Misadventures with a Sexpert

by Elizabeth Hayley

“Will you excuse me for a minute?” I said, not even waiting for an answer before I slid out of the booth. My body was heading toward Gray’s table before my mind even knew I wanted to go there.

  GRAYSON

  Isla hadn’t even been gone ten minutes before I saw her bolt out of the booth and speedwalk toward me.

  “What is this?” she asked, pointing to my glass.

  “Sprite.” She was already drinking it before I answered.

  “The carbonation wasn’t helpful, but I think it got the taste out.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Hunter made me try sushi.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “He made you?”

  “More like peer pressured me into it.”

  “Do I need to give him a lesson on bullying?” We both laughed, and then she grabbed my arm, pulling me away from the table and toward the bar, effectively out of Hunter’s sight if he happened to turn around.

  “I can’t do this.”

  I noticed her looking everywhere but at me, and I put my hands on either side of her face to focus her eyes on mine. “Look at me.”

  “I’m basically a cacophony of all the horrible dates I’ve been on. It’s like I took a page from each of them and created my own book.”

  That made me laugh harder, but I stopped quickly when I saw how upset she seemed. “Listen to me. You are not like any of the dates you’ve been on. I’ve seen those jokers, and you’re the furthest thing from that.”

  Her eyes met mine, and the crazed look in them seemed to evaporate some.

  “Really?”

  “Really,” I assured her. “You’re smart and funny and irresistibly beautiful. Any guy would be lucky to have you.”

  “I don’t feel any of those things right now.”

  Her comment caused an emptiness to form in my chest, like it was a balloon that had the air let out without warning. How could she not see what I did? What I knew Hunter and every other guy in his right mind probably saw? I wanted to kiss the stupid out of her, make her see what I saw.

  “Then you’re also crazy,” I said.

  Her mouth turned up into a hesitant smile, like whatever anxiety she felt was preventing her from accepting it completely. She was quiet when she spoke again. “I asked him about football, but the season ended already, and then I pretended I liked sushi, but it was too spicy. And gross. So gross.”

  “It really is,” I said.

  She inhaled deeply and then sighed, bringing her eyes down to the floor as she exhaled.

  “Look, just go back there and be yourself. Forget about trying to match your interests with his or pretending you like things you don’t. I like you for you.” It felt good to say the words aloud, even though the reason for them wasn’t what I wished it was. “Hunter will too.”

  “You think so?”

  I shrugged. “How could he not?”

  She took another deep breath before heading back to the table, and I wondered if that would be the last time she came over. Either my advice would work, or she’d be back a few minutes later with another story about her botched date. And if I were being honest, I wasn’t sure which I preferred.

  I quickly sent her a text that said You got this and felt unexpected relief when she noticed it on her Apple Watch and smiled. There was a visible change in her over the rest of the date. She laughed casually, seemed genuinely interested in whatever they were talking about, and leaned in as they slowly shared a piece of chocolate cake. When Hunter finished signing the bill, he got up and headed to the restroom.

  It was strange watching him, knowing who he was without him knowing me. And what was more, I knew Isla on a level he didn’t—not only just a sexual one, but a personal one too, I realized. Somehow being a sex coach brought people closer together than I’d expected.

  Once Hunter was gone, I wanted to text Isla to check in, but something stopped me. She didn’t need me interfering with whatever was going on between them. I’d done my part, and I didn’t want to overstay my welcome because suddenly my presence here made me feel like an intruder.

  I closed out my tab as well and headed toward the exit only a few paces behind them. But somehow I couldn’t bring myself to leave, so I waited in the vestibule on a bench while Hunter walked her out to his car, which was parked about halfway down the block.

  They held hands as they strode down the sidewalk, each of them taking turns looking at the other as they spoke. Nothing seemed rushed about the moment, and it occurred to me how romantic all this should seem—the dim sky that was lit only by the half-moon, the mystery of their discussion and the sound of their voices, how happy they both looked.

  I tried to be happy too, for Isla, because this was what she wanted, what I’d helped her prepare for. But the only thing I could seem to be happy about was that there was a panel of glass separating me from them when they leaned in to kiss. It made me feel like I was watching all this play out in a movie instead of real life. Too bad that wasn’t the truth.

  Chapter Eighteen

  GRAYSON

  As I turned down my old street thirty minutes outside of New York, I wondered what crack I must’ve smoked that made me think it was a good idea to come back here. I should’ve taken Miranda up on her offer to ship my grandfather’s gold watch. I couldn’t even believe I’d left it to begin with. But I’d been so angry, and my need to get the hell out of there had been so urgent, that I hadn’t remembered to take the family heirloom.

  It wasn’t until Miranda had thoroughly cleaned out the top of my closet that she’d found the watch in a box on the top shelf and had called me. It was the second time in a month that I’d had to talk to her and, in my opinion, two times too many.

  Shutting off the ignition, I took a deep breath and looked down the street. Miranda’s Jeep was in the driveway, the paint of the bumper still chipped from when she’d backed into my car one Saturday morning. Our front lawn—Miranda’s front lawn—still sprouted the crabgrass I could never get rid of.

