I make my way to the kitchen to check on the potato stew (Jax recommended plain, heavy food – makes people think of family at Christmas) and see that he’s texted me again.
Remember: no jokes. Be serious.
I text back quickly as I stir the boiling pot.
What if I can’t think of a topic to talk about?
Jax’s reply is almost immediate.
House prices. Dental plans. Retirement. Gas mileage. Anything you think is boring. Don’t forget. Kids kids kids.
I turn down the heat and run back into the dining room. I’ve been wondering whether I should put candles on the table for hours – but even that is too detailed to ask Jax about. I make a snap decision against them – better to play it safe – yank them off the table and stuff them in a cabinet.
The doorbell rings. Showtime.
My heart starts thumping at what feels like a thousand beats per minute. I hurry over to the door (which is easy in the low-heeled, square-toed shoes I’m wearing) and stop for a few moments in the hallway mirror so that I can tie my hair up in a tight bun.
I put my hand on the door handle, and take a deep breath. Here it is. The Lizzie that fantasies are made of.
I pull open the door and paste a smile on my face, heart pounding in my chest like an overloaded freight train that’s about to derail.
“Hey,” James says, before his eyes run down my outfit. I stand there, trembling as I wait for the moment of truth. “You look great,” he adds with a smile, and I relax, though James is the kind of guy who would say that even if I wore a trash can.
He’s not looking too bad himself, though it’s more because of his height and broad shoulders. He’s wearing beige slacks and a sweater that I’m sure I saw my uncle wearing last Christmas. Still, if I wanted a guy for his fashion sense I’d be spending the night with…No, don’t even think about that, Lizzie.
“Come in,” I say, standing aside.
James steps inside and goes to peck me on the cheek, but keeps pulling back as if he’s afraid. He does it a couple of times, his head going back and forth like a chicken, until I giggle a little, turn my head to the side, and make it easy for him. I barely feel his lips on my face.
“I got some wine,” he says, raising the bottle as we step inside the apartment.
“Oh, cool,” I say, taking it from him and looking it over.
“Yeah, uh…I don’t really know much about wine, though.”
“I usually just ask what’s good, myself.”
“So did I, but the guy recommended a bottle that was a hundred bucks. Isn’t that crazy?”
I nod and smile.
“So,” he continues, “I just grabbed a bottle that was under ten. I mean, it’s just wine, right?”
I giggle again. “Right. Dinner’s ready, so take a seat and I’ll bring it over.”
“Perfect. It smells de-lish.”
I get to the kitchen and breathe. Ok. Showtime. I check my phone in case Jax has texted, but there’s nothing, so I just go over what he told me. Future. Family. Boring stuff. Be the housewife. Be the good girl. It can’t be that hard, can it?
I lift the pot and bring it to the table, where James is already sitting with his hands on his lap, a napkin tucked into his sweater like a bib. Adorable.
“Potato stew, hope you like it,” I say brightly.
“Perfect!” James says again, smelling the heavy aroma and smiling genuinely. He laughs a little. He pretends to wipe his brow. “Phew! I was kinda worried you’d cook something spicy, or ‘exotic.’ I’m not that adventurous when it comes to food.”
“Really?” I try to sound surprised, but I’m not. Jax warned me about this.
“Yeah. I vomit any time I get near a chili pepper!”
I laugh as I settle down in my chair.
“One time,” James continues, “Oh God…this is a real funny story. This one time I was at a barbecue, and my friend had this home-made ketchup his wife had made. I tried a little – just one bite – and wow! Blew my head off! I don’t know what he put in it, it must have been a paprika or something. Next thing I know I’m puking everywhere!”
James laughs so hard I’m afraid he’ll knock the table over. I laugh along with him.
“Whoa!” I say. “In front of everybody?”
“Oh, no. No. I went to the bathroom. But still, jeez louise. I won’t forget that day anytime soon!”
