by Cynthia Dane
Now I know who he really likes.
Brian’s perfect woman isn’t only flirty. She’s a bit naïve, so her flirtations don’t always land, or she acts a bit more demure than anyone anticipates. She’s inexperienced. She may not be a virgin, but whatever guys she’s been with before meant a lot to her. She doesn’t jump right into bed with anyone, you see. She takes her time, and in a culture obsessed with one-night stands, that says something about her character. (Gag.) So, on one hand, it’s been nice to not have the demand for sex shoved down my throat right away. Brian’s an okay-looking guy, but I can already tell he’s “all right” in bed. He won’t give me anything I really need, but considering what happened with That Other Guy, it’s probably for the best that I rebound with a boring tech dude who squeaks when he comes and can’t go for more than fifteen minutes, tops.
Not that I would know for sure yet. Since Brian is all about the demure, naïve maiden, we haven’t slept together. I go to Orgasmtopia with the new vibrator I bought myself in the wake of You-Like-Being-A-Slut-Apocalypse, but those are solo trips. Usually with me stopping halfway through because I thought of him and can’t do it anymore.
What a great fucking feeling.
“I’m full, thanks.” My elbow touches the table, and my chin rests in my hand. Ukulele continues to shred above me. Brian helps himself to my leftovers, and I look away before he chows down like a dog at dinnertime. “You know I don’t have the biggest appetite.”
“That’s the thing about you skinny girls,” Brian says with a mouthful of food. “You eat like birds. Bet you don’t know how pretty you really are…”
I feign a bashful smile and twirl my hair around my finger. I’m so used to pulling this off that I don’t think about it. Yay.
Ugh. Send help. I’m utterly dead inside.
You see, it doesn’t matter how used to this I am. Years of playing the dream girlfriend is starting to take its toll, I guess. I dunno what caused it. Was it my brief relationship with Drew? Realizing that I could probably be as happy on my own than with someone perfectly made for me? Having that taste of the shit I really like for a short time? Dealing with men has me in such a tizzy lately that I’m this close to calling things off with Brian. Mostly because I can’t stand him.
Look at him. He’s got food in his teeth. I can tell, because he’s chewing with his mouth open. It’s only a matter of time before he wipes his mouth with his napkin and slams the cloth down on the table. I’ll get to see that big barbecue stain for the rest of our dinner in this kitschy place that makes me want to scream.
Oh, I’m sorry, it really entrances me, because I’m enthralled with every place he takes me. Doesn’t help that every restaurant we’ve visited has brought with it questions about my travel experience. With a guy like this, I don’t know if I should be truthful and tell him I’ve been to Hawaii, Italy, and Mexico. (Preston really loved Mexico. It got him the most bang for his buck. In so many ways.) If I tell him I’m well-traveled, he may chip away who I am and figure out how many men I’ve been with. I’ve already told him that my parents aren’t that rich, so it’s not like we traveled everywhere and then some when I was a kid. On the flipside, he may get excited to have a potential travel companion who doesn’t need his constant handholding. Then again, this guy loves his mansplaining and handholding. He’s already explained my own phone to me three times. I thought he told me he wasn’t an app guy!
“So, about Hawaii…” Brian winks at me as soon as he swallows. Here comes the napkin. Ah, yes, on his mouth. Boom. Back on the table with a giant smudge of no discernible color. “Everyone goes to Maui because of the great marketing campaign, but if you ask me, Big Island is where it’s at. Been there a couple of times. Got this great deal on a resort room through a…”
Yay. A spiel about timeshares. Specifically, how they’re not all that bad! (Meanwhile, every old-money man of wealth I’ve dated made sure I knew what a raw deal timeshares are. You should’ve heard Preston go on about his parents getting sucked into an Alaskan one when he was a kid. An Alaskan cruise timeshare. How does that work? He couldn’t tell me, so I’m genuinely asking.)
“I’ve been to Maui, yeah,” I offer. “But not to Big Island.”
