Wanted: No Strings

by Brandy Ayers

  As I discovered last night while Francie had her little freak-out, this place has no insulation, allowing me to hear pretty much everything being said between the sisters in the next room.

  “He seems nice. Hot.” I can hear a note of teasing in Meg’s voice, and I really hope she isn’t going to give Francie too hard a time about this.

  Something squeaks. Maybe the springs in the bed as Francie gets up? Or is her sister sitting down? You really can hear everything in this place. I run my hands over the plaster in the bathroom, making a mental note to check up on the landlord for this place. There are so many code violations I can’t even list them all.

  “He is nice.” Francie’s voice is harder to hear, quieter. But nice is good, right? “Last night was incredible. But I think he might want more.”

  “Would that be so bad?”

  There is a long pause, and I feel as if they might be doing some weird sisterly nonverbal communication. I don’t know. Now I also feel like a jackass, eavesdropping on the girl I just offered to be a sexual tour guide for.

  Trying to tune out the rest of their conversation, I take my time pissing, wash my hands, and borrow Francie’s toothbrush. I figure I’ve had my mouth on every intimate place of her body, so sharing a toothbrush is no big deal.

  Once I finish up, I open the door and make a big deal about stomping around so they know I’m coming out.

  “Okay, what do you say? Pancakes?” Once I round the corner of the slap of Sheetrock this place laughingly calls a wall separating the kitchen from the living space, I see Francie is dressed in yoga pants and a slouchy shirt that hangs off one shoulder. Fighting every instinct to get down on my knees and praise the person who invented yoga pants, I plaster a smile on my face and go in search of my shirt. “There is this place just a few miles away that has all these wacky flavor combinations for pancakes. Apple cheddar, mint julep, lemon pomegranate. I have a feeling you two will love it.”

  Meg and Francie share a look. One of those looks that make everyone else feel as if they are on the outside looking in at something they want to be a part of. I can see a little bit of panic in Francie’s eyes, but before she can open her mouth, Meg pipes up.

  “That sounds awesome. Let’s do it.” She has this big shit-eating grin on her face, and I know this wasn’t something they had agreed upon earlier. But I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. I’ll take every spare minute with Francie that I can.

  “Okay, ummm, just let me get cleaned up.” Francie disappears into the bathroom, and once again it is just me and her weird sister.

  There is a lot I want to say, but I know Francie will hear everything through the walls, and don’t want to tip my hand too early. Last night I told Francie we would keep this as a casual, regular hookup. I would help her discover all the different ways sex can be fun. And I’m going to follow through on that. But I have my own agenda as well. It is now my mission in life to make Francie . . . shit, I don’t know her last name . . . fall in love with me. Because I can already tell it is going to be a quick trip down the rabbit hole on my part.

  “Um . . . Trent . . .” Francie breaks the awkward silence, and I am all too happy to run over to where she stands outside the bathroom, holding up her toothbrush. “Did you use my toothbrush?”

  “Yeah, I figured it wouldn’t be a big deal. I mean, my mouth spent hours between your thighs last night. A little shared toothpaste is no big deal.” I walk closer, wanting to back her up into the tiny bathroom and find some new inventive positions to contort ourselves into before leaving for breakfast.

  “Wait, hours? He spent hours going down on you? You should be buying him breakfast.” Meg is now standing behind me, her jaw on the floor and eyes bugging out, staring at her sister.

  Francie is getting all fidgety in front of me, the toothbrush question now a thing of the past. “Is that not normal? Don’t a lot of guys go down on girls for a long time?”

  “Ummm, no, hon. The good ones go downtown for a little while if you blow them first. The great ones do it without the BJ first. A guy going down on you for hours and not complaining . . .” She turns to me. “Did you complain?”

  “No, definitely not.”

  “He growled when I tried to push him away.”

  “Holy shit. How did you put up one craigslist ad and walk away with a fucking unicorn?”

  I kinda feel bad for her sister. If she is this shocked by my absolute craving for Francie’s pussy, she obviously hasn’t been with the right kind of guys.

