The Truths about Dating and Mating

by Jaycee DeLorenzo

  The upstairs office was relatively clean for such a dump of a building. The walls were water-stained and sagging, and the linoleum on the floor was bowed and cracked in several places, but there wasn’t nearly as much dust as I would have expected, and nary a spider web to be seen. It smelled a bit like stale cigarette smoke and the air was musty, but that was an improvement from the smell of dirt and rot I’d detected downstairs. A desk littered with sheet music, empty Starbucks cups, and a half-empty pack of Parliament cigarettes sat adjacent to the door. An old sofa covered in a mint-green sheet was pushed against the opposite wall, and on the ground beside it, I spied a neat pile of folded clothes and a blanket.

  Feeling a little lightheaded, I leaned in the doorway and focused my bleary eyes on Graydon. He sat on one end of the couch, packing his guitar in a brown leather case that had seen better days. “Are you living here or something?” I asked.

  He half-smiled as he wiped the guitar down with a towel. “Or something. I share a one-bedroom apartment with James, but I stay here when he and his girl want some alone time. Mostly, I come here to practice. The main room has some kickass acoustics.”

  “So it’s your own little refuge?” I looked around my surroundings and made a face. “Cozy.”

  Grinning, he lowered the lid and snapped the fastenings on the case. “Your sarcasm isn’t lost on me, but I happen to find the environment inspiring.”

  “That’s just sad.”

  “Aww, come on, baby. Don’t be blinded by the dirt and decay. There’s a raw and gritty beauty to this building.” He propped the guitar case against the wall to the side of the sofa and sat back in his seat, stretching his arm on the back of the couch. “When it’s just me and my guitar, it’s like I can hear the walls whispering to me. They tell me of their loneliness, of their feelings of neglect and abandonment. They tell me how they long to be filled with life again, with noise and laughter, not sitting alone and forgotten.” He put a hand over his heart. “That’s what tonight’s party is about. I’m showing my gratitude for all it has given me by letting it experience that noise and life once more.”

  I gave him a humoring smile. “Wow, and here I thought it was just an excuse to get wasted without paying a cover charge.”

  His lazy grin widened, as if the idea just occurred to him. “Bonus!”

  I studied him, trying to figure out his angle. “Is this how you pick up chicks? By waxing pseudo poetic about the loneliness of abandoned buildings?”

  “It’s my A-game material,” he said with a wink.

  I folded my arms over my chest, an amused smile on my face. “What’s next, a monologue on how you eschew mainstream pop-culture because you’re all about independent thought, and how you liked MGMT before “Kids” brought them mainstream success?”

  He studied me with an enigmatic smile. “Ah, I see; you think you’ve got me all figured out.”

  I gave an emphatic head shake. “Not at all. In fact, I don’t think I know much about you at all. What I do know, however, kind of reads like a page from Hipsters for Dummies.”

  “Ooh, I have to write that one down.” Graydon made a show of patting his body down for a pen.

  I grinned, unable to help myself. He really did have an answer for everything. It was equal parts annoying and charming, and I had to give him props for being able to take a thinly-veiled insult in stride.

  Graydon sat back and relaxed again. “Well, we’ve established that I’m a walking-talking stereotype, so let’s talk about you. How does one get to know the beautiful Ivy Rossini better?”

  I bit my lip at the word “beautiful,” flattered despite myself. It wasn’t a word I often heard in connection with me. I was always the cute one, the funny one, and I tried to make up for what I lacked in the looks-department with my personality. Sadly, I was terribly susceptible to flattery.

  I shrugged and pushed away from the door, walking forward to join him on the couch. The black sandals I’d worn that night were cutting into my feet, and I wanted to get out of them. I sat on the opposite end of the couch from him and turned to face him. “I don’t know.” I wrapped my finger around a loose thread in the sheet. “Drop the cool-guy routine, for one. Just talk to me like a normal person.”

  He removed his glasses and hung them on the neckline of his white T-shirt, then looked up at me with the full force of those pretty blue eyes. “I can do that.” Shifting on the couch, he turned his body to face mine and attempted a serious, contemplative expression. The effect was ruined by the twitching corners of his mouth.

