Adrian Lessons

by L. A. Rose

  “Come with me.” She lays a hand on my arm. “I’ve been wanting you to meet my special someone.”

  My heart drops through the bottom of my chest. “Your who?”

  “My husband.” She takes me into the living room, where the TV displays a red screen. “Mr. Netflix. Mr. Netflix, meet my…”

  Is she going to use the b word?

  “…friend.”

  I jerk my chin in the TV’s direction. “I should warn you, I’m a competitive guy. If I have to punch out a television, so be it.”

  She waves a threatening finger at me. “If you assault my TV slash husband, I will call the cops.”

  I settle onto the couch, taking a big bite of lo mein. “So what movie are we watching on your husband?”

  “Zoolander. People keep yelling at me because I haven’t seen it.”

  I choke on a noodle.

  “What? You don’t like Ben Stiller?”

  “Nah,” I gasp. “Zoolander’s perfect.”

  She hits play and we settle down on the couch together. She starts out a good five inches away, but by the time Stiller’s getting brainwashed, her forearm is brushing mine. I have the strongest urge to slide my arm around her shoulders, but something about that move comes off as a little too high school.

  “Arianna’s been trying to get me to do some male modeling,” I say offhandedly.

  “Hey, that’s a great idea!”

  If I wasn’t finished with the Chinese food, I’d definitely choke on another noodle. “How about…hell no.”

  “Why not? You’re really, really ridiculously good looking,” she quotes, and we both laugh.

  “Staring at a camera all day isn’t really my thing. And it’s White Steel, so I’d have to be standing up straight and wearing expensive suits all day—”

  “White Steel?” Cleo blinks and turns to face me. “Adrian, they’re an incredibly famous clothing line.”

  “Well, they can go on being incredibly famous without me.”

  She quiets for a little while, and I think that’s the end of it. Then she says, “Can I ask you something?”

  “Be my guest.”

  “Actually, you’re my guest,” she notes. “Anyway. I wanted to ask—what are you planning on doing after you graduate?”

  I rest my hand on her thigh and grin darkly. “You.”

  She squints at me as she tries to figure out whether or not I’m kidding, whether or not I plan on trying for a long-term relationship. I do, and I try to say this with my eyes, but she shakes her head. “No dodging the question. I mean for a job. Obviously you’re wealthy enough that you wouldn’t have to work if you didn’t want to, but you have to do something. You’d be bored.”

  I shrug and return my attention to the TV. “I plan on traveling a lot. Exploring the world.”

  “Running away, in other words.”

  I stiffen.

  “I don’t know what you’re running away from,” she says cautiously. “And you don’t have to tell me. But when Arianna took me shopping to replace my shirt, we had a conversation.”

  “She’s crazy, Cleo. You saw that.”

  She flips her hair in a perfect imitation of Arianna and mimics, “There are struggles my son has faced for a long time. Internal ones. He’s never committed to anything before, never settled—never had a girlfriend, never lived in one place for long, transferred schools several times. I think he’s looking for something, but more than that, I think he’s afraid to settle down. And I’m not convinced he’ll ever be able to put down roots.”

  I stare at her. “There’s no way you memorized every word of that.”

  “I kept going over it in my head and it kind of implanted itself.”

  “I see.” I’m going to have a long chat with Arianna.

  “I’ll make you a deal,” she says. “Do one shoot with White Steel…and I’ll let you take me out to dinner this weekend. Not on top of a Ferris wheel. In a restaurant. The Frontier, this Friday at seven.”

  I trace my fingers over the back of her neck, feeling her skin turn to gooseflesh under my touch. “Another collateral date. When will I get to take you out just because you like me?”

  “When I decide that I like you,” she says with some attempt at aloofness, but her slight gasp as I run my fingers over her collarbone gives her away. “So? Yes or no?”

  “To tell you the truth, I’d jump off a building to get you to go on another date with me.” I decide I don’t care about feeling like a high schooler and slide my arm over her shoulders. She nestles into the crook between my shoulder and my elbow. A strange feeling washes over me.

  Contentment.