  “At least tell me he sucked at it. I mean, he was at it for hours. Is that how long it took him to get you off?”

  Okay, no one calls into question my pussy-eating game. I’m just about to let loose and tell this girl what-for, when Francie comes to the rescue.

  “No! It was incredible. I pushed him away because I thought I was going to pass out from how many times I came.” Francie lowers her voice to a whisper and steps closer so she stands with her back to me, as if I can’t hear her now. “We went five rounds last night. I’m talking I had more orgasms in the last twenty-four hours than I had in the entire length of my marriage. Did I go from zero to hero? Am I going to be ruined for all other men?”

  Fuck, I hope so.

  “Wait, you went five rounds last night?” Meg peeks around Francie at me with this amazed, and maybe hungry, look in her eyes. “But, he was popping a tent when I got here. Are you telling me he went five times last night and was still able to get it up this morning?”

  “I mean, but that is just nature, right? All men get hard in the morning. Right?” Francie looks back at me for confirmation.

  Really, all I can do is shrug, because, yeah, most mornings I wake up with my dick ready to go, but not every morning. “This morning was probably twenty-five percent nature, seventy-five percent your boobs.”

  “I know, right? I tell her all the time her boobs are magnificent, but she just rolls her eyes.” Meg gives me this exasperated look, and I can’t help but laugh.

  “Can we please not discuss my tits right now?”

  “No, right, absolutely return to talking about my cock.” This whole thing is by far the strangest morning after I have ever experienced. But in an awesome way. I want more of Francie and her weird questions, her weird sister, and her weird life in general. I’ll take it. All of it.

  “Fuck, right. Sorry.” Francie slips into a pair of flip-flops positioned by the stairs leading up from the alley. “Pancakes, right? Let’s go.” She’s all fake enthusiasm and big smiles as she leads us out the alley to the door opening onto one of the busiest sections of the city.

  “Pancakes are this way.” I grab Francie’s hand and weave our fingers together. She tries to pull away, but that just won’t do. Giving her hand a little squeeze, I wink at her and try to show her it is okay. Two fuck buddies holding hands. No big deal.

  “So, Trent, what is it you do, other than troll craigslist for horny women?”

  “Meg!”

  I just laugh, even though Francie is shooting her sister some serious stink eye. “Well, I have a couple things I’m always working on. But right now, my passion is a restoration charity some buddies and I started. We go into houses that have been destroyed because of a disaster and repair them free of charge.”

  “A charity? Okay, so you are either living on a shoestring budget working at a nonprofit, or you are rich as hell and don’t have to work for actual money like the rest of us peons.” Meg turns in front of us, walking backwards and not giving a single shit that the people coming the opposite way down the sidewalk have to swerve to avoid her. “Which is it?”

  “Oh my God, Meg, that is so rude. Let’s play the quiet game until we get to the restaurant.” Francie sounds truly embarrassed, which is not necessary at all, so I disengage our hands and sling my arm around her shoulders, giving her a kiss on the top of her head for good measure.

  “It’s fine, Francie. Don’t worry.” I turn back to her sister, who has that glint of mischief in h
er eye again. “I’m not hurting for money. I sold a couple apps and have a tech company that I own, but pretty much runs itself, so I don’t need to be in the office every day.”

  Meg raises one eyebrow and glares at her sister. “He’s rich, the Robin Hood of orgasms, and he went down on you for hours. This is when it is okay to get married fast. Seriously tie him down as soon as possible.”

  “Oh my God.” Francie buries her face in her hands, but I just laugh to alleviate the tension. I know Francie is not in a place to think about the long term. I won’t comment on how her sister’s idea doesn’t sound all that crazy to me. I’ve got nothing but time, and I’ll wait as long as Francie needs.

  “This is us.” I open the restaurant door for both the ladies, laying my hand on the small of Francie’s back as she passes me.

  As we enter the restaurant, Francie holds me back for a moment, contrition apparent in her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Trent. Meg is a lot to take, especially before having coffee. I know this is the very definition of a weird morning after.”