  I nudged his knee with my toe. “If you have to try that hard, you’re doing it wrong.”

  He rolled his eyes. “I’m just messing with you. Fine. You asked why I come here? I’ll give you a real, non-cool-guy answer. Yes, this building is a hole in the wall, but it’s free, no one bothers me, and I don’t have to worry about the neighbors complaining if I play after ten p.m. Is that better?”

  “Much.”

  He pointed at me. “So I listened to your show last night.”

  “Did you, now? And what did you think?”

  He reached over and tapped his finger on my ankle. “You’re a pretty kickass girl, is what I think. I’ve listened to your show before, but being able to put a face to that voice? It made it much more entertaining. I was impressed.”

  “By what?” I couldn’t have been that impressive. I was in a bitchy snit half the night over losing the bet. I’d never accepted defeat with much grace.

  “You’re fast.” Seeing my confused expression, his mouth quirked on one side. “What I mean is that you’ve got a great sense of timing. Hollister dishes it out and you shove it right back. You’re funny and feisty, and have this I-don’t-take-shit-from-anybody vibe about you. Like I said: kickass.”

  “That’s how I roll,” I said with some puffed-up bravado. I wasn’t as nearly as cool as he was making me seem, but if he wanted to think I was, I wasn’t about to contradict him.

  “And,” he added, “if you don’t mind me saying so, you have one hell of a sexy voice.”

  I raised an eyebrow. That was one I hadn’t heard before. “Really?”

  His blue eyes stared into mine for a moment before slowly traveling down. The sudden heat I saw in his gaze had me warming in an unexpected and pleasant way. He blew out a breath and looked back into my eyes. “As hell.”

  The compliment went straight to my head and swirled around with the cheap beer and hormones that always seemed to whip up into a frenzy any time I had a few to drink. I tilted my head as I looked him up and down, taking in the lean body under his tight T-shirt and jeans. At that moment, I was having a hard time remembering why I should be on my guard with this guy. He didn’t strike me as threatening. He was a little cheesy, yeah, but he was kind of hot and funny…well, amusing at any rate. And the look of desire in his eyes was doing some pretty nifty things to my libido, unfulfilled as it was of late. So I didn’t protest when he shifted in close to me, and I didn’t stop him when he pressed his sweet little Jared Leto-esque lips against mine. I didn’t kiss him back right away; not until he did this thing where his tongue traced the seam of my mouth in a tantalizing way, urging my lips to part. He brushed his mouth against mine and he sucked my lower lip in between his.

  A pleasurable tingling sensation went through my stomach. I added “pretty good kisser” to the tally of attributes I was compiling in his favor.

  His kisses were gentle for all of about five seconds, before his mouth slammed down onto mine. His eagerness made him a little sloppier, and I downgraded his technique to “fair.” He placed his hands on my hips, urging me to move down on the couch. The second I was on my back, before I’d even had the chance to adjust the angle of my head, he dropped his body down on mine and started grinding between my legs with the pointy bulge in his pants. His hands groped and squeezed me at an eager, frantic pace that was a little rough for my taste, making it hard to enjoy.

  “Wait, slow down,” I told him.

  “Sor
ry,” he said between pants. He looked down at my chest. “You’re just so hot.”

  He did slow his pace down, but with him on top of me, I became enveloped in his scent. It was a strange combination of cigarettes, beer, weed and something cloyingly sweet I couldn’t identify. My nose wrinkled and I felt a bit of queasiness in my stomach. Opening my eyes, I stared at the dirty ceiling. It swam in and out of my vision, spinning to one side and then the next. I tried to break the kiss, but he pressed so hard down on my mouth I was afraid it was going to get stuck in that position. I sucked in a breath through my nose, feeling that nauseating coil in my stomach again. I fought a gag for as long as I could, but couldn’t hold it back when he pressed his tongue so far down my throat that his tongue brushed my tonsils. I jerked my head to the side to break his suction-like seal.

  I gasped for breath and cringed when he began licking my neck. His sweaty hand darted under my shirt and squeezed one of my breasts.

  “Graydon, wait.”

