“Your hot and sour…dumpling?”
He yanked me by the arm until we made our way to the couch. “Dumpling, eh? Have you ever seen a man naked before?”
“Not as many as I should have,” I replied honestly. Too honestly, probably.
Didn’t seem to bother him, for he smiled anew and handed me a pair of chopsticks. “Pick a carton, any carton.”
“I love you.”
“No, you don’t. You love me for my hot veggie buns.” He sniffed indignantly and pretend-sobbed into an egg roll.
I started to giggle, my iffy stomach forgotten in his dorkiness. I pointed to the noodles to start, so he handed them to me.
“Can I get the lady a drink?”
I uttered a squeaking sound that was both embarrassing and stereotypical. But, in embarrassing fashion, I didn’t care. “Do you have any ginger ale? It’s okay if—”
“I do—I’ll be right back.”
In a very clever surreptitious manner, I used his absence to investigate the lay of the foreign land. Not bad. His décor was sort of space-age and modern, but not stark or cold. Tons of books, naturally. Books are a must in a boy. And the walls were a lovely sky-blue—happy, bright, and unexpected. And—ha—it totally smelled like cleaning supplies. The man who put this place together would always pleasantly surprise a woman. If only Giselle could move in…
219. But she didn’t exist
220. No biggie
221. Definitely not ruining my life
222. I’ll just blog about it
223. That would make ruining my love life better
He returned, a cobalt-blue glass in hand, cool and frosty from ice.
“Thank you,” I said.
He bowed. “Your next choice is…” He walked to his entertainment center and I noticed for the first time the enormous TV thereon. Like sixty inches or something? Huge! A very man TV. Stylish and manly—the ultimate straight girl one-two punch of fabulous.
Not the trifecta, though. The trifecta includes a lumberjack or astronaut.
224. Lumberjack and astronaut is called the Quadruple Almost Clooney.
I’d just popped a piece of bun into my mouth when he presented me with options for my viewing pleasure. “Holy moly. You weren’t kidding when you said you dig Will Ferrell.”
“Afraid not.” He sat beside me, and I flipped through the stack of DVDs. Anchorman, Blades of Glory, Talladega Nights…
“The Ballad of Ricky Bobby!” I said with a bounce. “That one also has Sacha Baron Cohen. And race cars.”
A slow smile spread across his face, and I could tell I’d chosen well. His eyes sparkled as he said, “And John C. Reilly,” which might have seemed weird, except that I knew they were shining for me. And a little for Mr. Reilly, who, come on, is funny as hell.
“Oh, yeah.” I held up my hand and he high-fived me. The small gesture almost turned me on as much as any kiss.
Almost.
Bonding over silly movies is an excellent sign in a boyfriend. I mean…one-night stand.
225. How badly was I fucking up this one-night stand?
226. Pretty boyfriend badly
He pressed buttons and adjusted settings, munching on an egg roll while he did so, and I nearly died. I nearly died of feelings right there in his tasteful, (newly) clean, interesting living room.
227. Why?
228. Why had I met this marvelous man on a night full of lies?
229. Why had I not just come clean the first time he called me?
230. Why was Giselle here instead of Dagmar?
231. And why was my boob so itchy tonight?
I scratched my boob with my arm and knew there was no going back now. I was doomed. I shoved rice into my mouth. Sooner or later my secrets would burst forth. They had to. Unless I just legally changed my name to Giselle, abandoned every person who ever knew me before, and ran away with Yash to live in a hut in Bora Bora.
232. And also with that blond guy who played Thor
Yes. That was the solution to all my problems.
233. Why hadn’t I considered this before?
He settled in beside me, his remote-clicking completed. Except for one thing. He flashed his whiz-bang universal remote so I could see and clicked a button.
The room lights dimmed.
I laughed so hard I spat out a little rice. He didn’t seem to care, but grinned. “That’s another of my secrets. I’m a huge geek.”
“That’s a secret? Besides, I don’t know if that was geeky or Austin Powers-ey.”
“The couch rotates.”
“And vibrates too, I should hope.”
“For her pleasure.”