  “You underestimate me.” Putting my lips right up against her ear, I let all the lust still bottled inside my body make itself known through my voice. “I’d put up with a lot more in order to spend more time with you.”

  Francie blushes, glances at the ground, and tucks one curl behind her ear. It is such an innocently sexy thing to do that I almost drop onto my knees and beg her to go back to her apartment and not leave that old, creaky Murphy bed for days on end.

  But of course, Meg breaks the moment. “Okay, love birds, I was promised pancakes. Stop making goo-goo eyes at each other and sit down.”

  Francie rolls her eyes, but we both laugh a little at the outrageousness of this situation. For a moment, it’s as if we are on our own little team. Trent and Francie against the world. A ball of overwhelming need lodges itself right in my throat. Because I want to be a part of this team for a good long time.

  Forever.

  I just need to convince Francie of that.

  Chapter Eight

  Francie

  When we finally part ways after breakfast, I can tell Trent doesn’t want to leave. He hems and haws and shuffles his feet but eventually gives in and gives me a scorching hot kiss before walking off toward whatever it is he has planned today.

  Thankfully, breakfast hadn’t been too awkward. He took Meg’s crazy personality in stride, which I have to give him major credit for. But his presence made me feel too much. As we ate, he kept his hand firmly pressed to my thigh, not even wandering north. Not that I wanted him to do that. In a crowded restaurant. With people all around. People who could hear me. Nope, didn’t want that at all. He just left the weight of his palm on my leg. And despite wanting more, I liked it. Too much.

  I like him too much.

  The ad may have been the brainchild of two sisters after way too much wine, but as the dead language says, in vino veritas. In wine, truth. I need to explore my options. Date around. Figure out what it is that I want out of my newly single life. That is what I need to be doing. Instead, I really just want to know when I can see Trent again.

  Which is why I need to focus on finding my next conquest.

  “You’re insane.” Meg kicks her legs over the side of my bed, glaring at me as if I just punched a kitten or something.

  “Look, I am not denying that Trent is awesome. In another time and place, I could see maybe trying to pursue something there. But right now, I need to explore. I think I went about this the wrong way. I just jumped straight into sleeping with the hottest man I’ve ever seen in real life. What I need to do is pull back and just dip my toes into the dating pool. I want to play the field. See what is out there.” I scroll through the barrage of emails I got after posting my drunken craigslist ad, hoping to find anyone who looks even half as appealing as Trent. “I just spent the last ten years with a man who I fell too easily in love with, and never questioned that love. I wasted ten years of my life. I’m not making that mistake again. This time I am questioning everything. If I decide to settle down again, which I’m not sure is what I want at all, then I’ll know with one hundred percent certainty that I am making the right decision.”

  “And what if, after all this exploring, you get to the end and discover that Trent was always the right man for you? But you let him get away because you’re afraid of making the same mistakes?” My sister looks at me with sympathy. Which I hate. I’ve had enough looks of pity from people since leaving my ex. I don’t need it from her too.

  But her words do send a fissure of dread straight to my stomach. The thought of Trent giving up on me, of him finding another woman whom he uses that dirty mouth on, makes me physically ill. Which only steels my resolve to meet other men and find out what else I’ve been missing out on all these years. I never dated before I got married. Never slept around. No experimentation stage in college. I want all that now.

  Part of me wishes I had met Trent later in the game. After I’ve gotten this itching need to experience the things normal women my age already have out of my system. But then, I’m also thankful that he came first. I needed someone to take control, to show me what my body could do. I can’t imagine anyone else taking his place last night. Maybe that is part of the problem.

  “Doesn’t every woman have a story of the one who got away? It’s like a rite of passage.” There is no confidence in my voice, and I sound unsure and weak. I hate it. I want to be strong, sure of my own decisions.

  “Pfft.” Meg hits me with her no-nonsense look that always makes me feel a little bit stupid and a lot naive. “Yeah, lots of women have that story. And every one of them wishes they could go back to the moment you are in right now and make a different choice.”