  He ignored me and made a grunting noise while his hips pounded into me so hard that the denim of my pants pinched and abraded some very delicate places. “Wait,” I said in a louder voice, putting my hands on his shoulders and pushing him back.

  “What’s wrong, baby?” he asked, looking at me with a confused smile. At close range, I could see the sweat on his upper lip and the grease in his hair. It looked like it hadn’t been washed in days.

  What had I gotten myself into? What possessed me to think this was a good idea?

  “I think we should stop.”

  “Why?”

  “This just doesn’t feel right.”

  Graydon gave me a smarmy smile and said, “Aw, come on, baby, just relax.”

  He went to kiss me again, and I dodged his mouth by turning away. He plunged his tongue into my ear, instead. My flesh crawled. The time for polite was over. “Graydon, I want to stop, now.”

  He groaned and dropped his head on my shoulder. “What’s the problem?”

  I wedged my arm between us and pushed him against the back cushion of the couch. Rolling the other way, I spilled onto my hands and knees on the floor and inhaled a greedy breath of air.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I shouldn’t have come up here. Casual hookups aren’t my thing.”

  He ran his fingers through his hair and chuckled. “Yeah, right. Don’t act like no blushing virgin, baby, ‘cause we both know you ain’t.”

  My brow lifted slowly. “Excuse me?”

  “You’ve got more notches on your bed post than a porn star, so you can stop with the coy act.”

  With a burst of adrenaline, I scrambled to my feet and put my clothes together.

  “ Hey, where are you going?”

  “Away from here and away from you.”

  “Why?”

  The fact that he had to ask, after a remark like that, made me question his intelligence on top of his grooming habits. “Because you are an asshole.”

  He pushed himself up into a seated position. “And you’re a cock-teasing little bitch.” He grabbed the bulge in his jeans. “You give me a fucking hard-on and leave me high and dry? That’s bullshit. You should get down on your knees and suck me off, bitch.”

  I had a smart remark to come back with, but the idea of going anywhere near his lap sent a spray of bile into my throat. I swallowed it back and shuddered. “Not a chance, dollface.”

  “Well, fuck you, then.”

  I rushed from the room and slammed the door behind me. “Ugh!” I did a full-body Snoopy Dance of revulsion and then stalked away. I felt like I needed to bathe in bleach.

  I wrapped my arms around myself and quickly left the small hall that led to the office. It opened up into the second floor sitting room, which contained several rows of cracked poly-vinyl booths left over from the building’s club days.

  I ignored the couples who’d sought out the second floor to make out and made my way to the staircase. I was almost there when I saw Ian coming up the steps, two at a time. The dark look on his face told me he was straddling the line between desperation and irate.

  Well, mission accomplished. I’d set out to piss him off and he certainly looked pissed. Too bad I was still too skeeved out to take any joy in it.

  I stopped long enough to scowl at him, then shook my head and tried to stalk past him.

  “Hey.” He caught my arm.

  I yanked out of his grasp and whirled on him, my fists clenching at my sides. “What are you doing up here?”

  He pointed over my shoulder. “What were you doing up here? Some guy said he saw you coming up here with Graydon Billings.”

  I lifted my chin. “So? I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

  “That’s bullshit.”

  I shoved him in the chest. “You’re right, it is bullshit! All of it. I don’t tell you who you can and can’t fuck, so--”

  “Whoa, you fucked him?” Ian sputtered, his eyes bugging out.

  My mouth snapped shut and I looked away. “I didn’t say that, but if I wanted to, it would be my choice and not yours.”

  “Wait a minute.” Ian’s voice had gotten low and suspicious. I looked over to find his eyes trained on my arms. “Why are you shaking?”

  I hadn’t realized I was, but he was right. My arms and hands quaked and my knees knocked together. I felt a little weak and dizzy, come to think of it. The adrenaline of my confrontation with Graydon was fleeing my system, turning me into a quivering mass. “I’m not.”

  “You sure the hell are!” His eyes flew up, his expression thunderous. “What happened? Did he hurt you?”

  “No!” I cried out, but he wasn’t listening. His eyes had flown to the hall behind me, and then, he was rushing past.

