Surfer Boy:
You sure about that?
Me:
Well, you haven’t given me any reason to believe otherwise.
Surfer Boy:
I can change that. Are you working at Bella’s tonight?
Me:
I am not.
Surfer Boy:
Good. Be ready around three. I’ll pick you up.
Me:
Is this you showing me how ungentlemanly you can be?
Surfer Boy:
No. This is me trying to do something nice and different. Please, Nova, be ready at three. I have a surprise for you.
Me:
If this is you being nice, I’d love to see what the opposite looks like.
I can’t help but push his buttons. Whatever he has planned today, I’m really hoping it ends in the bedroom or bathroom, or a fucking wall—I don’t care. I need a damn orgasm not created by my vibrator.
Surfer Boy:
Be good, and I’ll show you.
Well, damn. Did someone say “wet panties”?
Me:
I’ll be ready by three.
I send him my address and flop down onto my decrepit couch. I have four hours to plan and get prepared before Chris gets here. It’s both too long and not enough time to lock down my thoughts.
Sex with Chris is fine, but I can’t get attached, and I fear I already am heading in that direction. Steeling myself against his manly wiles is the name of the game.
I roll my eyes at myself. It shouldn’t be that hard to separate things out. It’s not like I’m in a position to give anyone more than sex, so it shouldn’t be a problem with Chris either.
If I repeat that to myself enough times, will it stick?
Three on the dot, there’s a knock on my door.
I grab my bag, slinging it across my chest, and open the door.
“Holy shit,” Chris whispers as his eyes widen comically.
“Is this okay?” I’ve never been insecure, but for some reason, I am now.
