by Thea Devine
Who was Jed? A guy who liked ice cream at ten at night. A guy who’d dated my roommate for a month and inexplicably ended the relationship. A guy who was periodically in the gossip columns, who’d made mistakes, who had made himself into a success.
A guy who made me tense and crazy, that was what I knew about Jed.
And then we were there at the nuts and ice cream emporium near West Seventy-Eighth Street, and Jed said, “See, I’m not the only one who likes ice cream late at night. They’re open till eleven. What will you have?”
I guess sometimes our choices define us, although this was not a Ben & Jerry’s menu. I opted for plain vanilla, Jed chose chocolate.
“No questions?” Jed asked after we’d walked for a while. I don’t think he ate a quarter of the ice cream in his cup. He was covertly watching me not eating mine.
“One. Why are we doing this?”
“Why not?”
Well, let me count the reasons. Because…because…
“Because I’m on a Guy Diet.”
“Then I won’t mention the freebie part.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“You know why,” Jed said. “Just take it a spoonful at a time. It’ll all go down that much easier. In fact—” He stopped and took the spoon from my fingers and scooped up some ice cream and fed it to me, watching with that unnerving intensity as my lips closed over the spoon.
“See? Smooth and creamy.”
Right. Like him. Like I was feeling right then. Like I didn’t want to feel about him right now. I could almost here the hum of tension.
Then he came in closer and just swiped my lips with his tongue—his hot, sweet, firm, delicious tongue—and my knees nearly buckled.
“Hey!”
“What?”
“That’s—”
“Not a kiss,” Jed finished for me, neatly cutting off my indignation. He nudged another spoonful into my mouth. “No kissing going on here.”
“You call that no kissing?”
“I call that one spoonful at a time, Lo.” Another helping, and again he licked the residue off of my lips, this time with a light, hot pressure that was almost too irresistible.
I didn’t seem to be protesting. My body went liquid; darts of pleasure assaulted me. Time felt suspended. His tongue touched my lips again and I opened my mouth slightly, met him halfway and touched his tongue with mine.
Oh, no.
“Maybe,” he murmured, “I should just kiss you.”
“I thought there was no kissing going on,” I managed to say.
“That was as close to kissing as you can get. Besides, it’s time.”
“Time we kissed, you’re saying.”
“It’s long past time actually.”
The tension escalated. I wanted that kiss. And I didn’t—because I suddenly realized if he kissed me, I’d be haunted forever. He just wasn’t a go-to guy, and I was no longer a get-go girl. And if I liked it too much, if I wanted him too much, I’d be lost forever.
And I was that close to wanting him. The taste of him, the feel of his tongue was already imprinted on my lips and inside my body and I wanted more. That feeling, that taste, the way I felt, I wanted more.
He tilted my head up. “Tell me you want me to kiss you.”
The silence thickened unbearably. The heat had nothing to do with the temperature. His pull was nearly irresistible. The look in his eyes nearly convinced me.
I wanted him to kiss me. And I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t.
“I wish to hell you weren’t on that damned diet,” he said abruptly. “You don’t have to be on a Guy Diet.”
The moment broke open. I took my spoon from him. “You know what—it’s not a joke—as much as I joke about it. I’m doing it for me.”
That was both the truth and a lie. Because the covert not-to-be-admitted reason was to get some distance between me and all my past dating. I was protecting myself, trying to do it differently, and I just couldn’t succumb.
“Okay, so I’m not going to kiss you tonight. You’re going to regret it.”
I did already. I found my voice. “This was a trial by devil.”
“I’m definitely going to tempt you. And it will happen. Not tonight, but it will. I promise.”
We were at the apartment building. He took my key, opened the door, let me in and then, in the ineffable way of devils, he disappeared into the night.
4
I LOVE MEN. I just know you think, from reading my scathing indictment of rut-and-run guys, and the fact I’m wary about Jed, that I really hate men.
But I don’t. I could make a list as long as your arm of all the things I love about men. Start at the belly. No, wait a minute—not getting raunchy here. Yet.
The eyes. Hmmm. Yeah, the eyes, though guys always say they love a woman’s eyes when they want to avoid sexualizing.
Everything is sexual.
What I haven’t experienced is that one man who makes me think everything is possible, nothing is probable, and with whom I never run out of things to say because everything’s important.
I know there are relationships like that. That’s what I want. That’s why I’m tired. That’s one of the reasons why I didn’t kiss Jed. And…because if this tension between us veered into physicality, it would be such a betrayal of Paula by both of us. That’s why I’ve been considerate of her feelings, that’s why I’m dieting.
The upside is, I’ve been feeling fresh, invigorated, and not sapped of all my energy trying to please a guy who isn’t going to call me in the morning, anyway.
Guys with no substance. They’re like commercial cake mix, they’re dough boys; they melt in your mouth, they taste good and they’re gone.
Maybe what I want is a fruitcake kind of guy. Rich, chewy, fruit laden, moist, tender…um, forget that analogy.
Where was I? Men. I love men, especially fruitcake men.
Even so, I didn’t even want the distraction of men. Or Jed who is a whole separate category. He’s distracting just because he exists and I almost kissed him. I have a feeling I’ll be spending too many hours gnawing on the nuances.