“Oh?” His disappointment is palpable. This is better than admitting I’ve been to Italy, although I suppose that’s easier to pass off as studying abroad or a class trip than the whirlwind weekend I spent with a guy who drilled way better than this guy probably can. I admit, I didn’t see much of the Tuscan countryside. I was too busy. Inside. “Like I said, Big Island is much more interesting. It’s like being in a completely different place.” He haughtily sniffs, in case I missed the derision from before. “I’m planning a trip for Labor Day weekend in a couple of months.”
I smile and nod, but offer no opinion on that. No real opinion. The words coming out of my mouth is a wistful, “Sounds lovely,” as if deep down I’m hoping he’ll take me with him. Which is what he’s starting to plan now, because look at him. He wants to take me. He simply doesn’t know if I’m the right one to take to his precious Big Island yet.
If I play my cards right, I will be, but I’ll have to decide if I think it’s worth it.
There’s something I’m expecting Brian to ask me sooner. You see, it’s been six damn dates. This guy has a growing social circle that goes above his means. The guy is ambitious. I’ve already fed him a steady stream of experience in other areas beyond relationships and sex. Namely, he thinks I work remotely as a market and network influencer. I’ve namedropped more than a few people who made him double-take. I may or may not have included the Bentons the last time I did this. He really liked hearing that name. I’m not surprised. Drew’s dad has a big software company in the area. Big as in money, not staff. Getting to work for him would be one of the big times for a software developer like Brian.
Trips around the world and dinners in tiki bars mean nothing to me if we’re not hobnobbing with the social elite. I don’t care where it is. Portland, Seattle, Honolulu, Rome… give me some glitz and glamor. Give me women in vintage stoles and carrying $5,000 clutches. I want to dress up in a flashy new outfit and look like I have a million dollars.
Is that too much to ask, Brian? I know you’re invited to the occasional shindig around town. How much do you want to put your networking dreams to work?
“You know, I’ve been thinking. About something that happens a little before Labor Day.” Brian motions for me to take his hand. His sweaty hand, I may tell you. Yet I pretend it’s the sweetest gesture as I take his sweat between my fingers and bite my bottom lip in excitement. (Yeah, right. I’m suppressing gas from that barbecue. I might as well look cute while doing it.) “I don’t know how you feel about parties, but…” He leaves me hanging. I pretend to look like I think he’s talking about some friend’s cookout up in Raleigh Hills. “There’s this soiree a colleague of mine has invited me to. Downtown. Really ritzy. You might have to get a new dress, but I think you might like to go. As my date, of course.”
How do I properly convey my excitement? How do I contain my excitement? I can’t decide if it’s better to act super excited about something my character shouldn’t know much about, or to feign indifference in the hopes Brian would like to explain it to me.
Might as well go with the old tried and true.
“A ritzy soiree? Wow…” I let my voice trail off as if I’ve never considered such a wild fantasy. “Like the ones on TV, ma!” That’s probably what I look like. It’s probably what Brian wanted. “That sounds magical. I didn’t know they had stuff like that in Portland.”
“They’re not as common as they used to be, but there are a lot of old money families in the area that like to throw parties. It’s a black tie event, but… well, I do hate going to them by myself, and this next one is in two weeks. I’ll admit, baby, it’s a great chance for me to do some networking. I hear Alexander Benton is gonna be there, and I don’t have to tell you he’s like the holy grail of software design when it
comes to benefits and promotions.” He chuckles. “One of the best tricks is having a pretty gal on your arm. So, what do you say? Are you available two weekends from now?”
Of course I am!
I let him feed me some of the details while he finishes his supper. After this, it’s either drinks at a club or going straight home. Apparently, I’m going to my apartment.”
“How about we meet at my place next time?” That’s what Brian says as his Audi idles in front of my building. My door is halfway open. I was prepared to step out and blow him a kiss before going inside. Instead, he’s caught me unawares in the passenger seat. “I’ve been trying my hand at Italian cooking. It’ll be like our first date.”
