The Girl He Needs

by Kristi Rose

  “Is it? Feel like having sex in a truck again? I can take you back to your high school days.”

  “No, thanks.” He leans forward and kisses me briefly. “Wait. Are you saying you want to have sex, here? Right now?”

  I shrug, press my chest to his, and kiss his neck.

  “Come on, Josie. You really don’t want to do that.”

  I sit back; widening the space between us, making it larger than it’s been since I straddled him moments ago. “What did you think I was hinting at here?”

  He shrugs. “I thought a little slap and tickle, maybe.”

  “You don’t want to have sex? Are you that mad at me?”

  “I’m not mad at you and yes, I want to have sex with you, all the time. Of all the places we could do it, my truck never crossed my mind.”

  “You’re not mad at me?” I raise a brow to emphasize my skepticism.

  “No, I’m worried about you. I can see you gettin’ hurt on that scooter and it makes me feel—”

  “Helpless?”

  He shrugs.

  “Sex in your truck would make you feel better. Let’s do it.” I unsnap his jeans and ease the zipper down as I wag my eyebrows at him.

  “Don’t you remember what it was like? It was all elbows and assholes in high school. It can’t be much prettier now.”

  “I’ve never had sex in a car or a truck.”

  “What? You?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? Just because I propositioned you with this whole no-strings deal means I’ve had sex everywhere?”

  “No, I mean... I just assumed—”

  “You know what they say about assuming.” I lean back against the steering wheel and cross my arms over my chest.

  “It’s just that you’re so adventurous and I figured your Texas boyfriend at least. He sounded like the type to...never mind.” He reaches for me but I slap his hand away.

  “Beau always wanted to do it in his dojo; you know, all those mirrors and all. The artist I dated always wanted to use media like edible paints and food, and this other guy—”

  “You’re killing the mood here.” His hands are on either side of me, gripping the steering wheel, and he shifts in his seat.

  “You killed the mood when you called me a slut.”

  “I did not call you a slut—” He stares at me.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. When you assumed I was a slut.” I emphasize assumed because of the whole equating him to being an asshole and level my gaze right back at him.

  Brinn leans in, trapping me between his arms and body. “It only takes one person to have all those experiences with, Josie, not a dozen. Just you and one guy. I figured that since you were so adventurous with me you surely were this way with someone else. It’s who you are. I pretty much figured I wasn’t going to bring anything new to the table.” He finishes with a kiss to my chin before slowly working his way across my jawline.

  “But you are. I’m stretching my boundaries. Trying new things with you.” I shift to expose my throat and when he kisses the hollow between my neck and collarbone, I shiver.

  “Well then, by all means, let’s do it in my truck.” He lifts up and I help him pull his jeans and tighty-whiteys off his hips. When he settles back, he pulls my T-shirt over my head and sucks in a breath as he stares at my breasts. I have new henna art that peeks between my breasts and reaches up and over each one. It’s a delicate vine of filigree that leads a path down past my belly button.

  “Jesus, you’re amazing,” he whispers and kisses a flower that rests on my right boob.

  “Do you want to know?” I run my hands up his back and into his hair.

  “What?” he mumbles.

  “How many guys I’ve been with?”

  Brinn looks at me, his eyes cloudy with passion. “The number is irrelevant. The memory is the key.” He moves his hand to my inner thigh and pulls my panties to the side.

  We press together with need and desire for each other, craving one another’s touch. In the spirit of adventure, we ignore the elbows that collide with the driver side window and a knee that knocks the shifter. When he enters me, it’s with an immediacy I’ve felt since I first set eyes on him and I arch back and cry out his name, pressing into the horn.

  But the honking is just a sound, background noise that doesn’t interrupt our purpose. Being together is chirping birds and butterflies, volcanic eruptions and hurricanes. When he touches me, the world goes soft and all I know is him. Where he is, his breathing, the gruff sounds of pleasures he makes, and the taste of him on my lips is imprinted on my soul. Between us there are no rules or expectations. He wants me as I want him and I want him in ways I never understood possible. I want this. I want right now, and when this is over, I will be looking forward to tomorrow when I’ll want him again. Being with him is easy.