  As I exited my car, Mr. Bristol, a retired man who’d always been friendly to us, was mowing his lawn. He brought up a hand to wave to me like he’d done hundreds of times before. It wasn’t until I waved back that it seemed to occur to him that my presence there was at all out of the ordinary. His jovial expression shifted to one of confusion, and he returned his attention back to the lawn.

  It took Miranda only a few moments to answer the door, and I wasn’t sure how to react when she opened it. Both of us stared silently for a moment before one of us felt the need to fill the awkward silence with awkward conversation. That person was unfortunately me.

  “Thanks for letting me come. I won’t stay long. I just wanna take one more look around to make sure I didn’t leave anything else, and then I’ll be out of your way.”

  “No rush.” She stepped out of the doorway so I could enter, and the gesture struck me as strange even though it shouldn’t have. “Coffee?” she asked, pointing over her shoulder toward the kitchen. “I just started a pot.”

  “I’m good,” I said, already heading up the stairs, but my gait slowed when I realized I was in no real hurry to enter the master bedroom. Turning around, I said, “You know what? I’ll take you up on that coffee. It’s been a long day.”

  I followed her back down the stairs, wondering when I’d get the nerve to enter the bedroom—the bedroom that used to be ours but was now hers and Dennis’s. Even thinking about what happened in that room had me shuddering.

  She handed me a cup of coffee in a mug I’d never seen before and stirred in the cream and sugar like she’d done for years before work.

  “Thanks.”

  “You look good.”

  “Thanks,” I said again, not wanting to return the comment. I wasn’t even sure if it was a compliment. Did she mean I looked good? Or looked good for someone who fled the only place and people he’d ever known after his wife cheated on him with his best friend?

  “The place looks different.” I motioned to some of the furniture—cl
ean, modern lines and light-cream sofas that looked so pristine, they belonged in a brochure for some luxurious resort where twenty-somethings with trust funds went to honeymoon, not in a three-bedroom in Brooklyn.

  “Different bad?”

  “Just different,” I answered, and that seemed to satisfy her, because she didn’t press me further about what I meant.

  “So how have you been?”

  I almost laughed. “When are you gonna realize that’s like literally the shittiest question you could ask me?”

  “Sorry,” she said, sounding sincere. She dropped her gaze to the cup between her hands, and when she brought it up again, she said, “For a lot of things.”

  “If one of them isn’t sleeping with my best friend, you’re an even bigger asshole than I thought.” My words were callous, but my tone didn’t match. For as heartbroken as I’d been and as betrayed as I’d felt months ago, my current life was noticeably better than my former one, and that had more to do with Isla being in it than Miranda being out of it.

  “Yeah, I’m sorry for that. I don’t… Things didn’t work out with Dennis. He moved out a few weeks ago.”

  I’d wanted this day to come, wanted to hear that her life had fallen apart after she’d caused the same to happen to mine. But the words were oddly unfulfilling. I didn’t feel joy or even relief. I didn’t know what I felt, exactly, so I decided I just felt nothing.

  I didn’t care what happened in Miranda’s life or what would happen because she wasn’t a part of mine, and not one part of me was attracted to her anymore. Her long red hair, once a feature that’d only increased her appeal, was like a warning sign framing her freckled face. Stop. Do not proceed. Stranger danger.

  Because truthfully, she was a stranger, and everything about right now felt strange. I stopped listening as she spoke, too much in my own head to care if she realized. I heard her say something about making a mistake and trying again, but when my eyes darted up to her, the only thing I wanted to try again was to get my grandfather’s watch and get the hell out of there.

  Miranda wasn’t the woman I should be talking to, and I didn’t want to be sitting across from her any longer than I needed to. So I went upstairs and into the master closet, grabbed the watch and a few other items I thought might give her an excuse to reach out again, and headed back toward the front door.

  “Thanks for the coffee” was the only thing I said before I made my way to my car and hopefully out of her life forever.

  ISLA

  “I think I’ll actually miss being able to see your drawings,” I said, scrolling through Gray’s work Instagram account on my phone and reading the comments on my dates. This wasn’t the first time I’d been on there, nor was it the first time I’d read the comments, but it gave me some sort of satisfaction to know that I wasn’t the only one who thought the guys—and Hunter Number One—were worthy of being immortalized on social media.

  Gray was leaning against his counter with his hands on the edge of the dark granite. “I know. Me too. Mr. Thomas finally agreed to let me put some of my cartoons up there, it creates a huge following, and now we might lose it because you had to go and find some normal dude you actually like.” Casting his eyes down so that they were hidden by lids and long, dark lashes women would sell their souls for, Gray began smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles on the front of his shirt.

  Hunter was a possibility—albeit a good one—but I hadn’t felt that undeniable connection yet. He seemed like a good guy, had a good job, a good personality, and all of that was…good. But I couldn’t help but wonder when good would be great, or even good enough.

  Maybe it was too much to wish for something magical, some sort of can’t-live-without-you attraction, but I couldn’t stop myself from hoping that my feelings for Hunter would turn into that.

