”
“It could be if you say yes to my invitation.”
I turn around and continue slowly pacing the floor. “I hope you don’t think my emotions would be easily swayed by something as conventional as a third date.”
“Rest assured, I’m only focused on one day at a time with you, and I’m in no hurry to sleep with you at all—even though I know exactly how fantastic it’s going to be when it finally happens.”
“Shame you’re not in a hurry…because I was thinking that maybe after our next date, we could come back to mine for dessert.”
A low moan travels through the phone. “Tease me all you want, babe. There’s nothing I want more than to punish you for the rest of my life.”
My heart flutters in my chest at the thought. “I think you’ll find you’re the tease.”
“Maybe,” he says. “But I’m passing you the torch tomorrow.”
“Oh, really?” I ask. “And what am I going to do with it?”
“Whatever I tell you to.”
I swallow, the anticipation welling up like warm bubbles in my chest. “Where do you want me to meet you?”
“At my place,” he says. “I’ll text you the address.”
“Okay. Sounds good.”
“And Cassie?”
“Yes?”
“Wear your yoga pants.”
I raise my eyebrows. “My yoga pants?”
But he’s already hung up, leaving me wet and thirsty and counting down the minutes.
S I X T E E N
When I see the way his plain black T-shirt hugs him in all the right places, I know it’s going to be a long night.
“You wore them,” he says, his eyes falling to my soft black pants.
I extend a bottle of wine in his direction. “I always follow dress code instructions,” I say, stepping from the carpeted hallway onto his condo’s dark wood floors. “Even when I don’t understand them.”
“I wanted you to be comfortable,” he says. “I thought we’d stay in tonight.”
“Fine by me.” I unbutton my coat before letting him take it from me. While he hangs it in the closet, I have a look around. His apartment is all dark tans and deep reds. It’s how I’d expect a bachelor pad in Aspen to look. Even the black and white photographs feature mountain peaks and expansive tree lines.
“It’s about time I introduce you to the other woman in my life.”
I look over my shoulder at him. “What other woman?”
“Do I detect a hint of jealousy?” he asks, smiling as he slides the bottle I’ve brought from its brown bag.
I lower my voice and follow him into the open-plan kitchen. “Is there someone else here?”
He laughs and pulls a bottle opener and a skinny pamphlet from a shallow wooden drawer. “No. The other woman is Madame Wu.”
I glance down at the takeout menu and feel my chest expand again. “She always delivers, does she?”
“And how,” he says, smiling. “Plus, her fortune cookies are eerily accurate.”
“Please don’t tell me you believe in that stuff.”
He shrugs and pops the cork. “Normally I don’t, but I have no reason to doubt Madame Wu. She’s been right too many times.”
“Give me one example,” I say, leaning an elbow on the counter and sneaking a glance at his ass when he goes to grab two wine glasses. I’ve never
seen him in jeans before, and he looks every part the cowboy right now…if cowboys had green marble countertops.
He returns and sets the glasses between us. “The night before you came to my office, for example—”
“Yes?”
“I got one that said, ‘You will change your plans for a mysterious stranger.’”
“That is pretty scientific.”
“There’s more,” he says, sliding a glass of wine towards me. “Once I got one that said, ‘A great person was born on your birthday.’”
“Oh, please.”
“And the night before I saw you again—at that last party when we hadn’t spoken in two weeks.”
“Go on.”
“I got one that said, ‘Good things take time.’”
I scrunch my face. “Not exactly original advice.”
“Perhaps not,” he says, nodding his head towards the couch. “But time is exactly what you asked for the very next night.”
“I suppose that’s true,” I say, seeing no sense in arguing the merits of cookie-bound fortunes. “What do you usually get from Madame Wu’s besides psychic sweets?”
“Mongolian beef every time,” he says. “But you’ll like the Kung Po chicken.”
“How can you be so sure?” I ask, sitting beside him.
“Because I got a fortune recently that said, ‘Cassie will love the Kung Po chicken.’”
I shake my head.
“Thanks for coming over,” he says, raising his glass. “I hope you don’t mind that I wanted to stay in tonight.”
“Not at all.”
“I practically lived at the office this week.”
“Must be hard to be so important,” I say, my mouth curling into a smile.
“Oh, it is,” he says, turning towards me. “But you know what got me through it?”
“All the naked pictures I sent you?”
His face drops. “I didn’t get any naked pictures.”
I laugh. “Because I didn’t send any.”
He puts a hand over his chest like I gave him a real scare. “That wasn’t funny.”
“What got you through?”
“A particular fantasy I kept having.”
I roll my eyes. “How professional of you.”
“I was hoping you’d do me the favor of bringing it to life tonight.”
“Does it involve you know what?”
He smiles. “Only if you beg, remember?”
“Do I have to beg in order to hear about the fantasy?”