  I collapse against him, our timing in sync, and my body pulses with satisfaction as little goose bumps consume me.

  “Are you cold?” He wraps his arms around me, enveloping me into his warmth.

  “No, I’m perfect.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “I won’t buy the scooter,” I whisper.

  He rests his forehead against mine. “Thank you.” He kisses the tip of my nose before moving to nuzzle my neck.

  I giggle and rub against him knowing it will make him crazy.

  “Are you hungry?” I ask, leaving the interpretation up to him.

  Chapter 20

  Jayne is my go-to girl. She opens at noon on Wednesdays but is coming in an hour early so we can have the place uninterrupted and I can search for just the right dress to wow Brinn.

  I tap on the lightly frosted glass door of her shop, the Daily Mirror, while eating a bean burrito. The plaza where Jayne’s shop is located also houses an organic grocery store and cafe with outdoor seating and as I scarf down my non-organic, not wheat, made with lard lunch, I make sure to slurp the oversized soft drink that accompanied it, extra loud. Brinn is out of the office until this afternoon, but I don’t want to take the chance that he or Mark will come in earlier than expected and give me shit about my time out of the office. So I multitask.

  Jayne opens the door, lets me in, and closes it behind me. The closed sign, decorated to look like a cute ETSY-style price tag, swings and thumps against the glass. Her shop is a clever mix of posh and artsy. It isn’t overly crowded with racks, but clothes are arranged so that their colors play a part in the decor. This is where she shines. Half the store is consignment pieces from the fashion elite of Florida that Jayne caters to and does custom shopping for. The other half of the store is designed for off-the-rack fashion that Jayne travels overseas to purchase. Not fashion that comes from a French runway, though there is some of that, but beautifully ornate yet simple saris that she displays as evening gowns, plaids from Scotland, kimonos from Asia, and leather from Italy. Unique pieces and fabric that make me want to run my hands over them and revel in their satiny touch or gossamer lightness.

  “Hallo, lovely,” Jayne says and kisses each of my cheeks once. “Thanks for seeing me home safely the other night.” We’d spent another Wednesday night enjoying two-for-one drinks for ladies only at the Deck. Pippa included.

  “Of course. Thanks for doing this.” I hand her a pastry box from her favorite bakery. She flips open the lid, moans, and rewards me with a large smile.

  “Éclairs. Nom. Nom. My favorite.” She sniffs the desserts and closes her eyes.

  “I know. I wish I could do more for you, but I have a feeling I’m going to be spending a lot today.” I pull my hair up, winding it into a loose bun.

  “I’ve taken the liberty of pulling some dresses for you. I’ve one in particular that will be phenomenal on you, but I’m not going to sway you one bit. Because it’s an evening affair and it’s mid-August, the night may still be warm, but I’ve pulled shawls just in case.”

  She leads me to a dressing room and I see three dresses hanging off the hooks.
One is minty green, the other a light, bright blue, and the last is a silvery gray. I’m instantly drawn to the gray. The bodice is ornate and dips into a sweetheart bust line but comes up into a halter. The dress is chiffon, the bodice made of intricate beading that weaves around much like the filigree henna I tend to favor. The skirt falls to the floor, flaring out slightly at the hips.

  “I love this one.” I look at Jayne.

  She laughs. “That one’s perfect for you. Hurry, let’s get it on you.”

  The dress almost fits me. It needs to be taken in slightly at the waist and the length is an inch too long, even if I wear crazy high heels.

  Jayne wags her brows at me, her smile large and excited. “Damn, if I’m not brilliant with clothes.” She steps back and signals for me to twirl. “You should keep your hair up. Show your back.”

  I look over my shoulder to the mirror and am pleased with the image. I try to imagine Brinn’s expression when he sees me.