  “What is it?” she asks, noticing my silence.

  “Nothing. This is…nice.”

  “What? Cuddling?” she laughs.

  I kiss the top of her head. “It’s new to me.”

  “You’re telling me that you’ve slept with half the girls on the planet, and you’ve never cuddled before.”

  “Let me tell you something, Cleo. If you want to sleep with half the girls on the planet and you don’t want a relationship, you need to outline some rules.” I tick them off on my fingers. “No cuddling. No sex in my bed. No dates. No emotional stuff.”

  “I think I broke a few of your rules.”

  “The rules never applied to you,” I say softly.

  We fall into a gentle, comfortable silence as the movie plays on.

  A long time later, I shift and yawn as a repeating sound embeds itself in my consciousness. It’s the DVD menu tune. The movie’s over, and the clock on the TV blinks 4:02 a.m. Cleo is settled deep into my side, her head resting on my shoulder and her hand lightly gripping my shirt. That heavy, warm feeling washes over me again.

  I always thought the best feeling in the world was an orgasm.

  But this…

  This is almost…better.

  Gently, I scoop her up. Her head lolls against my chest, and her arm dangles down toward the couch. I switch off the TV and head for her bedroom, nudging the door open with my foot and laying her down on her bed. Her sleep-breathing is even and soft.

  I pull the blanket up to her chest and I’m turning away when I hear her voice.

  “Adrian…”

  I glance around, but she’s still sleeping, a small smile on her lips.

  “Goodnight, Cleo,” I whisper, brushing a strand of hair off her forehead before slipping out and closing the door quietly behind me.

  It’s time to schedule a call with White Steel.

  ~16~

  CLEO

  “You have a date? You? As in, my baby sister? Has a date with a boy? He is a boy, right? Not a robot or a shaved orangutan or—”

  “I have had a boyfriend before, Therese. I know what boys look like,” I cut off my sister’s tangent, turning down the volume on my phone.

  “You had a gay boyfriend, sweetie. That doesn’t count.”

  I spit my orange juice halfway across the kitchen. It splatters over a worn copy of Scottish Ecstasy, which I hastily wipe off and stick in the open window to dry off. Below, I hear a little girl on the sidewalk say, “Look, Mommy, there’s a shirtless man in a kilt in that window.”

  “You knew he was gay?” I scream into the phone.

  “Cleo, everyone knew he was gay. He wore suspenders and a rainbow tie every day to work.”

  I bang my head against the fridge. “I just thought he had a charmingly unique fashion sense.”

  “Mommy, what’s gay?” the kid’s voice floats up again. I smush my face against the screen and yell down,

  “There’s nothing wrong with being gay unless it turns out it applies to your straight boyfriend! So when you get your first boyfriend, make sure he likes boobs first. And, uh, stay in school,” I add, noticing the mom’s evil eye.

  “College students,” she growls before storming off.

  “Who are you yelling at?” Therese asks.

  “Adolf Hitler.”

  “Isn’t he dead?”

 
; “I’m a ghost whisperer! Ugh, Therese, just congratulate me and then we can gossip about my date’s arm muscles or whatever it is normal sisters do.”

  “I’ll reach my own conclusions about his arm muscles,” she trills. “I’m coming with you on this date. As a normal sister, I need to make sure your new boyfriend doesn’t like big fat cocks.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend! And you’re not coming!” I resist the urge to stomp my foot and call her a meanie.

  “It’ll be a double date. You need to meet my new boy, and I need to meet yours. It’s perfect timing. Gimme the deets.”

  I do some aggrieved mumbling, but I know there’s no detaching Therese from an idea once she’s sunk her claws in. “Fine. The Frontier, this Friday at seven. And I’m only saying yes because I need to make sure your new boy is strong enough to withstand you.”

  “Oh, he’s plenty strong. You want to talk arm muscles…” Therese sighs. “He’s got biceps you could sail to war on.”

  “That’s a weird analogy.”

  “But totally fitting. You’ll see. We’ll meet at the café. I’ll be the one in the red dress with the hottest boy you’ve ever seen on my arm.”

