Misadventures with a Sexpert

by Elizabeth Hayley

  After I suggested an end to our physical relationship, Isla and I gave our friendship the old college try. We really did. We’d gone out to the movies once—my pick—and Isla hadn’t seemed thrilled with it. And then another time this past week, because I’d felt bad about the movie thing, I’d suggested we go to an outdoor food fair in the city.

  The weather was gorgeous, the food and beer were delicious, and the atmosphere relaxed and upbeat. But still, we couldn’t seem to find our groove, despite both of us clearly trying. It was like the lack of sex had created an empty place in our relationship so cavernous that we couldn’t help but hear its echo.

  Even though what we had was ostensibly based on sex, at some point a seed had been planted inside me that said we could be more than that. But before I’d given it a chance to grow, to see what it might become, I’d gone and killed it. Buried it somewhere so deep that it could never be brought to light. And now, here we were, sitting on Isla’s couch, bottles of beer in hand, struggling to make conversation.

  Why is this so fucking weird?

  I wondered if Isla felt it too, but I didn’t want to ask. I wasn’t sure if it was because I was more worried she felt the same way I did, or worried that nothing seemed out of the ordinary to her and all this tension was simply a manifestation of my fucked-up mind. Which would mean my instincts had been all wrong and Isla didn’t have feelings for me beyond sexual ones. And that was some shit I didn’t want to think about right now. Or ever actually.

  Isla scrolled through her phone, seemingly excited to show me some video of a guy who appeared to be having an actual conversation with the baby next to him. She laughed hysterically while I struggled to fake a smile.

  “Hunter sent me this the other day. I keep watching it over and over. Never gets old.”

  Nope, definitely not feeling the same thing I am right now.

  “So things with Hunter are going well? Progressing?” My formal questions sounded more like a therapist’s than a friend’s, and I hoped she didn’t pick up on my lack of enthusiasm for her new relationship.

  “I guess so.” She sounded chipper, though she didn’t elaborate.

  I nodded, wondering if the silence would cause her to share any more. Did her hesitance to tell me anything else mean they hadn’t slept together? Or did it mean they had? None of this should even matter to me, but as I watched Isla take another sip of her beer, it was all that seemed to matter. Those lips now spoke about another guy when they should be used to kiss me.

  But I could never actually tell her that. So instead I said, “How’s the sex?”

  Her eyes widened at the question, and I could only guess it was because she wasn’t expecting me to ask it. “I’m not sure.” She almost laughed but pressed her lips together in an obvious attempt to stop it from escaping.

  I’d once asked her if she realized she did that when she was embarrassed, and she said she did and she’d tried more than once to stop but couldn’t. I’d told her it was a good thing she couldn’t do it because it was adorable and sweet and sexy as hell. It now occurred to me that those weren’t compliments you give some rando you’re sleeping with, and I wondered if she’d realized that then.

  “We haven’t exactly had sex yet.”

  “Exactly?” Why do you ask questions you don’t want the answer to?

  “I mean we’ve fooled around a bit, but we haven’t gone all the way. I have no idea why, though.” She did that thing with her lips again. “Hunter’s good-looking and a good kisser, so he’s probably good in bed.”

  “Probably,” I agreed. When the hell did I become her gay best friend who is so not gay?

  “What do you think?” she asked expectantly. “Should I do it?”

  No! I wanted to scream at her that she should absolutely not fuck this douche. Okay, Hunter might not be a douche, but he was a douche in my mind because he had the woman I wanted—the woman I had, or maybe could’ve had if I had the balls to tell her what I thought about her. What I felt.

  But I didn’t deserve her, and she certainly didn’t deserve me. She deserved a normal guy who wasn’t damaged and jaded beyond repair. A guy exactly like Hunter.

  “Definitely.” I nodded enthusiastically for effect and hoped it wasn’t too over the top. “You should totally have sex with him. If you want to, I mean. Wasn’t that what we were practicing all that time for?” I said. But what I thought was, I can’t be friends with her anymore.

  And just like that, I somehow became a pussy and a dick at exactly the same time.

  Chapter Twenty

  ISLA

  “This is nice,” I said, settling myself closer to Hunter because I enjoyed the feeling of my head nestling against his warm body, feeling the hard muscles of his chest as I listened to his heartbeat. He smelled spicy and fresh as I inhaled deeply. And I felt like a teenage girl on prom night about to lose her virginity to the captain of the football team.

  This was it. I could feel it.

  Well, actually I’d already felt it plenty of times through my pants when I straddled him during our intense make-out sessions. I just hadn’t felt him inside me yet, and the anticipation was killing me.

  “It is.” He grabbed the remote from beside him and clicked off the TV.

  “What’d you do that for?” My voice was intentionally whiny.

  Tossing the remote down again so he could wrap a hand around me, he said, “Because I don’t want anything to distract me from you tonight.”

  The weight of his body felt perfect on mine. Just enough to apply pressure where I needed it without completely bearing down on me. I moaned when his tongue entered my mouth and he began to move over me.

  We’d done this so many times before—the slow grind against each other. But I knew Hunter wanted more. Any guy would. But he was taking his time, waiting until I gave him the green light to round third and slide into home. Yup, I definitely felt like a teenager.