He said it so low that he vibrated me, the wicked man. I pushed a wonton into my mouth instead of jumping him. I needed the sustenance or I’d faint during hour four of sex.
234. Optimism
235. Numbered because looking forward to anything positive was probably a mistake
Talladega Nights began, and he slid in next to me, our thighs snuggling like new best friends, our mouths full of delivered happiness. We laughed in the same spots, and soon, my belly burst with fullness and so did my heart.
236. Oh, no, that was poetic
237. Poetic!
Enough of this girlfriend shit. I wasn’t Dagmar anymore. Not in any way. I would not be that woman who trusted and went along with and supported people who hid and dissembled and took. Giselle was independent—the only way to keep a girl safe from the vagaries of others.
238. My own vagaries were enough to deal with
I set my carton on the table, wiped my mouth of sauce, and plucked the chopsticks from his hands. His eyebrows raised and a little pulse in his neck jumped. My mouth split into a giggle—that tiny sign of his excitement nearly made me want to sing with joy.
I bit my lip as I’d seen Britney Spears do in many a sexy music video. What next? The last time I’d attempted to be aggressive with a guy, it ended with a printer up my butt.
Here goes nothing.
I crawled into his lap to straddle him. He smiled and didn’t throw me to the floor. Splendid. His hands slid up my jean-clad legs to cup my ass, his eyes locked onto mine the whole time. We sat there, gazes held, anticipating what we both hoped would happen next. The old me would never have made bold moves like these.
239. To be honest, it was probably good that Yash was bedding Giselle instead of me
He yanked me closer and kissed me. Respectfully, at first, his mouth soft. A warmth suffused my chest. My hands clutched at his T-shirt, and his arms wrapped all the way around. Oh, God. My breasts pressed against him, my thighs caressed his waist. I hadn’t sat on a man this way in…in a while. And I hadn’t wanted to drown in it for a lot longer than that.
The sound of race cars zoomed around us. It was a strangely hot soundtrack to make out to. Maybe this was why NASCAR was so popular.
He lifted me up. My arms locked around his neck as he swung me onto my back on the couch. I’d been about to suggest we adjourn to the bedroom, but—
240. Lying hussies can’t be choosers
I’d always enjoyed sex, but a shiver raced through me this time. A huge realization had come to me during the last couple of weeks—about my previous relationship, about how little he’d respected me. Blade had, more than once, said something to the effect of, “What do I say to get you to stop talking and take off your clothes?”
Even if Yash and I only experienced this one night together, I didn’t feel as if he was using me, or merely saying the right things until I agreed to shut up and put out.
241. Although…was I doing that to him?
242. Better not think about that too hard
Surely part of being a fuck-up, like all horrible people who succeeded in life, was not being the nicest Mary Sue who ever lived. Right?
Yash jerked his T-shirt over his head to reveal… Holy hunk. Angels sang. Kittens frolicked. The sun shone through the heavens even though it was nine o’clock at night! Bless the
new breed of cool dude, New York writers—they spent as much time in the gym as they did at the keyboard. Sometimes more.
Morals? What morals!?
243. Abs
244. Abs were what mattered
245. Also
246. Abs
I licked my lips and actually caught a bit of drool. Like a femme fatale, I beckoned him with my little finger, and my literary hunk dutifully crawled over my body.
He blinked, slow, sultry. I ached for him in places I couldn’t remember the name of at the moment. He leaned toward me, his mouth parted, ready to… “Shit, I need to get a condom.” Making a face, he leaned away a few inches. “Sorry—romantic, eh? I have a clean bill of health. I can prove it, I have the paper around here. I got it to attra—” He cut himself off and sat up.
I cocked my head and leaned on my elbows. “To what?”
Bashfully, he shook his head. “Later. But let me get the…” He smiled and left the room.
“I’m on the pill,” I called. “And I just got a test too. All clean!”
He returned quickly. “I have no doubt. But I like a double protection against pregnancy. Rug rats.” He pulled a face and shuddered. “Shit, probably shouldn’t have said that, either. Are kids a deal breaker for you? Shit, I’m bringing this up on the second date.”