However, life without sex isn’t horrible. Or difficult once you’ve really wrapped your mind around the fact that for a limited time only there would be no warm body to heat up your hormones.
It’s doable…
…except if you lived with Paula who lived for sex and hated the fact I was really sticking to The Diet.
Only, I didn’t tell her about my ice-cream social with Jed. Or the almost kiss. Does that count as not sticking to…oh, never mind—and don’t ask why I didn’t.
“You know what? I think you’re doing the bunny rub at that office you go to every week,” Paula said accusingly.
“You know what? Remember when I talked about being tired? Well, now you’re wearing me out. This is my diet. You’re acting like you’re the one being deprived.”
“I am. I mean, it’s diet, diet, diet. All you ever say is…I can’t—The Diet.”
“It’s barely week three, there’s maybe another two weeks to go. This is not onerous.”
“I’m not liking you a lot right now.”
“I know.”
I was working on this week’s gourmet recipe during this particular exchange. We glared at each other. I diluted some pesto sauce with some chicken broth and mixed it in with my spinach fettuccine and drizzled some cheese over it.
“Taste this. It’s better than sex.” It was delicious! I made a note to add another must-have to the grab-and-go pantry, pesto in a jar.
Back to the computer to add that to the sidebar. Then serve with what? Nice thick chewy bread to sop up sauce…kind of like—
Stop it.
Maybe a quick homemade-bread recipe for the next column? The fragrant and luscious fresh-out-of-the-oven kind you slathered with butter and just gobbled up like—
I knew I was making noises because Paula looked at me sharply.
“I love food,” I said defensive
ly. “I was just thinking about a French loaf you could prepare in an hour, say.”
“Enough with food!”
Right, too much diet all the time.
And so of course, my cell rang.
“Hey, it’s Lo.”
“It’s me.” Naturally it was Jed, always there, hanging over Paula and me like a sonic wave. And with the tongue swipe, it was a deal. I was hyperaware of him now. Something had changed from the way it had been before I inaugurated The Guy Diet. I just hadn’t told Paula about the other night.
“Hi. Just finishing the column. What’s up?”
I wanted to be as brief as possible.
“I’m hoping to hear you gave up The Diet.”
“Why should I? I’m feeling good. Everything’s fine. Anything else?”
“Paula’s there,” he guessed.
“Nice of you to realize that,” I murmured, as if that would fool Paula.
“Umm. Yep. Competition.”
Loyalty kicked in. “I think this editorial conference is over.”
“Unless we have phone sex.”
No. He couldn’t do that to me after pointedly not kissing me. And besides, I didn’t know him well enough for stuff like that.
Although that had never stopped me from having random bed-head encounters. And a long, hot summer night’s walk with him that nearly ended my resolve. Still…
“Talk to you next—” I said.
“Let’s have lunch,” he interrupted my sign-off.
“Why? Shoot me an e-mail. You can say whatever you have to say just as well in one. Probably a lot more.”
“No. We’ll schedule lunch,” Jed said. “It’s a long-term thing.”
I had a quick-flash vision of his long-term thing and immediately I felt a funny little curlicue slither down between my legs and I shuddered.
And wouldn’t you know it, Paula noticed instantly.
“Next week,” I said firmly, eyeing her warily.
“Okay. You promised.”
“So what did he say that horrified you so much?” Paula asked silkily when I hung up.
Time to lie. Big-tent lie to cover every lie I was going to tell her from this day forward about my dealings with Jed.
“I ran the idea of a grab-and-go cookbook by him. He says no book. Not yet.” I tried to act indignant over an idea I just made up. “Damn it.” It didn’t quite come off because the forbidden thought of Jed’s “long-term thing” kept getting in the way.
“A book? When did you even mention the idea of a book to anyone, let alone Jed?”
Oh, boy. So she kept track of our conversations, too? I should have stopped it right then. Instead I started embroidering the lie.
“Last week,” I told her. “Just quickly ran it by him and he said he’d think about it.”
“You didn’t run it by me,” Paula said, looking a little offended. “I didn’t know you were even ready to think about a proposal.”
“I only kind of mentioned it.” Now I was grasping and desperate to end this conversation and cover up my lie. “He didn’t think there was enough product.”
“Product…?”
“Recipes.” I tried the short answer, tried braking and ending the conversation, but the look on her face made me keep going like an SUV on cruise control. “You know—they’re short and quick, and there just aren’t enough of them to make a book yet.”
No surprise, Paula didn’t buy it. She knew too much about creative stuff and books in particular because about every third person in her agency was trying to write one.
“You definitely have enough for a proposal,” she said in a patronizing, I-know-what-you’re-trying-to-do and I’m-calling-you-on-it tone of voice. “You could sell on proposal, likely, pretty easily.”
I couldn’t even say I’d rather finish the damned thing because a) it didn’t exist except in my imagination and b) who wouldn’t want an advance in advance of having to finish a book?
“I guess I probably could,” I said finally. “It was just a thought.”
“That you e-mailed him?”