  I didn’t need the Disney fairy tale where the hero comes and sweeps the lost, down-on-her-luck princess off her feet. I wasn’t lost or down-on-my-luck, and I sure as hell wasn’t a princess, but that little girl inside me wanted that feeling anyway—the one where I would know without a shadow of a doubt that this was the man I was supposed to be with.

  “I don’t like him like him.” I wasn’t sure what prompted me to say that, but I needed to make the distinction clear.

  Gray slid his hands into his pockets. “I don’t even know what that means.”

  I laughed, hoping Gray would too. He didn’t. “Me neither. I guess…” I guess I wish he were you. I immediately wished I’d never thought it. Because until now, that realization had been an abstract concept, a feeling that I refused to give any credence to. And now I knew why. Gray’s body might not be off-limits, but the man was.

  I knew how much the situation with his ex had fucked him up, and I knew—because he’d told me more than once—that he could never put himself out there like that again. I wasn’t in a place to convince him otherwise, nor did I want to do that to him. If Gray had feelings for me, he’d tell me—even if sometimes he looked at me a little longer than necessary and smiled at me in a sweet way that made me want to believe his feelings ran more deeply.

  “I guess I just wish I knew he liked me like I like him. It would make it easier for me to tell him how I feel. It’s like I can’t let myself acknowledge my feelings completely until I know my feelings will be reciprocated.” I knew how insecure the admission made me sound, but I couldn’t find it in myself to care.

  A small smile played on Gray’s lips, but it didn’t have the chance to fully form before he spoke again. “I’m sure he likes you.” This time the smile found its way over his whole face, making the creases near his eyes more defined and the dimples beneath his sandy stubble more pronounced. “How could he not?”

  I’d been standing back a few feet from him, my back pressing against the island in the middle of his kitchen, but I suddenly felt the need to step closer to him, like the decreased physical distance might somehow bring us closer emotionally too. He looked incredibly attractive, his chest and arms filling his untucked button-down perfectly.

  Wrapping my arms around his neck, I said, “I am pretty likable.”

  Gray brought his hands up to my hips, but they felt unsettled there, like he wasn’t sure where exactly they belonged. I wanted to tell him they belonged everywhere—in my hair, on my nipples, the inside of my thighs, anywhere he wanted to put them. But like always, I couldn’t find the right words, so I hoped my actions might speak for me. Gray’s touch was gentle as I brought my lips to his, and for a brief, wonderful moment, he kissed me as passionately as I kissed him.

  Until he didn’t.

  All movement stopped between us as I sensed our exchange coming to an end. When Gray guided my hips away from him, I knew that truth for certain. He dropped his hands, and his gaze followed.

  Unwilling to let him look away from me, I brought his chin up enough to make eye contact with him.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I think we should stop this.”

  “Stop what?” I asked, needing him to clarify something that didn’t necessitate clarification. I knew exactly what he was referring to, and I had no idea why I’d wanted to hear him explain further.

  “Having sex. Seeing each other. Whatever this is.” He gestured between us, and his voice was so calm, his expression so stoic, that I wondered if he’d practiced the lines before so it would come across the way he wanted it to: simple, casual, inevitable. And in truth, it was. This moment was always going to happen. I just found myself wishing it didn’t have to. “You like this guy, and I’m sure he likes you. It could be something even if it isn’t anything yet.” He rubbed a hand over his mouth like he was debating whether to continue. After a few seconds, he said, “You deserve to give it a shot—both of you—without any interference from me.”

  “You aren’t interfering.”

  “Does he know you’re sleeping with me?”

  Surprised at the question, I jerked my head back. “He doesn’t know I’m not sleeping with you. We haven’t
talked about seeing other people.” I knew the argument was about as strong as a straw house, and it wouldn’t stand for very long, but I couldn’t seem to come up with anything better.

  The thought of not sleeping with Gray any longer had me more disappointed than I cared to admit, even internally. Until now, I’d never thought our relationship had been about more than just sex, but now, suddenly the loss of it felt like a gigantic hole in the pit of my stomach.

  “But I get what you’re saying. It complicates things.”

  “Right,” he said. “I’ve had enough of complicated.”

  It occurred to me that he was probably referring to his divorce, but I didn’t feel the need to acknowledge it aloud. And ultimately, if Hunter and I took things further—which was a definite possibility—things would only get messier for everyone involved. It was better if Gray and I cut ties now.

  “Okay then,” I said, putting on my best I’m-totally-okay-with-this face and extending a hand to him because I felt like some sort of physical contact was in order, but a hug seemed too intimate. “Friends?”

  “Friends,” he repeated.

  He took my hand in his, and I wondered if this might be the last time we touched, because I had no idea how I could be friends with Grayson Hawkins.

  Chapter Nineteen

  GRAYSON

  It was harder than I’d expected, being friends with Isla. Maybe because we’d never actually been friends to begin with. We’d just been two strangers in a coffeehouse, flirting subtly until it wasn’t so subtle. Then we’d been sexual partners before we’d ever really gotten a chance to become friends. Which was odd because when we weren’t having sex, we had good conversation and had similar interests. Wasn’t that what friends did? We could make each other laugh as easily as we could make each other come. Though unfortunately there wouldn’t be any more of the latter.