  The hottest boy I’ve ever seen is the Sex King. “I know what you look like, Therese.”

  “You didn’t realize your boyfriend of three years was gay. Your eyes can’t be trusted.” And she hangs up.

  I groan deeply and turn to the fridge. “What about you, fridge? Have any siblings who’re determined to screw up your love life when you just want to quietly keep food cold? The microwave, maybe?”

  The fridge does not comment, but I notice a note taped to its front. Open me. I obey, and sitting on the top shelf is a neat covered dish: blueberries, raspberries, a French croissant, and a mushroom omelet. A Post-it on the plastic wrap says, Sorry I had to run. Had class. Consider this my apology. Adrian

  That boy really knows how to get a girl on the ropes.

  “Since when do you make breakfast beyond cereal?” a pajama-wearing Marie asks as she stumbles out of her bedroom, taking in the sight of me stuffing myself on the kitchen table.

  “I didn’t.” I wave the Post-it, and Marie smirks.

  “I’m guessing your trip home went well.”

  “As well as it can go when your ex brings his new boyfriend to the exact spot in the woods where you’re getting eaten out.”

  “Ah.” Marie sits down and pulls the orange juice toward her. “You figured out he was gay, then.”

  “Why did everyone know except me?”

  After I finish freaking out at the cold and unadulterated cruelty of the universe, I fill Marie in. She responds with a lot of sage nodding, a reminder to write everything down, and a wave before she heads out the door.

  The next few days pass in an excruciatingly slow blur. Marie’s too busy with midterms to schedule another research session, and my writing suffers accordingly. And by writing, I mean my uterus. Apart from a few stolen kisses, Adrian refuses to rip my pants off with his teeth and throw them into outer space.

  Apparently, he’s planning something special for the night after our date.

  In the meantime, he…cooks for me. Breakfast every morning, whether he’s able to stay and enjoy it with me or not. Puffed pastries, thick strips of organic applewood-smoked bacon, fresh biscuits...by the end of the week, I’ve gained a pound and I couldn’t be happier.

  Why wouldn’t I be happy? I have a great new friend who makes me good food and helps me with my writing.

  That’s all it is.

  Whoa, whoa. The L word? You’re getting ahead of yourself there. Just because I agreed to a couple dates and want to jump his bones with the burning fervor of Mount Vesuvius doesn’t mean I like him.

  Even when he shows up at my door in a perfectly-cut suit that highlights every aspect of his body, from his broad shoulders to his narrow waist—a black suit that makes his eyes pop even more. Even when he smiles the kind of smile that melts stone.

  “Hey.”

  “What’s up?” I say, totally casual and unconcerned.

  “You’re drooling a little,” he points out.

  “Oh, that? That’s not drool. That’s…a mirage. You’re seeing things. Like in the desert when it’s really hot and people see things. Is it hot in here?”

  “The only thing hot in here is you.” He brushes his lips over the crown of my forehead, and the entire inside of my body turns to boiling lava.

  There is no way I’m going to be able to wait until after this date. I want to lick him all over. I want to bite his bottom lip. The unbelievable fact that I haven’t seen his cock yet makes me want to smash something.

  “Cleo?” Amusement dances in Adrian’s eyes. “I just said we should probably get going. And you kind of moaned.”

  “I don’t think you should wear suits.” My entire body is pulsing. My voice is husky.

  “Oh?” A dark smile emerges on his lips, and he lets the door fall shut behind him. “You’d rather I took it off?”

  All I can do is stand and beg him with my eyes.

  He understands. In one powerful movement, he has me in his arms and he’s kissing me hungrily, his tongue stimulating the sensitive ridges of my mouth, hot and wanting. Need throbs in my blood. I grind my hips against his.

  In a flash, he has me against the kitchen wall.

  “The fridge is going to judge me for this,” I manage.

  “You’re a little crazy, you know that?” He pulls back and looks deep into my eyes. “It makes you so interesting to be around, Cleo.”

  “I think I would be even more interesting if you were kissing me again.”