I laugh a little again. I guess this is how real couples talk, sharing embarrassing stories and joking about them. It’s not exactly thrilling, but I’ll get used to it, I guess.
“Do you want some music?” I say, getting up a little.
“No. I’m not really into music,” James says, as he starts piling the stew onto his plate. “Although I do have this one CD that I like. It’s baseball chants throughout the years. Like live recordings. You should hear it, it’ll blow your mind!”
“Sounds great.” I try not to think about Jax’s impressive vinyl record collection (clearly the mark of a wayward man), or my own off-key radio station karaoke marathons during rush hour traffic. Guess that’ll be off the table for good if James is in the car with me.
“I’ll bring it over for you, we can listen to it together,” he says, with a small wink. I smile and brush my hair away from my eye.
“How about a toast?” I say, raising my glass.
“Good idea.”
“How about, to the ‘beauty of silence’?”
James rocks his head a little. “How about, to ‘baseball chants’?”
“Sure,” I laugh, and we clink glasses.
After a few minutes of eating I notice something in James’ face.
“Oh God, is there something wrong with the stew? You don’t like it?”
“Oh… Uh… No… It’s great. Honestly.”
I bite my lip.
“It’s just that…well, when my aunt makes potato stew she usually peels the skins, and she usually cooks them til they’re a bit more watery.”
My face falls. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”
“No… No. This is fine, seriously. I’ll get through it.” But I can tell by the way he’s chewing that he’s suffering. The recipe didn’t say to peel the potatoes!
“I have some more salad in the fridge if you—”
“Honestly, just leave it. It’s fine. Thank you for preparing it.” He makes a real effort at a smile, and I make a mental note to have our future dinners at restaurants.
I smile back and bite my lip even harder. Shit. Nice guys are way harder to impress than I thought. I turn around to look at the kitchen, and wonder if I should send Jax a message. I remember what he told me, and figure if ever there was a time to go all or nothing, this was it.
“You know, James, there’s something I wanted to ask you.”
“Oh?”
“I know it’s kind of crazy. It’s just a thing I was wondering.”
“Sure. What is it?”
“You ever think about kids?”
James’ face lights up like I just gave him a ticket to Disneyland.
“I do. Yeah.”
I smile, feeling the tension ease. I’m finally doing something right.
“I’d like a bunch, myself,” I add.
“Really?” James says, putting down his fork and leaning forward. “Funny you should say that. I feel the same way.”
Bingo. Thanks, Jax. You’re doing it for me even when you’re not around.
Within minutes James and I are planning out a hypothetical future together, right down to where the safest place to put a swingset is, and which neighborhoods will offer the best rising market values for housing while still balancing the need for easy school transportation.
I get swept away into James’ world, where everything’s simple and nobody’s ever alone. By the time we finish talking the potato stew is lying cold and untouched on our plates, and there’s a weird energy between us like some deep connection has been made. But it’s after nine, and James says he’s getting tired. I’m dis
appointed he has to go so soon. Things were finally going smoothly.
I stand up and walk with James to the door. Every vein in my body is throbbing to be closer to him, every thought in my mind is crying out for me to stop him.
“Are you sure you don’t wanna stay a little longer? There’s still some of that wine left,” I ask, praying that I don’t come off too forward.
James shakes his head regretfully as he pulls on his coat.
“I’ve got work tomorrow. But I’ll call you for sure.”
I flash him my most inviting smile, and angle my body in a way that says much more than words ever could. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m wearing several layers of the most ill-fitting stuff I can find, or maybe James really is just that kind of guy, but he doesn’t bat an eyelid. I’m about to give up when he says:
“Can I kiss you?”
The question catches me off guard. I haven’t been asked that question since I was in grade school, and even then it ended with the boy peeing himself.
“Sure,” I say, breathily, “you don’t need to ask.”
James smiles like he just got an extension to his stay at Disneyland and leans forward. I close my eyes, my lips wet with anticipation, my body ready to feel the force of his manliness.
