Just Friends With Benefits
Page 19
I closed my eyes and tried to push aside all thoughts except how good Ryan was making me feel but before I succumbed, I smiled in the certainty that an orgasm was a much better birthday present than even free shots of the finest quality tequila.
Thirty-eight
Who would have thought it would be so difficult to find a beach towel? After looking in TJ Maxx, Filenes Basement and Bed Bath and Beyond with no luck, I enlisted my mother to help me track one down. We had only been in Target for ten minutes before my basket was filled with over $50 worth of merchandise, but no beach towel.
From the center of a pile of neatly folded bath towels in various colors, my mom pulled out a burgundy one and handed it to me. “Here,” she said.
“I don’t need bath towels, Mom. They’re supplied at the house. I just need a fricken beach towel! Where the hell do they sell them?”
“This is crazy. Why are you killing yourself looking for one? Just borrow one of ours,” my mom said.
I kissed her on the cheek and said, “You’re a genius, Mom! I hadn’t even thought of that.”
My mom released a chuckle of amusement and said, “I’m glad I’m good for something. So, when do you leave?”
“The Saturday of Memorial Day weekend. I’ll be back the following Sunday.”
“How does Ryan feel about your trip?” she asked.
A couple of weeks earlier, she had called me on my way home from happy hour with Suzanne and I had confessed my feelings for Ryan. Afterwards, I decided it was a good thing our daily phone calls were usually in the middle of the afternoon, when I was less likely to be under the influence and tell her all of my deepest feelings. “I planned it before I met him,” I said.
“You didn’t want to ask him?”
“I’m not ready to bring him around those guys. They’re brutal. Plus, I kind of like having him all to myself.”
“Okay. It’s totally up to you. I was just asking.”
My mom and I continued to walk up and down the aisles, stopping every few minutes to pick something up and put it back down again. When we got to the DVD section, I immediately spotted Saturday Night Fever and felt a pang of conscience. “Mom?”
“Yes sweetie?”
“Do you think it’s a bad idea not to ask Ryan to the beach with us? We’ve only been dating six weeks, but now I feel sort of bad. I don’t want him to think it’s because I don’t like him enough.”
My mom put down the box set of ‘Curb Your Enthusiasm’s’ second season and looked at me. “Do you like him enough?”
“Definitely. I’m just not ready to immerse him in that crowd. I want to make sure he really likes me before I subject him to Paul who might scare him away. He’d probably make comments about me and Hille.” And since I hadn’t even told Ryan that Hille was my ex-friend-with-benefits, it would be more than a little awkward.
“It might be nice to see Hille’s reaction to you being with another guy,” my mom said.
“He’d probably be happy for me, not jealous,” I said.
“I wouldn’t bet on it. I think you give him too much credit. He couldn’t do better than you and he’ll regret it someday. Maybe sooner than you think. Maybe it’s a good thing Ryan won’t be there. A little visit from the green-eyed monster might be all he needs.”
“Why do you care what Craig thinks? I thought you didn’t approve of our ‘fuck buddy’ status. Anyway, Craig’s a good guy and all, but he’s not the jealous type.” I was almost positive I was right on this issue, but even though Ryan was awesome, I would not have minded being wrong. But it was gratifying to hear that my mom thought I was a catch despite wishing I was not still single at my ‘advanced’ age. “And besides, I’m not interested in making Hille jealous. We weren’t all that compatible, except...” I didn’t know if I should complete my sentence.
Doing it for me, my mom said, “In bed?”
I nodded my answer. “It was really good, yeah.” Always more embarrassed than my mom when discussing sex, I felt my face get warm.
Raising her voice, my mom said, “What about Ryan? Is he good? Because you can’t start a relationship with a guy who sucks in bed!”
Mortified, I whispered, “Yes, Ryan knows what he’s doing! I have no complaints there. And we have loads of fun outside of the bedroom too, unlike with Hille. With Hille, it was just sex and he knew it. It was me who didn’t.”
My mom and I resumed our walk to the cash register and after we stopped at the end of the shortest line, she said, “Okay. I just know how much you liked Hille. You would make really smart children. And it would be nice to have someone in the family who could teach me how to use the computer.”
“Mom, please.”
My mom laughed. “Anyway, I hope you’ve stopped beating yourself up over sleeping with him. You’re not a slut. You enjoyed yourself. No harm done. But if Ryan makes you happy, I hope it all works out. I can’t wait to plan the wedding.”
Ignoring her last words, I said, “He does make me happy. I just hope I don’t blow it.”
“If it’s meant to be, you won’t blow it.” My mom paused. “Unless you break up with him over something stupid like the way he wears his socks.”
I broke up with a boy in middle school because he insisted on rolling down his socks like donuts. “I was thirteen, Mom. Let it go.” Since I rarely had the opportunity, or a reason to have serious discussions with my mom about relationships, woman to woman, I decided to milk it. “Anyway, how will I know it’s meant to be? I thought Hille and I were kismet.” I rolled my eyes. “How wrong I was!”