I giggle. “Here I was going to suggest we go to Thailand next time.” Seriously. There’s a nice Thai place around the corner from here, and I’m lazy.
“I’m serious, Cher. If you don’t think it’s too fast, I’d love to have you over to enjoy my view. I’ve been eating on the balcony. It’s not huge, but it gets a lovely view of the sunset.”
“It’s not huge, but it’s lovely,” is what I expect to hear when we finally sleep together. “That could be nice,” I say, looking away as if a virgin bride. “No funny business, Brian. Not yet, anyway.” I can wink too. Quite good at it, actually. My other eye never closes.
“Wouldn’t dream of asking you to go farther than you might like, baby.” He takes my hand to give it his customary kiss. I’m not surprised when he leans in for a kiss on the cheek. I’ve always let him kiss me on the cheek.
It’s when he goes for my lips that I’m surprised.
You see, Brian has not yet made this kind of move. He plays the consummate gentleman, and I have considered it a boon given my recent breakup with Drew. I need a little distance from sex right now. I may be dating men who give me different ends than just great sex, but it’s not far from my imagination that I may like it sometimes. Only sometimes, though.
I had been a little too lucky until now. At some point, Brian would ditch whatever FWB’s he’s undoubtedly been seeing on the side and make me his main, monogamous squeeze. He wouldn’t be the first with this pattern. I’m so used to it now that I hardly find it offensive. Guys sleep around. Big whoop. Even if I were looking for a real relationship, I wouldn’t have it in me to get mad about him ditching his previous dates because he’s decided it’s time to have me as his bedmate. He’s thinking that he’ll teach me everything he knows. You know, the stuff he likes!
A kiss out of nowhere wasn’t on my radar. This is something I expect him to do when I willingly enter his apartment with the lovely views.
“Ah… sorry.” He pulls back, hands on the wheel. “Don’t know what got into me.”
I bite my lips. Let’s say I’m protecting them from another oral attack. “No worries, Bri. I know you’re a good guy.” Yeah, right. Real smooth move, fucker. You’re lucky I’m working you like you probably hope I’ll work your dick soon. Only question is, what gets you off more? Coming in my face, or on my tits?
“Good night, Bri. Thanks for the Hawaiian food. I’ll see you soon, ‘kay?” I’m Miss Perky Big-Tits as I blow him a kiss. Deep down, though, I feel like I need a shower.
I take one as soon as I’m back in my apartment. I also brush my teeth, not that Brian tongued me or anything. God, why do I feel this incessant need to scrub every inch of my body and to wash my mouth out with Listerine? He barely touched me. Everything is going exactly to plan, and absolutely nothing has surprised me.
Except that peck to my lips. For some reason, that feels like a step too far.
I haven’t kissed a guy since I last saw Drew a few weeks ago. When it’s a kiss like that, well… I don’t know what my deal is. You’d think I was still hung up on the bastard.
Just because I can’t touch myself without thinking about him…
Just because I’m rebounding with a guy I met that same night…
Just because fucking Brian Samuels or whatever his last name is has got to be the polar opposite to Drew “Bang-You-Against-The-Wall-On-the-First-Date” Benton…
Why is he still haunting me?
Why are you still haunting me? I never met you before all of this happened. You were silent for my whole life until that night I met Drew. And Brian. As if you’re somehow related to them. Well, it’s over with Drew. I never want to see him again, not after what he said. So why are you still around? Is this some sign that things aren’t over with Drew?
Tell me, damnit!
I towel off and collapse onto my bed, naked. What’s the point of covering myself up if it’s you and me? You’ve seen me at my lowest already. I practically invited you to partake in my mad love life. The biggest fling of my twenties. The closest thing I’ve had to a real, genuine relationship since high school. God, I was so dumb and innocent back then. If I knew this would be my life, I would have…
I don’t know what I would have done. Avoid some of the crazier marks.
Why are you looking at me like that? What do you know that I don’t?