His lips brush mine, then pull away.
“Was that okay?” he asks. “Are you…comfortable with what just happened?
“Uh, yeah. Of course.” What is he talking about? He barely touched me.
“Can I— well. Never mind. I should be off.” He reaches for the door knob.
“Wait!” I shout, grabbing his hand. “Can you what? Just say it.” I know he wants more—he has to. I know I do.
“I was going to ask if I could kiss you again. With my tongue.”
For a moment I’m too stunned to answer. I’ve never met a guy like this before, who asked for permission before making every move and was so shy he practically couldn’t even get to first base. My heart wells up with how adorable it is. Awkward, yes, but also sweet. Instead of answering, I pull his face toward me and dip my tongue into his mouth, stroking it firmly against his in a way that says, I want you.
“Whoa, Lizzie!” James says, chuckling as he pushes me away and wipes off his lips. “I think that’s a little too fast, there.”
“Right. Sorry.” I blink at him, trying to smile through my upset. I’ve just seriously fucked this up, I know it. But he’s smiling at me as he squeezes my shoulder. He doesn’t seem upset, actually, just a little taken aback.
“No need to apologize. We’ll just have to talk it over first, next time. To make sure we’re both comfortable with the level of contact beforehand.”
“Right. Definitely. Got it,” I blurt.
We stare at each other for a moment and then he reaches for the door knob.
“Good night, Lizzie,” he says. “I look forward to seeing you again soon.”
I feel out of breath, and woozy from both the cheap wine and the lack of a proper conclusion.
“Night, James.”
I close the door behind him and lean back up against it. Despite my mess-up just now (well, and the potato problem earlier), the date couldn’t have gone better, and I’m happy as hell about it—but my body is aching for more, as if James just ran off with a crucial part of it. If James is trying to tease me to keep me interested then it’s working, ‘cause right now I’d follow him to hell and back to get the heat my body’s craving.
I stay like that for a while, trying to get my head around what just happened. Part of me is giddy with excitement at how good the date went, and the other part of me is just giddy. I clutch my hair and make my way to the kitchen, and then slump down at the table. I feel like it’s going to take one hell of a shower to get rid of the hotness between my legs. Either that or…
No. Shit. Got to get myself under control. I grab my wine glass, take a sip, wince at how bad it tastes, then gulp down the rest. The only thing Jax should be giving me right now is advice – however much I want the other thing he does so well.
Chapter 5
Jax
I’m going straight to hell. But then again, I knew that anyway.
If not for that one time I went home with a leggy brunette with a lip piercing only to wake up next to her and her amply-chested and even freakier mother, then for the time that I was snuck into a training camp by a Brazilian volleyball player, and spent the entire weekend working through her teammates. My reservation beyond Lucifer’s gates has been booked well in advance, and my attendance is mandatory.
There are about a hundred women who would like to send me there prematurely. I could tell you about a dozen stories for each sin. And there’s one thing that would make it all worth it.
Lizzie.
Still, giving her deliberately bad advice is not my finest hour. It’s not the kind of story that I’ll be telling Brando about anytime soon - that’s for sure. But James has to go.
He’s the kind of guy who’ll have Lizzie collecting Martha Stewart recipes and buying ornamental plates before she even realizes what’s happening. He’ll suck the life out of her until she’s desperate just to get out of the house. Her body was made for fucking, not for being a people-carrier. That quick mind should be kept stimulated by going on adventures every day and not turned into a cookbook-cum-kid-calculator. Lizzie just got out of a relationship with a guy like him, and you saw how that turned out. If anything, I’m doing her a favor. I’m rescuing her. If you really think about it, I’m the hero here.
Ok, maybe don’t think about it too much. Just go with it.
I check the clock for about the fourth time in the past ten minutes - I’m trying to pace myself. It’s about nine thirty and now I’m starting to get a little anxious. Lizzie was supposed to text me when the date was over. Tell me how it went.
