Next time.
This is clearly not a one and done situation for me, nor can it be randomly casual. That’s not who Adrienne is, and I don’t think that’s what I want from her. I think I want more.
I gently rise from the bed so I don’t wake her to use the bathroom. I’m greeted at the doorway by her cat, Mittens, who rubs against my leg and purrs loudly. I bend down to scratch the top of her head. She’s a beauty.
“My name’s Jason,” I tell her plainly because that’s the way I talk to all animals. “It’s nice to meet you. Can you show me around?”
The two of us walk around the living room and I take a careful look at everything hanging on Adrienne’s walls. I’m in full belief that if you want to get to know someone, just take a look at the pictures, photographs and trinkets they used to decorate their home.
On one wall are photographs in assorted wooden frames of Adrienne and what looks like her mother, her father, and maybe friends from high school. I’m not sure she looks younger than how she appears today. In each photo she strikes a similar pose: smiling with her head slighted tilted to the side, always the left profile, always the light hitting her right above the cheekbone. There are quite a few pictures hung along the hallway, which lets me know she values family and her friendships. There’s a genuine feeling of warmth you can see through her eyes in each photograph. If I had actually chosen Adrienne through a dating agency or app and had only these photos to go by, I know I would have picked her.
There’s just something about her.
In the kitchen there are the typical small appliances you’d find such as a double slot toaster, blender, an air fryer and a wooden block of kitchen knives. There’s a small shelf on the wall which holds a variety of cookbooks. One seems to be old and falling apart, perhaps a family heirloom. Some pages are tattered and some are clearly marked for further reference, like the page for smothered chicken. The others are all vegetarian cookbooks and look relatively new.
I want to toss them in the recycling bin.
I know they’re there because of him.
There’s a second smaller bedroom that Adrienne uses as her office. Inside there’s a basic wooden desk with a vintage lamp and two tall bookshelves full of medical books. There’s one sparse floor plant and a small eggplant-colored love seat. The decor is simple but functional and tells me a lot about who she is and what she treasures: comfort, practicality, simplicity.
I follow Mittens back into the bedroom where I look around to figure out where I will install her television. It can only go one place. Above a chest of drawers on the East wall. Luckily, there’s a bracket that they sell at most large box stores I can use to install her television into the wall with only one hand and a power drill.
There are no pictures on the walls in here which tells me that there were probably pictures of her and the ex somewhere and she’s taken them down. Good. The last thing I need to see is a picture of his ugly mug when I’m making her come because I’m going to make her come again, and again, and again. I have so many more plans for Adrienne’s body that I feel like a kid unwrapping a new toy on Christmas.
I sit on the edge of the bed beside her and stare at her like a lovesick teenager. Her eyelids periodically flutter like the wings of a dragonfly as she continues to peacefully rest.
In this state she looks very innocent, beautifully innocent, and I start to feel a twinge of guilt that I’m keeping who I really am from her. In fact, I don’t know how long I’m going to be to keep this up. Already I want to spoil her with a gift or a weekend trip somewhere warm, but how would I explain that? With more lies? Like that I’m independently wealthy? Even if I did, someone would eventually recognize me. Hell, if we went to Times Square right now, she’d see for herself. There’s an enormous billboard of me is up in lights advertising a sportswear brand I endorse.
It’s settled. Now that our friendship has turned a corner, I’m going to have to tell her something, or tell her everything, and it needs to be today.
But first… breakfast.
Twenty-Seven
ADRIENNE
Sunlight warmsmy bare breasts as I yawn in complete and utter exhaustion and satisfaction. I had some of the best sex of my life last night. The kind that raunchy R&B groups sing about. The kind thatalmostmakes me want to rent Jason out and show all of my friends what they’re missing. The kind that makes me think about crazy stuff, like how much it would cost to throw a wedding in Bali. The kind that makes me want to go at it again, right this very minute.
I feel the other side of the bed with my palm and it’s cold. Jason isn’t here and evidently hasn’t been in bed for a while. For just a moment, I panic. I wonder if perhaps he got what he wanted from me and left, or if the intensity of our lovemaking frightened him away because if I’m going to be honest, that shit was scary. Scary good. He chased away any bad juju I thought this bed or bedroom would have forever.
I’ve spent most of my adult life believing that either something was wrong with me or that people were lying. Sex has never been fantastic or life changing for me. It’s just been something I did when I was in a serious relationship with a man because that’s what you do, right? Sure, the foreplay was nice and being held afterwards was always lovely, but the actual act was anticlimactic.
Last night was different.
Last night was a freakin’ erogenous zone masterclass. Jason taught me things about my body that I didn’t know, and I’m a damn doctor. And the awesome thing about it was that he never made me feel silly or uncomfortable or inept. In fact, all that I felt last night was adored and orgasmic and powerful.
I grab my cell to see if maybe my new sex sensei left me a text explaining his sudden disappearance and audibly gasp at how many missed calls I have.
Twenty-four missed calls over the last hour and none of them are from work? Most of the calls are from numbers I don’t recognize, but the last caller I do and he had the nerve to leave a message.
“Why aren’t you picking up the phone, Adrienne? Are you with him right now? Are you fucking him right now? Is this your revenge? He’s using you. Call me back right fucking now!”
It’s Troy, and he sounds like a complete lunatic. I definitely dodged a bullet when he decided to blow up our relationship into tiny little bits. I’m not even going to dignify his irate voice message with a response. He’s just trying to get a reaction from me because Jason tossed him out on his ass last night, but I will not give him one.
My phone rings again, but this time it’s Dena. I’m sure she’s calling to ask me how the second date went so she can check in with Caroline.
“Hey, I–”
