“Original,” Jono echoed, as he sat next to me, handing me a cup that read ‘DUDE’ on it. My mouth curved as I drank. Totally clocked him.
The moments that came after this were where it could get awkward depending on the people involved. Sometimes, the navigation from casual coffee to casual sex needed a map. I didn’t have the strength to entertain a thinly veiled Netflix-and-chill session today. I had a mission and was happy to sit in the cockpit, so to speak.Ha, that’s what she said.
My mug clanked against the glass top of the coffee table as I set it down, then reached for his cup and placed it next to mine.
“I knew you were going to be a dirty one,” he purred.
Great. A talker. Not my favourite. Although that wasn’t the only reason we were hovering above the uncomfortable. My brain had suddenly decided to play re-runs of every other casual sex encounter I’d ever had, right as Jono was staring hungrily into my eyes. Had sex with a stranger really helped? And then there was Dax again. Self-loathing was crawling up my throat at a rapid pace, as was the emptiness threatening to engulf me.
I cupped both of my palms around his stubbled jaw and brushed my lips softly against his, releasing an expertly timed sigh that made men respond favourably. His brown eyes dipped to look into mine for confirmation, which he got through my nod before I pressed my mouth firmly into his. My tongue darted into his mouth, and his hands curved around my waist. Something about that hand placement always made me suck in a breath, although it didn't compare to when Dax did it.
Stupid Dax. There was a guilt-shaped hole forming in my chest, and I didn’t know why. He never even asked me out. We kissed once, and it was a mistake. I was doing us both a favour by cutting it clean. So why did I feel like I was cheating?
I pushed Jono back against the couch and climbed onto his lap, straddling him. He groaned as I rocked my still-clothed pelvis against his, my tongue trailing from the base of his neck to his earlobe. Another groan. His hands slid up under my t-shirt trying to get access to my breasts. Leaning back, I yanked the t-shirt over my head and tossed it onto the squishy armchair beside us. He held me by the waist again and leant back greedily taking in my black lace bra and the breasts beneath it. His tongue ran a trail between them, only stopping when I tugged his singlet over his head. The action revealed a coloured mix of chest and stomach tattoos that made the heat in my pelvis grow. At least the attraction was still there, even if my sobering swirl of chaos had watered it down.
I grabbed at the button on his black pants as our mouths moved against each other’s. He smelled of oil and mint, and something about the unusual combination started something ticking over in my brain. Jono had already undone the button and zip of my jeans. His fingers were running across my bare stomach and promising to make their way somewhere lower. As he ran them along the inside of the elastic band of my seen better days underwear, a thought began trickling in as if a side door ofmy head had opened. My breath froze, and I grabbed his hand to stop him from moving, making him look back at me alarmed.
“I thought you wanted…” he stammered, his eyes wide.
“I did, it’s not that,” I whisper-hissed, still close enough to kiss him. I needed him to stoptalking. To stopmoving. I didn’t know how to ask what I was thinking because I couldn’t make sense of what I was thinking. A nagging question was tugging at the hairs on my arms, making them stand on end.
“Have you lived here your whole life?” I blurted.
His eyebrows pinched. The mood deflated.
“Uh. Yeah. Why?”
I didn’t know why I was asking it. The thread of a knitted sweater was being pulled, and something was unravelling with my words. I looked around the room as if the walls held clues, and then I felt it trickle into my chest like ice. Fear.
Jono moved his hand to unclasp my bra, and I bolted off him, nearly tripping over the coffee table.
His face looked hurt, as if I was accusing him of doing something predatory, which of course I was not. I really needed to stop ending hook-ups like this.
Pacing, I chewed my lip.
“You’ve always lived here?” I asked again.
He nodded, his expression slipping from confusion to bored—as if I were implying he was some kind of backward hick.
“That a problem?”
I shook my head. Except… it was a problem. I just didn’t know why. And what was I doing anyway? This wasn’t going to help me. It’s what I always do when I’m about to make a colossal fuck-up of my life.
“How old are you?”
He sighed, leaning forward to take his coffee from the table in front of him and sipping it. “Thirty-one.”
Four years younger than me. Not a record in my books for either side of the age spectrum. But he was young enough, or old enough, whichever way you wanted to look at it, to be my… my…
“Cousin,” I whispered to myself as the metaphorical penny dropped through the tiny side door. Cousin. Brother. Weird uncle two-times removed. Who cared? How could I know? My stomach coiled as I looked at him and then turned my attention to the net-curtained window that looked out onto the petrol station below.
Ew. Ew.Ew.
“You’ve lost me…” he said, and I could see in his face that he was scrambling to remember my name.
That didn’t sting. Much. I preferred men to remember how good I was at riding them than remember my name. Except I couldn’t do that now. Because I didn’tknowwho I was. And I didn’t know whohewas.
And I sure as hell didn’t know who I belonged to.
