“Fine.” I raise my hands. “It is my first one-night stand. But I’ve had sex before. Twice, which might be pitiful to you and anyone else who thinks a thirty-one-year-old should be doing splits on a countertop or have more experience than Josh Alby and his bull-size nuts smacking me into a twin mattress. I have three degrees—a bachelor’s of engineering, an MBA, and a master’s of mechanical engineering—and I’m working on a PhD.”
Ben whistles.
“Socially, I’m boring, and I might be a future bingo champion with a sequined fanny pack, but I’m sick of people telling me what to do.”
Choose a different course of study, honey. You don’t want to be the only female mechanical engineer.
You should live with your father while you’re in college. Columbia is safer for a single woman than Baltimore.
How many degrees do you need? Don’t turn into your tía who blew off men until she couldn’t find one.
I point to the front door. “I’ll dance in traffic before I get stuck in it again tonight. I can have a one-night stand with the next man who walks through that door.”
Maybe not thenextman. Somebody who isn’t married, doesn’t have a forest of body hair, and believes in cleaning thoroughly with a washcloth. Marcela’s trysts were part of her “self-discovery” in her twenties. Heaven forbid I have my own in my thirties without an internal family investigation.
The notes I took in my phone about how to have a successful one-night stand said to pack condoms and lubricant. Those are in my purse, along with wipes, a toothbrush, floss, and mouthwash. None of the articles I read mentioned the last four, but oral hygiene should be a priority with safe sex.
At this point, if I could get away with propositioning a man at the grocery store, I’d do it. At least then I’d have a piece of breadand peace of mind that a nosy sibling and bartender would stay out of my business. I should quit while I’m ahead, but I don’t want to give up the parking spot I found down the block. With my luck, I’ll stumble into another bar that serves only grape halves and garnishes.
“Word of advice?” Ben snaps me out of my exit strategy. “Meeting someone usually works best when you stay awhile.” He nods to the coat I’ve yet to remove. Between trying not to look desperate and the silent pep talks about having sex for the first time since I began my PhD two years ago, my mind is all over the place.
“I planned to take it off,” I say, matter-of-fact.
He rolls his lips. “Tonight?”
My fingers fumble around the belt I knotted twice like I was protecting my virtue. The silk interior lining glides over my shoulders. The heat is on, but you wouldn’t know it with the way goosebumps prickle my skin. I avoid attention, but tonight, it’s stamped on the cleavage Ben is eyeing.
“Damn.” His green eyes slide from my double-D breasts, which tonight are kissing a red square-neck dress, to my lips.
Wrestling the zipper up my spine was only part of the battle. I’m half a foot shorter than my sister. With our height difference, one would think there would be more fabric to cover my knees. The culprit is my hips, which are wider than Marcela’s and eating up the hem without a care for modesty.
At least the wig I pulled into a low ponytail is still in place. I wear it for labs, and tonight I put in loose curls that took prayer and three YouTube tutorials to tackle.
“If no one comes in soon, I get off at eight,” Ben says.
My brain scrambles to find a logical excuse as I dismiss him with the wave of a hand. “Ha ha.” I brush off his advance.
I respond to Marcela’s message and run through my notes to avoid eye contact. Maybe I’m not ready. My belly is gurgling, which could be a sign of hunger or stupidity.
“Here we go.” Ben tips his chin toward the first person to walk in since my one-night stand monologue.
A heavy weight settles in my stomach. I’m not built to socialize, much less ask someone if I can play with their sexual organs for the night. What do I say?Hi, nice to meet you. Want to stroke my walls?
Don’t look.
Don’t look.
Smooth footsteps roll over concrete, prompting my attention to investigate. My pulse quickens, but it’s my thighs that shift when I see leg muscles cast in a gray suit.
I should’ve stayed home, where it’s safe. Maybe then I wouldn’t be staring at DC’s biggest flirt, whose former baby face is now in its rugged era and wearing a blinding smile directed at me.
Stale wine and Vatican crackers I can do. Antonio Knight is a different story.
Chapter 2
Miriam
Light glimmers over the beanie covering Antonio’s fade and the tiny man bun he’s determined to grow. I don’t know who I personally insulted for him to walk through the door, but I’ll give up sex for another two years before his penis comes near me.