  Son of a bitch. I turned and chased after him. “Ian, stop!”

  I pushed into the office just in time to see him shove Graydon up against the wall. “What did you do to her?” he snarled.

  “Ian! Stop it!”

  “You picked the wrong girl to fuck with, Billings,” Ian growled in a low voice.

  “Fuck you, Hollister,” Graydon spat, shoving him away. “The fucking tease knew what she was doing when she came up here.”

  Ian lunged forward and slammed his shoulder into Graydon’s midsection. Graydon hit the wall with a grunt, then pummeled Ian’s back with his fist. Ian rammed his shoulder into Gryadon’s gut a few times, then stood and brought his hand back.

  “Stop it!” I rushed forward and clutched Ian’s arm. He stared down at me with a dark and disturbing look and I shook my head while I wedged my body between them. “Knock it off! He didn’t do anything wrong. Let’s just go.”

  “Not until this piece of shit apologizes to you!”

  “I don’t need an apology.”

  “Bullshit!” Ian started forward again.

  I shoved him back. “Stop it! Just walk away. Please.”

  Ian looked down at me and seemed to come to his senses. He released a pent-up breath and backed off, glaring at Graydon.

  Graydon wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and spat on the floor. “That’s right, Hollister; listen to the little cunt.”

  “You’re dead!” Ian growled and lurched forward. I wasn’t sure what he did after that because something had snapped inside of me, and before I could process what I was doing, I spun around and brought my closed fist downward on Graydon’s face. It wasn’t a punch in the strictest sense – I meant to slap him, I think – but it had the same effect as one.

  Graydon clutched at his nose as blood spurted through his fingers. “Fucking bitch!”

  My hands flew to my mouth as I stared at what I’d done. Ian stilled against my back, and I looked over my shoulder to see he looked as shocked as I felt.

  “Oh, God! I’m so sorry,” I said, moving toward Graydon to see if I could help, but he pushed me away.

  “Just get the fuck out of here, you crazy bitch.”

  I backed away, pushing Ian behind me. “I’m sorry,” I squeaked.


  “Nice shot.” Ian took my arm and ushered me out of the room and down the hall. “When did you take up boxing?”

  “Oh my God,” I squeaked again, cradling my fist to my chest. The pain was excruciating. My knuckles burned and throbbed, and it felt like bolts of lightning were shooting up my wrist. “I didn’t mean to, but he called me the C-word! It’s my Kryptonite!” I couldn’t imagine a filthier or more disrespectful term for a woman. “Oh…oh my God!” I stared wide-eyed at Ian. “What if he presses charges?”

  “And admit he just got his ass beat down by a girl? Not likely.” Ian let out a rueful chuckle. He saw that did nothing to put me at ease and turned to rub my shoulders. “Calm down. Breathe.”

  I nodded and sucked in several deep breaths, trying to take consolation in Ian’s words. He was probably right, anyway.

  “What the hell were you thinking, Ivy?” he asked in a tired voice.

  “What were you thinking following me?” I said, growing irritable. The irritation was more at myself than anything. What had I been thinking? Better yet, what had I been hoping to accomplish? Sure, I wanted Ian pissed, but then what? What kind of satisfying result could have possibly occurred after that?

  “Cut the crap. You knew I’d come and check up on you.”

  “Fine. You pissed me off; I was returning the favor.”

  Ian raised an eyebrow. “I piss you off, so you go make out with some guy to get back at me?”

  It sounded so stupid when put that way. Worse yet, it sounded like I was trying to make him jealous, which so wasn’t the case.

  To my surprise, Ian cracked a smile. “You got most of the punishment there, don’t you think? I mean, Graydon Billings? Really?”

  I puffed a soundless laugh out.

  Ian reached out for my throbbing hand and lifted it to the hallway’s sickly yellow light. He turned it in the light, surveying the damage, then stroked my knuckles with his fingers. “You’re gonna be hating life tomorrow, kid.” He brought my hand to his face and pressed a gentle kiss against my middle knuckle.

  A smile pulled at my mouth. Feeling my irritation with him slip away, I rose to my tiptoes and brushed my lips against his. “Thank you.”