  My clothes came off before his and fell in a discarded heap next to Hunter’s couch. His followed a bit later, as I was sure he hoped we were nearing the overdue consummation of our relationship.

  It was a solid strategy, I’d give him that. And seeing him in all his naked glory as he stood above me had me wondering why I hadn’t done this earlier. Hunter was hot and sweet and perfect in all the ways that mattered.

  Except…it didn’t quite feel like it mattered the way it should. This didn’t feel the way it should. And I knew that because I’d experienced how it should feel, even though I hadn’t realized it at the time.

  As Hunter kissed me and touched me, all I could think about was how I wished it was someone else’s hands and tongue on me.

  I wished he was Gray.

  So as turned on as I was as he put a condom on and lined himself up to me, I couldn’t go through with it.

  “I can’t,” was all I said, and Hunter immediately backed off, gave me space. It only made me feel worse. Why did he have to be such a fucking nice guy?

  “Sorry. Are you okay? Did I do something?”

  “No.” I shook my head quickly, needing him to know he wasn’t to blame for what was probably going to be the worst case of blue balls he’d ever experienced. “No, it’s not you, it’s me.”

  He was seated next to me and, obviously sensing the gravity of my tone, had already started grabbing his clothes from the floor and the arm of the couch.

  “You know that’s like the worst line ever, right?” He laughed as he said it, but the disappointment on his face betrayed his real feelings.

  He was more than just sexually frustrated. He was probably frustrated period, because we had something good, or could’ve had something good if I didn’t have feelings for some guy who was probably incapable of having those sorts of feelings for any other woman ever again.

  I almost laughed too because Gray was right: I really knew how to pick ’em. I went out with a bunch of losers, accidentally had a date with a woman, and then let go of a perfectly available, sweet guy because the only guy
I’d ever truly fallen for was completely out of reach.

  “It really is me,” I assured him, though I knew the words did nothing to help the situation.

  So I simply got dressed and headed to the door without saying anything else. I chanced one more look over my shoulder before I left.

  He was still on the couch, his clothes in his hands, but he hadn’t put any of them on yet. He looked like a dog who’d just been put back in his cage at a shelter after he thought he might get adopted by this nice woman who’d just spent time playing with him.

  Sorry, buddy.

  He lifted a hand in goodbye before letting it fall back onto his thigh. I assumed as soon as I left, it would find its way to his cock, which I noticed was still incredibly hard beneath the condom. I was a real fucking asshole sometimes.

  The drive home was filled with so many thoughts and emotions that I couldn’t make sense of any of them, let alone all of them. What the hell was I supposed to do with this? I couldn’t tell Gray what I felt because he wasn’t in a place to want any type of relationship.

  But stronger than that knowledge was the knowledge that I couldn’t just let this go. Whatever we had was something. Or maybe I just hoped it would be. But I didn’t think he’d give it a chance. And it was selfish of me to ask him to.

  So I fought the urge to go to his house on the way home. I didn’t call him. And I didn’t even text him. The restraint was both satisfying and completely dejecting all at once. When I got into bed, I convinced myself that with time I could get over him. That I’d be able to move on eventually. But my lack of sleep told me differently.

  During the night, I drifted in and out of consciousness, never sleeping long enough to feel at all rested. I dreamed I was in Gray’s house, yelling at him as he sat on the couch, but he couldn’t hear me. I dreamed Gray and I were having sex, and I was so close to coming, but something prevented me from doing so. I woke up a sweaty mess, tangled in sheets and blankets as I tried to dissect my dreams for a meaning I already knew.

  I wanted Gray. I just didn’t think he wanted me back.

  But there was this little spark of hope inside me that said otherwise. Maybe he’d only wanted a friendship with me wasn’t because it wasn’t fair to Hunter and me. Maybe it was because of something more—something neither of us wanted to admit.

  I texted him.

  You awake?

  It was after four in the morning, and I was pretty sure of the answer.

  When there was no response, I tried my best to get some rest but had little success, which was not surprising. Despite my lack of sleep, I found myself wishing for morning as if the light of day might bring clarity to where I was supposed to go from here.

  When the sun finally rose a little while later, I pulled one of the pillows against me, hugging it like I would Gray if he were here. It smelled like him. I’d noticed it last night, but I hadn’t wanted to use it all up. As if every inhale might diminish its potency. It might be all I had left of Gray.

  But why was that? I could easily understand why he wouldn’t want to continue a sexual relationship when I was hoping to become intimate with someone else. But why did I have to lose his friendship too?

  And that was when it hit me. Maybe, all this time, I’d had more of Gray than I’d thought. He’d told me—and I’d believed him—that he didn’t want to get emotionally involved with anyone again. That anything beyond sex was too much for him.

  But maybe it wasn’t too much for him anymore.

  The thought echoed inside my brain before I’d realized its implication. But maybe it wasn’t too much for him anymore, I thought again. Maybe the reason Gray wanted to create distance between us was because he was scared of getting too close, scared I’d hurt him like Miranda did.

  I wouldn’t.