  He laughs, and then his mouth is on mine, and his hand is on my thigh, pushing my dress up. Every inch of my body is screaming for him to be closer, to cover me, to be inside me and outside me, everywhere. He reaches under my dress and groans when he discovers I’m not wearing any panties.

  “Fuck, Cleo,” he breathes. “You’re making it extremely difficult to wait until tonight.”

  “I can think of some good reasons for you to not wait.” I grind my hips against the rock-hard shape in his pants. “That.” Another grind. “That.” I reach down and grip him. “And that…”

  He exhales harshly. His muscles are taut. Just the feel of his hard, ready, masculine body against me drives me wild with lust. He puts his mouth beside my ear.

  “It’s taking every bit of my willpower not to enter you right here,” he murmurs.

  My uterus cries out at this possibility and starts waving large, blinking neon signs. Enter here, please!

  “But I have special plans for tonight, and I don’t want to ruin them.” He kisses my neck as his fingers circle the outside of my slit. “Tonight I’m going to show you why some things are worth building up to. I’m going to make every single second of this torture worth it. Tomorrow morning, you won’t be a virgin anymore, Cleo Reynolds.”

  My eyes open wide. “You mean…tonight’s the night?”

  He caresses my neck and gestures at the books surrounding us. “I’m going to show you a night that all these romance heroines couldn’t even dream about.”

  Jesus. I have no idea how I’m supposed to sit up straight and drink wine tonight with that image circling in my head. “I changed my mind about the restaurant I want to go to. I’m thinking McDonalds. Suddenly I understand the appeal of fast food.”

  “We won’t take long. I promise.” He rests his forehead against mine, ever so briefly. It’s so tender that it takes my breath away in an entirely different way than his hand under my breath. “But we have to go. Your sister’s waiting.”

  I’d forgotten that I told him it was going to be a double date.

  We leave the apartment building and get in his car. That’s right. The car of someone who is just a good friend.

  A good friend who is going to take my virginity tonight.

  I’m completely giddy and turned on at the thought, and he must feel the same, because we end up pulling over for tw
o more makeout sessions. By the time we get to the restaurant, I’m flushed bright red.

  “You know, romance and pomp are great when it comes to taking a girl’s virginity, but there’s also nothing wrong with going at it in the restaurant bathroom,” I say semi-casually as he opens the car door for me.

  He takes a deep breath and gives me a quick kiss.

  “Let me guess—‘don’t give me any ideas?’” I say.

  “Oh, I already have ideas. Lots of ideas. And after tonight, Cleo Reynolds, you’re going to find out what all of them are. But I want your first time to be special.” He takes my hand, giving me a special smile, and my stomach does three backflips in a row.

  My stomach should really try out for the Olympics.

  ~17~

  ADRIAN

  I thought I would be able to make it through tonight okay.

  I have a lot of willpower. Couple years ago, a friend dared me to spend a month as a vegetarian. I like meat the same amount as any other red-blooded male, which is to say that meat is secondary only to sex. But I did it.

  But Cleo’s not meat.

  Cleo’s not even just sex.

  She’s a tier all to herself. A drug isn’t even an appropriate comparison. There’s no comparison, because wanting her is like feeling the jagged edges of a part of me that was ripped away before I was born, a part of me that I never knew existed before I met her, but now can’t live without.

  It also doesn’t help that she’s not wearing panties.

  This little gem is now punctuating every single one of my thoughts. Like, ‘Oh, the car in front of us has a taillight out…and Cleo’s completely bare under that dress.’ ‘Hey, it takes longer to get to The Frontier than I thought…also Cleo’s pussy is concealed by a scrap of fabric.’ ‘I wonder if that Psych lab assignment is due next Tuesday or the Tuesday after…Cleo. Not wearing. Panties.’

  The mind is a complex and elegant thing.

  To be honest, I’m about one more fingering session away from being driven completely insane. There’s only so much a guy can take.

  I couldn’t endure this for anyone but Cleo, no matter how much her restaurant bathroom observation turned me on. Years from now, I don’t want her telling our grandkids that the first time she got intimate with Grandpa was in a restaurant bath—