I kinda know it went bad already, I’m just waiting for Lizzie to tell me how bad it really was.
You see, no guy could like the woman I just told Lizzie she should be. No guy wants a twenty-something year old soccer mom who talks about dental plans. Not even James.
And it’s no good having a body’s like Lizzie’s if you wrap it in layers of granny clothing. No good having a sense of humor like hers if you’re serious all the time. I’ve pretty much told Lizzie to hide all of her best qualities.
The worst part of it all? I don’t even feel bad. I don’t even feel bad about not feeling bad. I don’t have the energy to feel bad - I’m using it all up walking up and down my living room and double-checking that my phone is turned on, waiting for the call. The one where Lizzie wonders what went wrong, and where I can provide a conveniently placed shoulder to lean on. The perfectly placed rebound for the lay-up.
If I sound proud of myself, believe me, I’m not. My mouth is just watering at the idea of having Lizzie to myself again.
I check the clock again. Nine thirty-two. What the hell’s going on? They can’t still be having dinner, right? Maybe James is just really bad at making excuses. Maybe Lizzie forgot to call.
When the phone rings I dive for it like a hitter on fourth.
“Hello?”
“Oh,” Lizzie says, surprised that I picked up so quickly.
I laugh a little. “I was just texting someone.”
“Ah, right.”
“So? How did it go?”
I’m crossing fingers and looking to the sky like it’s the last roll of the dice in Vegas. Time seems to slow down in the seconds before she answers, and I swear I see my life flash before my eyes. Playing catch with my dad. Learning to ride a bike. Going to a concert for the first time. After that it’s pretty much just a load of fucking.
“It went great!” Lizzie says, the words exploding out of her mouth so happily that the chance of it being sarcasm is slim. For a moment I’m stunned. Still, I’m hoping this is one of Lizzie’s jokes.
“Uh. Really?”
“Oh my God! You wouldn’t believe it! Everything you told me to do was just perfect! I owe you, big time!�
�
Egg meet face. Foot meet mouth. Teeth meet ass.
“That’s awesome!” I say, glad that Lizzie can’t see my gritted teeth and the fact that I’ve dropped to my knees.
“I’ve got to say, I wasn’t sure at first, especially after he told me I fucked up the potatoes, but I just went with it. I told him I wanted like, seven kids, and he loved it! We spent hours just talking about the perfect home. He told me so much about his family. In fact, his mother is coming to town next week, and he was begging me to come along and meet her!”
“I’m so…glad it turned out well.” The words falling out of my mouth sound like they’re coming from far away. I think I might pass out.
“Jax? You ok? You sound kinda muffled.”
That’s because I’ve planted my face into my thick-shag rug.
“Oh, I had my finger over the mic.”
“I’m so grateful, Jax. I really can’t thank you enough. You know, I thought for a second that you didn’t really care. That you were just saying stuff. Maybe even giving me bad advice? I know that sounds stupid. Guess I’m just paranoid like that. Thanks for coming through.”
I give the most forced chuckle I’ve made since I got underwear for my twelfth birthday.
“Of course not. Why would I do that?”
“I dunno,” Lizzie says, not even really listening. “I kinda figured you might think it was weird that I was asking you for that kind of advice.”
“Hey, we’re friends. I’m happy that you found someone.”
“Thanks, Jax. Next time we meet - I’m buying lunch.”
I cling to her words like they’re a life raft. ‘Next time we meet.’ I can work with that. “How about—”
“Hey, I gotta go. I think James just texted me again. God, I’ve got to buy another cardigan for when his mother’s in town. I’ll speak to you soon, ok?”
“Sure.”
Lizzie hangs up and I toss the phone aside so that I can plant my face into the rug again.
I’m going straight to hell. And all I’ve got to show for it is a free lunch.
I don’t know how long I’ve been face down in the rug contemplating my sins for, but it takes about ten rings before I manage to pick myself up and find my phone. It’s Brando.
Insatiable 2 Page 5