“And saying ‘shit’ a lot.”
He groaned.
I giggled and reached for him. “Music to my ears on all counts. Now…” I took the condom from him and tore it open. “Let me help you with that.”
This was it! I was going to casual the sex! My heart leaped into spasms in my chest—hell, in my feet. Every inch of my skin wanted to rear up to greet his hands, his mouth. And so it did. Again and again his lips roamed across my skin. Then he flipped me over and perpetrated all manner of filthy greetings to the skin on my backside…
247. So to speak
248. Hi, hello, bonjour, ciao, and nǐ hǎo
He did everything right. Everything, and several new things I hadn’t heard of. One of them might have been ‘orgasm’ in Croatian for all I knew. And judging by this lovely man’s smiles, laughter, and general, er, tumescence, I made him just as happy as he made me.
When we’d exhausted ourselves, and our foreign vocabularies, on his surprisingly comfy couch, he said, “Relax.”
He smoothed my hair over my forehead and kissed the spot. I shivered, filled to brimming with happiness, joy, bewilderment, relaxation.
“I’ll clean up dinner,” he assured me. “We can watch the rest of the movie in the bedroom? If you’d like. Then you can fall asleep whenever you want after your long day.”
My brain swam in a sex haze. That was the best I’d had since…since my first fella. Yash definitely outscored Blade in both the freestyle and dismount categories. A ten out of ten, even from the Russian judge.
But what now? I watched Yash’s gorgeous butt as he ran food into his kitchen.
Shouldn’t I be leaving?
But I was so sleepy.
Shouldn’t I be leaving?
But watching movies while snuggled in bed.
Shouldn’t I be leaving?
249. But but but…
250. Butt butt butt
I needed to get out of here. He couldn’t think this was anything more than a spectacular booty call. I sat up and searched for my clothes. They’d gone a-flying some time ago.
Yash returned with a bowl of ice cream.
Ice cream.
Nope, non, nein I should stay, I should definitely stay with the hot naked guy bringing me ice cream.
He waved the bowl in front of me and drew me to the bedroom, both of us laughing as I licked my lips and followed my nose. Soon, I snuggled against a cushy pillow, and he started the movie for me in the darkened room. His bed was king-size and featured a snuggly duvet cover dusted with the galaxy and stars.
I was lying in heaven.
He soon joined me, and he dipped a spoon into the bowl of shared ice cream. The warm and the cold, the funny and the serene—they drugged me, lulled me. I fought it so hard, his…his…Yash-ness. Why couldn’t he have been a hot asshole like Blade? I knew what to do with that kind of man now. A Yash, however… The guy who stays must be navigated.
Was I assuming he would stay? But a nice man is still able to be bored.
With a cold tongue, I licked my ice cream spoon clean and rested my head back.
I opened my eyes to bright sunlight in a strange room. Yash’s room. I started to sit up, and he came through the door, head peeking first with an adorable grin. “Hi,” he said, all sleepy-like, and I melted back into the covers. He held two steaming mugs aloft. “I hope you’re a coffee person?”
251. Of course—I served coffee all the time at my ‘airplane’ job
I nodded, and he sat beside me. “I have one cream and sugar, one black.” He raised his eyebrows in the question.
“Black,” I replied.
“Good! That stuff is vile.”
He handed me the vile stuff and I groped for my phone…which must be in the other room with my clothing. Heh heh.
252. I’d just lounge in bed
253. Naked
254. Drinking the coffee
255. My naked hookup brought me
“So…” I began. “What or whom did you hope to attract with your clean bill of health. From last night?”
He laughed. “Before last night, it had been about…seven and a half months since I’d had sex. Around month three, I got a full STD panel in the hope that—”
I returned his laugh with a giggle of my own. “If you test it, she will come?”
“Something like that.”
“It didn’t work in a very timely manner.” I ran a finger down his gorgeous thigh. “How can it be that hard for you to get booty?”