  “What are you thinking? Your cheeks are red,” Jayne asks as she pins the waist.

  I give a slight shrug. “I was wondering what Brinn will think. You know, gotta represent.”

  Jayne’s quiet, her eyes searching my face. “Methinks you’re in love. This is more than shagging.”

  I snort. “Methinks you’re crazy. It’s good sex, I’ll give you that, but there’s nothing more to it.”

  She levels a look at me.

  “OK, maybe we’re friends. We have a friendship.” I shrug and look away first. “But I’m leaving soon. I got the job on that cruise ship.”

  Jayne doesn’t cease her pinning. “Yes, because that ensures you can’t be in love. Leaving.”

  “Why should I stay and be a reason my brother has to live in a mental ward?”

  Jayne rolls her eyes with such severity I’m afraid they’ll get stuck. “Is that really the case? Did he go check himself in after spending the day with you last week?”

  “No.

  “Then stop with all the drama. Life dishes out enough without having to create any more.”

  “But he needs his space.”

  “Which can only be given to him by getting on a cruise ship and sailing far, far away. Yes, I see your point.” Her accent almost makes the sarcasm get lost. It’s hard when she’s so droll anyway.

  “Even if I do stay, how do I end it with Brinn?”

  She continues to stare, only this time somehow manages to look down her nose at me, from the floor. “Why would you end it? Most people date their crushes, not run from them.”

  “Even if it’s a crush, it’s a little one.” I show an inch of space between my thumb and index finger. “We aren’t what the other wants. He’s so freaking tight-assed sometimes—”

  “The Lady doth protest too much.” She finishes the last pin and stands.

  “The lady is going to shop somewhere else. Someplace without all the lip.”

  “Because the truth hurts. Why does it matter if you love him? You won’t enjoy being with him less. Why would you walk away from something that’s working? At its very core, life is about falling in love and seeing if it might go somewhere. If it doesn’t then you’ll, hopefully, have sweet memories to take with you as you move on to the next one,” she says matter of fact. “Will it be this one or do you want to try others?”

  “We’re talking about dresses, right?”

  Jayne shrugs, a smile twitching on her lips.

  “I’m going with this one.” I smooth my hands down the bodice and across the skirt as I process what Jayne said. I look up at her. “I’m leaving,” I say it with determination as if the words will make it true. “I have to leave. It’s what I do.”

  “If you say so. You could do something different and stay.” She leans back against the wall of the dressing room, one arm across her chest, the other resting on it, her chin cradled in the palm of her hand and gives me a pointed look.

  “I’ll think about it.” I ignore her smile and stare at the dress, afraid she’ll see the truth in my eyes. That I have been thinking about staying.

  Leaving home with the intention of finding myself had no fixed rules or guidelines, only self-imposed ones that I created along the way. But I never thought about when I should end this journey. I never even imagined it. I suppose everything had a timestamp based on finding Will.

  What if I did stay? I’m not sure I know how. What would that be like? When Brinn and I decide to call this quits, do I pretend indifference when our paths cross, as they inevitably will? Do I want to call it quits with him?

  I can’t deny that Jayne has become my first girlfriend with any real depth and the thought of leaving makes me want to weep. Or that I wake up every day excited to see these new people in my life. Or how I can’t imagine snuggling up with anyone other than Brinn.

  But the underlying fear of them walking away from me stops me from dwelling on the picture of what staying would look like.

  Chapter 21

  I arrive at Brinn’s faculty charity event alone. He wanted to pick me up but I wanted a grand entrance.

  I step into the ballroom and spot Brinn instantly. He’s leaning against the bar, a beer in one hand, talking to a guy I’ve never seen before. When he sees me, he stands up tall, beer and guy forgotten.

  As I walk across the room toward him, the beads on the bodice of my dress catch the chandelier’s crystals and bounce off, surrounding me in a halo of color. The moment is magic. The kind you fantasize about but never experience. The kind where everything around you falls aside and there is only you, the guy you can’t stop looking at, and this connection that can’t be defined.