“I mentioned it during last week’s editorial conference.” Editorial conference sounded much more businesslike than our usual spiky conversation but that didn’t help distance me from my lie.
“Oh, that’s great. You call that an editorial conference? Did you do the column? Yes. Oh by the way, I want to write a book? Why didn’t you ask me about the prospect of a book?”
Paula was homing in for the kill, so I thought for self-protection, I needed to go on the attack. “Why does it matter so much to you?” Oh, that was good. Now we sounded like three-year-olds on a playground. “And don’t tell me how much you care about me, and you’re worried about me, and The Guy Diet sucks.”
“The whole idea of The Guy Diet sucks,” she said succinctly.
“Thank you for your input. I don’t care. It’s working for me. Excuse me while I write my book.”
I was so annoyed, I could have spit avocado pits, but of course, there were none in the apartment, and worse than that, I couldn’t stalk off in high dudgeon because there was no door to slam except the one out to the hallway.
The Guy Diet was wreaking havoc with Paula’s hormones, not mine.
And you know what? I didn’t care.
Of course I cared, but each of us had set up straw men that we cavalierly burned to the ground and there wasn’t much left except ashes in my mouth.
I hated it that Jed was right.
I should have just told her I wasn’t interested in Jed. Only I didn’t know that I wasn’t.
The next day was Tuesday. I had a pile of tapes to transcribe about as thick as War & Peace. And I had to summon up some ingenuity for tonight’s grab-and-go dinner.
I considered the contents of my pantry—one shelf of one cabinet in the teeny windowed kitchen of our apartment. I needed a bigger kitchen, I needed a bigger everything, more scope for my ideas and more room in which to expand.
I should write a book.
I had some canned salmon, the boneless skinless kind, pasta, broth, a half bag of spinach—enough. I could add mushrooms, zucchini, tomatoes, capers to the initial recipe when I wrote it up.
Meantime—
My cell rang. Yes, you guessed it. “Hi, Jed. What’s up?”
“Hi. Terrific column this week. So, are you still dieting?”
“Which diet?”
“The guy one.”
“Still dieting.”
“Isn’t that getting really h—difficult?”
“No,” I said airily, thankful he didn’t say hard which probably would have led to some messy double entendres. I said it instead, “No, it’s not hard.”
“Paula there?”
“Not yet. So what’s up?”
“Me. And that lunch.”
Uh-oh. A war between my cold clutch of fear and my irritation. What was he going to dine on? Me? He took the opening.
“Just set up a time,” he said.
“There’s no time. I work, remember.”
“How about Saturday?”
“Jed…” I said warningly.
“A business lunch.”
“No business lunches on The Guy Diet. No guys, remember.”
“I’m not a guy. I’m…I’m…”
“A guy. You know, it’s tough enough avoiding guys at the agency office, on the street, on the bus every day. Just don’t put any more guy temptations in my path, please, even if they’re wrapped in the guise of a business lunch. You have done more than enough.”
He whistled. “Wow. I’m a temptation. That’s nice to know. I never met anyone who’d turn down an expensive lunch on principle.”
“Well, then—I’m your girl.”
“I like that thought, too.”
He was scaring me. “Jed…I’m going to go now.”
“Why?”
“Because it sounds like what I don’t want it to sound like.”
“It could sound even better if we had lunch.”
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Make it sound like there’s some undue interest on your part.”
“Does it have to be undue? How about real interest?”
“It’s not interest. You just want to yank my chain.”
“How about if I just want to have lunch with you?”
“Not possible, at least till the end of the diet.”
“How about—”
I had to stop; I was enjoying this conversation, too. Nothing like a little sexy repartee to grab your hormones and ready, set, go.
“Okay, I had a thought.”
I couldn’t picture Jed thinking for more than one thirty-second sound bite at a time. “I already heard your thought. No phone sex.”
“That’s another thought. I’d be happy to explore that over lunch, too.”
Dear heaven, stop it! “Dieting, remember?”
“Impossible to forget. Listen, you should do a cookbook.”
My heart stopped. “I can’t do a book.”
“That’s crazy. Why not?”
How did I explain the big-tent lie? “Because I already told Paula you thought I didn’t have enough recipes to make a book.”
Long silence as he digested this. I pictured him going through the maze of trying to make any sense of the fact I’d said no before he’d even given me the opportunity to say yes.
“Got it!” he said finally. “Paula was giving you the third degree and you popped the first big lie you could think of. What is it with you two? We were over four months ago.”
“Yes, well. I went on the diet. And you’re a grab-and-go kind of guy. The two things aren’t compatible.”
Another short digestive silence, and then: “Me? Grab and go? That’s another thing we have to talk about. Meanwhile, a book.”
“I’ve thought about it.”
“Good. Think about the phone sex, too. Could be fun on The Guy Diet, you know, no harm, no foul, no kisses, no calories.”
“Let me brief you.” Oh damn, wrong term. “I have only three real self-imposed diet restrictions, and they are—no flirting, no dating, no sex. Of any kind.”
“Yes, but phone sex isn’t fattening.”
“It clogs the arteries to your brain and you say stupid things because you’re not thinking straight and then the sex is gone and…”