  Fuck. I know she’s right. But I can’t turn back now. I’ll always wonder, no matter how good a life with Trent might be. I would always, always wonder what I missed out on. When I think of it like that, it almost seems as if I’m doing this for him. Saving him from getting in deeper with a woman who is not in the right headspace to start something serious.

  “Will you just shut up and get the fuck over here to help me pick someone else?”

  Groaning, Meg stands from the bed and pads over to my chair. “Here, I made a folder of possible contenders for you.” Reaching over my shoulder, she takes control of the mouse and sweeps it around the screen. A folder pops up, filled with half a dozen emails. Much more manageable than the hundreds that clogged my inbox.

  “You knew that the whole time and just let me shift through all those freaking dick pics?”

  Her shoulders rise up, touching the bottom of her earlobes. “Sorry, chickadee, I’m on Team Trent.”

  ***

  Two days later, as I sit in a diner down the street from my apartment, I try to muster up the same level of excitement I had before meeting Trent. But it just isn’t happening. Probably because I’ve already gotten that first time out of my system. I’m settling into the dating scene now. Nerves still zap through my system at the idea of meeting this Joe guy, whom Meg has taken to calling Average Joe.

  We talked a few times over email before setting up this date, and he seems like a nice guy. He’s an independent wealth manager, which basically means he helps invest rich people’s money. The picture he sent me was a headshot he uses on his website. Every strand of his sandy blond hair had been perfectly styled, and he held his head at that weird angle every photographer poses you in for some reason. His eyes looked bored in the photo, but they were a pretty shade of blue that I liked.

  The door of the diner opens, and I stand to greet my date. He’s a little late, but only by five minutes. Actually, exactly five minutes late I notice as I look at the clock above the door of this fifties-style diner and see the second hand clearing the twelve just as he steps over the threshold. Huh.

  “Francine.” He comes toward me with his hand outstretched to shake, as if we are meeting for a business lunch and not a first date. “Good to meet you. You’re just as lovely as the picture
you sent over.”

  In the end, I hadn’t been able to send over the same photo I’d sent Trent. Even the idea had somehow felt like cheating, which was preposterous. One date, a night of insane sex, and daily text messages since the night do not a relationship make. But still, instead of the sexy sweater photo I sent Trent, Joe got a tamer shot from the same photo shoot. I wore tight jeans and a plain white T-shirt that showed just a little cleavage, and I’d been perched on a windowsill with light streaming in all around me.

  I take Joe’s hand, and instead of shaking it, he pulls it up to his lips, a little faster and with more muscle then I expect, which sends me tripping and almost crashing right into him. Thankfully, I gain my footing before any embarrassing mishaps go down, and he gently kisses my hand, giving me a wink at the same time. Is this supposed to be charming? I find it mostly cheesy and a little disconcerting.

  Although, at this point in the night with Trent, I had already been sucking on his tongue, so what do I know?

  “I hope you don’t mind I went ahead and got a booth and ordered a drink.” Sliding back onto the bench seat, I’m a little surprised Joe slides in right next to me instead of on the opposite side of the table.

  Joe keeps sliding until I’m backed into the corner and our legs are plastered together from hip to knee.

  “No problem, beautiful.”

  Just as he opens his mouth to say something else, the waitress walks up in her poodle skirt and pink apron. I almost sigh in relief to have someone else to focus on.

  “Have you decided what you’d like to order?” The girl looks to be just out of high school and bored out of her mind. Yet some crazy part of me wants to invite her to sit down and chat with us.

  I slide the menu over to Joe, but he slides it back and just grins at me. “We won’t be ordering any food. Not staying much longer, I suspect.”

  Um, what?

  “Actually, I’m pretty hungry.” Ignoring the quirk of his eyebrow as he looks down at my tummy and thighs, I turn to the waitress. “I’ll have the BLT with onion rings on the side.” Hell, if I could order a side of garlic with that just to get this guy to back off, I would.