Giving me her “mommy knows best” look, my mom said, “Well, if it’s right, you should feel safe with him.”
“Safe how?” I asked.
My mom looked straight ahead as if the right words were somewhere in the distance and then nodded. “Have you ever been infatuated with someone to the point that you practically walk on eggshells fearing he’ll stop liking you at any time?”
I thought back to almost every guy I had ever liked. “Uh, yeah!”
“Well, when it’s right, you shouldn’t feel that way. You should feel safe and secure in his feelings for you.” Pointing her finger at me, she said, “Unlike my relationship with your father.”
I was pretty confident Ryan wasn’t on the verge of losing interest in me. “Cool.”
“And when it’s the right man, you should also feel confident he’ll take care of you.”
I should’ve known this was coming and waved my hand in protest. “I’m not looking for a sugar daddy, Mom.”
My mom shooed my hand away. “That’s not what I meant.” Chuckling, she said, “Well, that’s not entirely what I meant. I don’t want you marrying a man who can’t support you and your children economically. Does Ryan do as well as Hille?”
“Mom!”
“I was just asking. But what I meant by ‘taking care of you’ was that a man who loves you will do whatever is necessary to protect you from dangerous people and dangerous situations. Even with his bad knee, Allan insists on taking out the garbage if it’s after sunset so I don’t have to walk outside in the dark.”
Maybe that’s why Ryan always insisted on coming with me when I got drunk and wanted to leave a bar to grub a cigarette from a stranger. “Okay. What else?”
Looking thoughtful again, my mom said, “He should accept and adore you the way you are while at the same time encouraging you to be even better.”
Ryan still liked me no matter how often I knocked over my drinks. And he was trying to persuade me to train for a half marathon. This was looking good. I beamed at my mom. “You amaze me, Mom. You’re so wise.”
Laughing, my mom said, “Not really. Just experienced. I’ve had two husbands, remember? Anyway, if Ryan’s not the right one, someone else is. Maybe even Hille. You never know. He’s at that age where he might want to settle down soon.”
I was fairly certain Hille wasn’t ‘the one.’ I just hoped I could make it through a week at the beach with him without doi
ng something I’d regret.
Thirty-nine
It was a Wednesday night and after take-out Chinese food and rough headboard-banging-against-the-wall sex at my place, Ryan had fallen asleep, his body partially draped over mine. I was watching the last few minutes of “Top Chef” when he woke up, sat up in the bed and asked, “Whatchya watching?”
“ ‘Top Chef.’ I love this show.”
“Kind of ironic since your top dish is grilled cheese,” Ryan said.
“Shhh. They’re at judges table. It’s almost over.”
“Okay. Let me know when it’s okay to speak.”
I was glad when they voted out Brian. I wasn’t a fan. “Okay. You can speak now.” Ryan didn’t say anything and when I looked over at him, he was staring straight ahead at the television. I poked him in the arm. “Did you hear me? I said you could speak.”
Still staring at the television, he looked at me out of the corner of his eyes. “I heard you. I just have nothing to say anymore.”
“Can I speak then?”
“I don’t know. I think ‘Bernie Mac’ is on TBS. Can you wait until it’s over?”
“Ha ha.”
After I pouted for awhile in silence, Ryan put down the remote control, turned to me and grinned. “Okay, sexy. I should get out of here.”
“Why? Don’t go.”
“I really had no intention of falling asleep here. You wore me out!”
Still pouting, I asked, “Is sleeping here so horrible?”
Ryan brushed my bangs from my face and kissed me on the forehead. “You’re cute when you’re needy.”
My heart stopped at his use of the word needy. One of my favorite dating books, Why Men Love Bitches, warned women against being needy. “I’m not being needy. It’s just, I’m leaving for the beach soon and won’t see you for a while. I don’t want you to miss me too much.” I gave myself an imaginary pat on the back for my speedy recovery.
“Oh, yes. Your upcoming week of chicanery with your crazy friends.” Ryan pointed to the pile of bathing suits and trial size toiletries placed next to my empty suitcase in the middle of the floor. “I see you’ve been diligently packing.”
“I work best under pressure.” Tickling his arm, I said, “And besides, I’ve been a little busy.”
“Maybe someday I’ll meet these infamous friends of yours.”
“I hope so. I think you’ll like them. After they grow on you for a while.”
“Yup. While I’m busy counseling the leaders of tomorrow regarding which colleges to attend, you’ll be drinking Coronas on the beach. Life’s not fair.”
“You live such a tortured life, Ryan. So, you gonna stay over or not?”
“I don’t know. Ask me nicely.”
I hesitated, looked in the direction of my coat closet and pictured my copy of Why Men Love Bitches packed away at the top, along with He’s Just Not That Into You and The Rules. I turned back to Ryan who was gazing at me expectantly.