Have you been talking to Drew again? Has he said something about me? Is he still thinking about me? Does he feel bad? Is he doubling-down on his…
You know what? Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.
(Yes, I do.)
I curl up on my bed, wet hair strangling my throat. I don’t care. I don’t care if it reminds me of Drew’s hot and heavy caresses. Both the gentle and crazy ones. He’s the first man I’ve ever met who can combine my kind of hard loving with absolute tenderness.
If only he hadn’t blown it by calling me a…
What other man is going to do that for me? Brian? I’ll get off on stringing him along for a while. If I play my part right, our first few nights together will give me enough of a thrill to help me orgasm, even if his ineptness can’t. After that, it will be my gradual descent into boredom and madness. I’ll lose interest. All the soirees and trips to Hawaii won’t be enough. I may no longer be looking for a payday via litigation, but our breakup still won’t be pretty. He’ll accuse me of being a bitch. I’ll tell him he’s finally showing me his true colors. Then I’ll be a whore. I’ll say at least whores get to have fun.
My face presses into my comforter. My skin grows cold, but I don’t care. I’d rather lie here naked than strangle in clothing. It’s my right as a human being to go out the way I want.
Maybe I’d rather go out with Drew’s lips upon mine. That would be better than most things I’ve experienced.
Oh, my God.
I know why you’re still here. I know what you are.
You’re my fucking subconscious. My conscience? I don’t know the difference, but you’re that voice in my head who pops up when I have a moral crisis. An ethical dilemma. A holy shit what am I doing moment. That little voice I’m supposed to listen to like it’s been there my whole life. But it hasn’t.
You haven’t been there.
You didn’t come into my life until I met Drew Benton. The guy who is seemingly perfect for me because he’s as terrible as me. My other toxic half. The bitter side to my sour coin. The man who is probably out there right now wrestling with his own newfound conscience.
No wonder I feel like shit with Brian. I know what I’m doing is wrong, and that it won’t make me happy. I’m using him. He may not know it, but he’s using me, and this is the same song and dance I’ve employed since I couldn’t think of any other way to live. Does this mean this phase of my life is ending? That I’m ready to move on with a real career, or at least some direction in my life that will steer me toward a long-lasting, fulfilling relationship?
God, is this what full brain development feels like? I’m barely in the latter half of my twenties. How do I handle this? What do I do?
Is it time to admit that I can’t stop thinking about Drew and what he said? That I get off on being seen as a slut?
You didn’t arrive until he did. I’m not going to say this man brought me my conscience, but the irony is too good to be tr
ue, isn’t it?
What if what he said is true? What if the reason you’re still here is because my story with Drew isn’t yet finished?
If there’s anything I’ve learned about you, though, it’s that you come and go when it’s most convenient. When you get the juiciest details. I suppose you don’t want to sit here and watch me fuss with my emotions for the next several hours. So how about you skedaddle for a few days or weeks? We’ll reconvene when I have something new and interesting to report. Even if I don’t know yet what that will be.
I have a feeling that Drew Benton will be involved, though.
Chapter 31
DREW
“You really should wear a tuxedo more often,” my mother says, hands primly in her lap and ankles crossed in that insufferably ladylike fashion. She’s wearing a gaudy silver dress covered in sequins, like this is the ‘80s or something. Her hair is only big, though, because she has it up in a giant twist that shows off her dangling diamond earrings, but not the birthmark on the back of her neck. That’s been covered up with concealer. According to family legend, my mother hid her birthmark from my father until their fifth wedding anniversary. He claims to have barely noticed it, and she was so mad that she had covered it up from him for so long that she chewed him out for another two years. “You look fetching, darling.”
“Thank you.” Yes, I look great in a tux, although I hate the things. Dreadfully itchy, even when they’re bespoke. Plus, it’s early August, and although it’s been a relatively tame summer here in Portland, it’s still humid as shit. If it weren’t for the air conditioning in the back of our limo, I’d be dying. “Where did you get those earrings?” I ask my mother. “Or were they a gift?”