  I press my hand to my belly but it does nothing to calm the butterflies within nor the tremble in my hand.

  “You look amazing, Brinn.” He does. Jayne fit him in a classic black tux with matching vest. A gray tie gives contrast to the suit and the white shirt, and his raw manliness and all over badassery leaves me feeling parched and only a cool glass of him will satisfy.

  “You look unbelievable. People can’t stop staring at you,” he says, stepping forward to plant a light kiss on my lips.

  “It’s not me they’re looking at. It’s this.” I turn and show him my back. On a whim I’d texted my brother and asked him if Daanya would be willing to apply silver body paint, henna-style, down my back to complement the severe cut of the dress.

  They didn’t invite me to their place, but coming to mine on short notice is huge. I call that a win. And to put a further exclamation point on the whole thing, they are staying over at my place. Granted, I told them I would be out for the night, but still!

  He gives a slow whistle. “Wow. That’s amazing.” He traces the art, caressing my spine, and when he gets to where skin meets dress he splays his hand wide to rest on my lower back. He leans in to whisper, “Can I get you a drink?”

  “If you are planning on trying to booze me up to get me out of this dress, don’t worry. You don’t need the booze. That tux does it for me.” I turn back to face him and find I’m wrapped in his arms.

  “Jeez, how are we gonna get through the night?” He glances over my shoulder. “There’s a guy heading toward us, he’s the dean of my department, Dr. Hughes. He’s the one pushing me toward the doctorate program.”

  “And so it begins. You better get me a white wine, please.”

  His boss arrives and on his heels is another guy who looks nothing like the academic sort. A lumberjack, maybe. A professor, no way.

  “Dr. Hughes,” Brinn says as they shake hands. “Allow me to introduce my date, Josie Woodmere.”

  “You, my dear, are quite lovely.” The dean tells me as he shakes my hand, his firm and not the least bit sweaty.

  “Thank you. It’s nice to meet you. Brinn speaks highly of you.”

  Dr. Hughes is an average man who is best described as...ordinary. Difficult to pick out in a lineup. He gestures to the lumberjack.

  “This is Shawn Henderson, Shawn and I go
way back to our days at Riddle,” Dr. Hughes explains. “We’re having a discussion—”

  “An argument,” Henderson says, then leans next to me and orders a double scotch, neat.

  “Fine. An argument. About how the aviation industry is changing. Shawn believes it’s changing more rapidly than I do. He thinks chartering is going to become more lucrative. Like people will be using apps and—” Dr. Hughes shakes his head.

  “I said chartering is no longer something for the wealthy. That co-opting it is the way to go. First-class passengers would prefer to spend their money on charters and if they could manage it all through an app the better.” His drink is gone in two swallows and he orders another.

  “I told Shawn here you have a keen business mind for aviation and we should get your take.” Dr. Hughes waves at Brinn to chime in.

  I smirk at Brinn. Seems I’ve heard this conversation before.

  “Well, sir. I’ve thought long about this topic and I actually agree with Mr. Henderson here with the exception of co-opting. That becomes less cost effective for the traveler. The way to go is to marry the best of fractional ownerships with charters and create a hybrid with a limited fleet. They buy on with a certain amount of miles; get the quality they are looking for, with some variety. Each plan could be customized based on their needs.” He turns to me. “I’ve been giving it some thought.”

  “That, son, is a brilliant idea.” Henderson slaps him on the back. “I want to be in on the start-up.” He pulls a business card from his pocket and hands it to Brinn. “I’m serious. I’m looking to invest in innovative, forward-thinking companies and that one is the best I’ve heard in a long time.”

  Brinn tucks the card inside his breast pocket. “I’ll keep you in mind should I decide to go forward with it, but currently I’m wanting to buy into a flight school.”

  “Ah, you’re wasted on that. Get out there. Change the scope of aviation. Shake it up,” Henderson says.

  “I agree,” I say and tuck my hand in his. “Capital be damned.”