He took a long sip of coffee. “I’m not that into casual sex. I like relationships. The sex can be amazing, and there are layers of comfort and trust because you’re not strangers. After my last breakup, a year ago, I went on first date after first date, and a few seconds. Awful. Stilted. Some terrible people, some lovely women, but we just didn’t click. I went on thirty dates or so—matches from the Internet, friends, enemies, paper airplanes thrown in my general direction—and, after they all came to naught, I just quit. I couldn’t do another painful, boring dinner wherein I told the same bloody stories about myself. They’re not interesting enough to recount that many times.”
He paused and looked down at me. “That was much too much information, wasn’t it? I should say something manly about banging women with abandon.”
I shook my head. “No. No, you shouldn’t. You shouldn’t be anyone other than who you are, because that guy is way too awesome.”
He gave me a long, slow kiss that curled my hair and eyeballs, then went to make breakfast.
Breakfast? No way. My insides roiled. This kind, sweet man had trusted me enough to take the next step. I flailed in the bed until I couldn’t stand it anymore and got up. I was closing tonight, and I had to show up for my coffee drones. Maybe I’d bring the crew donuts to apologize.
256. You can get away with more shit at work when the drones love you
But it was haaaaaard to get moving. Because his bedroom was made of warmth and sunshine. My skin felt like a dance, and my heart beat lighter than it had in…in…wow, far too long.
And the sex. Wow. Sweet. Nasty. I’d achieved nasty sex! And, God, I wanted it to happen again immediately.
I had to get moving because I knew I must say goodbye to Yash forever. I couldn’t keep up a lie this enormous. I mean, a girl could lie about her weight, or her number of lovers, or about how often she changed her future cat’s litter box…but her name…and occupation…
Her identity?
I managed to get on my clothing—
257. While he offered to make me breakfast
258. While he stayed naked and impossibly hot
259. While he smiled as his hair flopped over his brow
<
br /> 260. While he told me what a good time he’d had
At the door, he promised to call me. I nodded and bit my lip to avoid saying…anything. He kissed me, his mouth warm and sweet like coffee. I felt that kiss in my toes. In my pleasantly sore lady business. In my soul oh, God, no, no soul talk, was I trying to kill myself with feelings after one bang?
Well, two bangs in one night.
Go me.
I squeezed him tight and nearly ran down the hall to the elevator. I could still smell his skin on mine—the faint aroma of his cologne and his him-ness. No showers for a week, until the reek of me outlasted him.
I stepped onto the sidewalk and tied my scarf tighter. A cold walk would do me good. Four hours until I had to get to work—throwing winter on my tender feelings would be smart.
This entire life exercise was designed to force me to expand my horizons. I’d done good things, bad things, and good-bad things.
And before my fuck-up-a-palooza, I’d spent my entire adult life going from one serial boyfriend to the next. Two, exactly. Unconsciously hunting for a husband, just as my dad expected of me. My sister had found hers in college—the proverbial MRS degree—just as expected of her. But I hadn’t. I probably could have, though. Shit, I’d still be with Blade even now if he hadn’t gotten a job in L.A.
I shivered against a blast of cold air, both the internal and the external kind. Would I really have married that guy?
Ugh, my head jumbled like a Boggle board. Things I should do. Things I shouldn’t. And whose opinions were they, anyway? Mine? Dad’s? Society’s? Oprah’s?
The honest truth—I was a lying liar who lied. I could not see Yash again. Better that he thought well of one night instead of getting hurt weeks down the line, right?
Right.
I popped into a bakery to get myself a donut to make my deep thoughts more palatable. Mmmmmmm, chocolate-glazed regret.
Yash should be chalked up to a beautiful one-night stand. A reminder that there are fabulous men out there who are kind, have good taste in goofy movies, and screw like sex demons. These 666 mistakes were about new experiences, and should be embraced as such. My mistakes shouldn’t drag on and on, like a trip to the DMV. They should flame out fast and wild, a match in the darkness.
Thoughts of screwing sex demons kept a spring in my step the rest of the way home, and as soon as I got in the house, I put my Yash feelings into a blog post. I didn’t call him Yash, of course. I had called him Writer Guy—WG—before last night. But, as of this morning, he would be elevated to Sexy Sex Writer Guy—SSWG.
667 Ways to F*ck Up My Life Page 11