  But of course he didn’t know that, and I had no way of convincing him of that, except to try. I texted him again that I needed to talk, and when he asked what about, I stupidly answered that I needed to talk about what happened last night with Hunter. I shouldn’t have been surprised when he declined, simply wishing the both of us luck.

  The next day I tried calling. I even left a voicemail saying I couldn’t go through with sleeping with Hunter, but since he once warned me never to leave a voicemail because he rarely ever listened to them, I was sure he didn’t even play it.

  I texted him yet again, asking to get together, but he just told me he’d been busy and he didn’t know when he might have time.

  All of it was stupid. Presumptuous really, when I thought about it. He was my sex coach, and I was his student. But…

  But there was a chance that I was wrong. Maybe we’d always been more than that and had simply refused to acknowledge it. Maybe I’d been looking for something I’d had the whole time.

  Maybe I had to do more than just text and call him. Maybe I had to think bigger.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  GRAYSON

  I sat at my desk editing pictures on my computer. Well, I was supposed to be editing pictures. Mostly I was aimlessly clicking through image after image so they formed almost a kaleidoscope of color that took on no particular form.

  Sighing heavily, I sat up and rubbed my eyes. When I’d come to this town, I was trying to escape the very feeling currently thrumming through my system. It stemmed from loneliness, yet it was more than that. There was loss here now.

  My life had a duller quality because I’d lost something I’d never have again. Granted, in both instances I’d chosen. I’d chosen to leave my marriage—though there hadn’t been much left to save of that—and I’d chosen to cut ties with Isla, which had been a matter of self-preservation.

  But I had to question what I was preserving. It certainly wasn’t my happiness, because I was as miserable as I’d ever been. Maybe we could’ve made a friendship work. Maybe having her in my life in that capacity would be better than not having her there at all.

  I didn’t think so, though. Watching her be happy with someone else was a fate worse than being perennially alone. Just because I wasn’t right for her didn’t mean I wanted to watch her with someone who was.

  Groaning, I stood and grabbed my coffee mug. As I stretched, Dax appeared beside my desk.

  “Hey, man. Anything new on Instagram?”

  My eyes narrowed as I looked at him. It was an odd question. What the hell would be new on Instagram? I hadn’t posted on there in over a week, unable to even log in and confront the origin of a friendship that no longer was.

  “Not that I know of,” I replied as I moved around him and started toward the break room.

  He walked with me, his shoulder lightly bumping mine as we made our way down the tight aisle.

  “You should check. Just in case.”

  “In case what?” I turned into the break room and went straight for the Keurig, popping a K-cup in and putting my mug in place to catch the elixir that would allow me to survive this day. Or at least this conversation.

  He flustered for a second, his eyes widening and his mouth working silently with words he hadn’t yet chosen to voice. “Oh, uh, I don’t know. Maybe we got some new comments on one of your drawings or something.”

  “Did you see any comments?”

  “No.”

  “Then why would you think there are any?”

  Movement caught the corner of my eye, and I turned to see Curtis, Lynda, and Jess come in and settle around the table.

  Dax gave them a quick glance that looked beseeching before he focused back on me. “Why do you think there aren’t any?”

  “Because I have no reason to think there are.”

  “You should check,” Jess contributed. “Things are in a constant state of flux. Nothing is stagnant. Time passes, people change, pictures appear. Good pictures. Pictures you should totally look at.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” was all I could say without insulting them all. I grabbed my mug and hightailed it out of the room.

  Once I settled back at my desk, I vowed
to get some work done. There was a feature going out that needed a photo to accompany it, and though I’d taken a ton, none jumped out at me as being “the one.” But after a little bit of playing around with the contrast and aspect ratio, I had one I thought would work. I was changing the brightness when I heard a throat clear.

  “That’s pretty. Is it going up on social media?” asked Curtis, leaning in like the answer to his question would reveal important national secrets.

  “No,” I replied, dragging out the vowel. “It’s going into the next issue.”

  “Oh. You should put it on social media too. Specifically Instagram. They like all that artsy crap on there, don’t they?”

  I resisted the urge to call him out for labeling my photo ‘artsy crap,’ but it was difficult.

  “Did you need something?” I asked instead.

  “Me? No, no, don’t need anything. Just checking in.”

  “Why?” In all the time I’d worked here, Curtis had never felt the need to “check in” with me before today.

  “It’s, um, it’s…just a new thing I’m doing. Taking an interest in others.”

  “How’s that working for you?”

  “Not so great. It’s kind of exhausting.”

  I nodded like he was making sense and then turned back to my computer.

  “So, just to be clear, you’re not going to check Instagram?”

  Part of me wanted to give in, but the more stubborn part didn’t because of how annoying and vague everyone was being.

  “Nope.”

  “Oh. Okay,” Curtis said before hustling away.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw all of them convene and whisper at Jess’s desk. Something was obviously up, and while I was morbidly curious at what they were trying to get me to see, fucking with them was the most fun I’d had in weeks. I pretended to be busy at my desk while keeping a surreptitious eye on them.

  “I’ve had enough of this shit,” Lynda yelled before storming away from the group and heading right for me.