He adopted a feigned wounded look. “Did you change your mind or something?”
“No. I was just weighing the pros and cons of honoring your request.”
“Nice. What did you decide?”
Batting my eyelashes, I said in my sweetest voice, “Please stay over, Ryan—pretty please with a cherry on top?”
Ryan lowered his hands between my legs and I closed my eyes as I felt the gentle pressure of his fingers inside me. “Okay. But only because you asked me nicely,” he said. “And because I’m gonna miss you next week.”
“Mmmmm. I’m definitely gonna miss you too,” I whispered.
Forty
I was still packing when Eric called from downstairs at 10:30 and said they were outside.
“Don’t you guys want to come upstairs and see my place?” I asked.
“No,” Eric said. “I want to get there and start drinking!”
I threw another pair of jeans and a dress in my suitcase, just in case we decided to actually go someplace nice. “Doesn’t Jess have to go to the bathroom or anything?”
“You’re not finished packing, are you?”
“Yes I am! I just thought Ms. Preggars might need to empty her bladder. Why go to a gross rest stop when she can pee here?”
I heard Jess call out, “Let’s go up and see her place. And I have to pee anyway!”
“Okay, we’re coming up,” Eric said. “But you better be ready to go. Or is this just your lame attempt to get me to carry your suitcase? “
In frustration, I shoved all of my clothes deeper into my suitcase. Hoping to make more room, I kicked off my flip flops and put them inside, took out my bulkier running sneakers and put them on my feet. “No, I can carry it myself but I might need you to sit your fat ass on it so I can get it closed.”
As soon as we got in the car, Hope and Jess were really interested in hearing about Ryan. After I described what he looked like, told them what he did for a living and bragged that he had 400 friends on Facebook, Hope asked, “How old is he?”
“Twenty-nine,” I said.
And all of sudden Eric, who started laughing, was interested. “Stephanie the Cougar.”
“I’m not a cougar!! And his thirtieth birthday is in July.” Weren’t cougars women over forty who dated guys in their twenties? “We’re only three years apart,” I said. I leaned over the passenger seat and tapped Jess on the back. “I’m not a cougar, right, Jess”?
Jess nodded. “Not a cougar, chickie.”
Still laughing, Eric said, “Jess, do me a favor, grab me the box of CDs from under your seat. I want to change the music.”
Handing him the box, Jess asked, “What do you want to put on?”
“You’ll see,” he said.
“Well, I think he sounds great, Steph. Good for you,” Hope said.
“Thanks, Hope.” I shot Eric a nasty look. “I’m glad some of my friends are happy for me.”
“I’m happy for you too, Steph,” Eric said. “In fact, I dedicate this next song to you and Ryan. Drum roll please.”
I asked, “What song?” but the answer came quickly when I heard the first few notes “dee dee dee dee dee dee dee dee dee dee dee dee dee” followed by Eric’s annoying, although admittedly perfect pitched, singing voice, “And here’s to you, Mrs. Robinson, Jesus loves you more than you will know.”
And the rest of the drive was more of the same as Eric referred to me and Ryan as Demi and Ashton respectively and played Mrs. Robinson every hour on the hour. I was relieved when we finally arrived at the beach house until it occurred to me that if Eric was this relentless with the jokes, Paul would be impossible. It was going to be a long week.
Forty-one
It was a three-story white Victorian-style house with the kitchen, living room and master bedroom on the top floor, a few more bedrooms on the second floor and a laundry room, pool table, two more bedrooms and a garage on the ground floor. After several trips up and down the stairs lugging our suitcases, bags of groceries for the week and enough cases of beer and bottles of alcohol to open our own liquor store, Eric, Jess, Hope, Hille, Paul, Corky, Denise (the younger sister of Bill, Eric’s big brother in the fraternity) and I finally got to relax with drinks on the ocean-overlooking back porch. Our plastic deck chairs were spaced in a close circle just wide enough to fit a square weathered wood table in the center to hold our empty beer bottles and an ashtray.
“How do you like your virgin Bay Breeze, honey?” Eric asked Jess.
Her cheeks already puffy from the middle stages of pregnancy, Jess said, “Most delicious. But can I tell you how much I’d love to spike it with some vodka?”
I loved drinking during the day and with an entire week off from work ahead of me, I was without a care in the world and my first beer went down nice and easy. Standing up, I said, “Getting another beer. Anyone want something?”
“Not me,” Paul said. “But Corky here wouldn’t mind a hand job.”
“I think I saw a few in the fridge. I’ll check for you,” I said.
“It would be my pleasure. I’ve been using the stair climber at the gym. Can you tell?”
Only because he was Corky, I let him squeeze my ass. “Sweet,” he said.
We grabbed our beers and a container of salted mixed nuts and headed back to the patio. Through the screen door, I could see Paul laughing.