Chapter Eighteen

Second Year Out of College

“To being single.”

“To Constitutional Law.”

“To the new season of The Bachelor.”

It was Sunday, and in my world, that meant it was brunch time.

Within a few weeks of Matt starting law school, we’d established a loose tradition of having Sunday brunch. It was a casual affair with a constantly fluctuating membership. Sometimes there were as many as a dozen people—law school friends, Nellie and her boyfriend, Jason, siblings in town, or friends both local and visiting. The smallest ones were just Matt and me. Part of the tradition of our brunches was the toast. Everyone at the table had to offer one as we lifted glasses—sometimes mimosas and Bloody Marys, sometimes the more pedestrian coffee or juice. Even when it was just the two of us, we toasted.

That particular Sunday, we had a larger group. Nellie, sans Jason for once, Matt’s brother, Tom, and a couple of his law school classmates. The brunch spot was new—to us and to the city. It was brightly lit, with a decor that reminded me of a Pottery Barn catalog.

The tables were wooden, with hand-painted phrases scattered across the tops in painstakingly random fashion. The phrases were meant to be conversation starters, and damned if they didn’t do just that.

“Here’s a good one,” Tom spoke up after the toasting. “What’s the longest you’ve ever gone without sleep?”

That one was still making the rounds when the food arrived.

When Nellie came back from the bathroom, she was giggling.

“What’s so funny?” I asked.

“When I walked past that table” she pointed in the direction of the ladies’ room—“I glanced down and saw one of their questions.” She paused for a fit of laughter. “I have no idea what the question was supposed to say, but a packet of sugar was lying just right and all I could see was Who was the best … you ever had?” She giggled again.

I glanced down the table to Matt’s classmates, Laura and Gavin. They were still an unknown quantity on the Sophomoric Humor Appreciation Scale, although Tom, Matt, Nellie, and I were already laughing. Laura cracked a smile, followed by Gavin and then all of us were snickering like a sixth-grade lunch table.

“Somehow, I don’t think that’s the image they’re trying to promote here,” Laura said.

“No shit,” Nellie agreed.

“Do you think that sugar packet was placed intentionally?” I asked. Two middle-aged women occupied the table in question.

“Definitely,” Nellie said. “Look at ’em over there. Clearly sex fiends.”

That started a fresh round of choking giggles from the group, until enough glances from other tables encouraged us to calm down. We tucked into our plates again, trying to avoid eye contact with each other.

Laura started it. “Dan Smith.”

“Huh?” Matt asked.

“Best I ever had,” she explained. She nodded, then shuddered. “Yeah. The best.”

“So, what happened?” I said.

She smiled ruefully. “Don’t know. I met him on spring break. Lost his number.”

“Oh, ouch!” Nellie said. “You couldn’t track him down?”

“His last name is Smith.” Laura shook her head. “I didn’t even know what school he went to. I don’t even know if that was his real name. It was not possible to track him down, trust me.”

“Bummer.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Angela Herrera,” Gavin said and scrunched up his face in remembered pleasure.

“My wife, Ally,” Tom said, earning a matched set of “Isn’t that Sweet?” awwws from Nellie and Laura.

Matt’s mouth quirked and one eyebrow went up. “She’s not here, you know. I won’t tell on you.”

Tom nodded. “I know. I’m telling you the truth.”

“Ooh, lucky man.” I grinned.

“Damn straight,” he agreed.

Nellie spoke next, holding one hand up as if she was giving testimony. “Terrence Johnson.”

“Who’s that?” I asked. I hadn’t heard his name before in all the hours I’d spent talking to Nellie over anesthetized animals.

She shook her head slowly. “Just an ex. He was a shitty boyfriend, but—damn.” She turned it into three syllables duh-a-amn.

“Does Jason know about this guy?” I asked, truly curious.

“Hell no. Are you crazy?”

Everyone laughed.

“How about you, Matt?” Laura asked, and my heart took the express elevator into my throat.

He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Sure you do, someone has to be the best,” Laura prodded.

“Yeah, even if they all suck, one has to suck less than the others,” Nellie said. I lashed out with my foot under the table, but struck wood.

Matt stabbed a chunk of waffle on the end of his fork and surveyed everyone at the table. “I’m not gonna answer, so you can all just go back to your eating.”

I tried to catch his eye, but he wouldn’t look at me. I wanted to give him a telepathic message, It’s okay, you won’t offend me. Though I knew in my heart it would sting if he said someone else’s name. Ridiculous.

“All right, if you’re going be a douche about it …” Nellie rolled her eyes. She was the only other person at the table who knew why he wasn’t answering, and she always enjoyed the hell out of a good secret. She was the definition of smug when she turned her attention to me. “What about you, Joss? Who gets the title?”

I was prepared. “No one.”

That knocked the smug right off Nellie’s face. “Why not?”

“Because I firmly believe that I haven’t had the greatest sex of my life yet. There is always room for improvement.”

A collective sigh of disappointed disgust came up from the group, except for Matt, who smirked. “That’s not the point,” Laura said. “We’re just asking who was the best up to this point.”

I had to scrunch my toes tight inside my shoes to keep from looking at Matt. I had a feeling he’d read my telepathy loud and clear now. Figures. “All right, all right. I confess—it was Nellie.” I dropped my head onto my crossed arms and faked some sobbing. A few people started to laugh. Something bounced off my head—a napkin judging by the harmlessness of it.

I chanced a look up and found Nellie laughing along with the rest of the group.

“I smell a conspiracy,” Gavin said.

“Okay, Erin Brockovich,” Matt said and, when no one was looking, winked at me.

I smiled, glad not to know his answer and glad he didn’t know mine. I’d been honest about one thing: I didn’t believe I’d had the best sex of my life yet. I never wanted to achieve that mark, because everything after would pale in comparison. I wanted someone who would set a personal best as often as possible, and constantly compete to outdo himself.

And it was with those high aspirations that I met T.J.

I would like to say I had a clue that T.J. was not right, but I didn’t. I don’t mean he wasn’t right for me, although he wasn’t. I mean, he was not right in the call-the-nice-men-in-the-long-white-coats sense. Okay, that might be exaggerating a bit, but he definitely wasn’t your run-of-the-mill guy.

He seemed so normal. Average, even. Then again, isn’t that what the neighbors always say about serial killers?

I met him on Halloween, while I was dressed like Strawberry Shortcake. He was a Jedi, which was fine by me. I’m not a crazy Star Wars fan or anything, but I’d dutifully gone to the movies and I could appreciate a good pop culture reference, as evidenced by my own selection. He struck up a conversation about all the ’70s and ’80s icons come back for treatment in the new millennium, and we ended up in a lively debate about the worth of Hollywood remakes. I was in the “sure, why not?” camp, as I so often am in arguments, while he was vehemently opposed.

These were all clear signs that he was a geek, but I think everyone is a geek in their own way. I used to be on a synchronized swimming team, and it doesn’t get much geekier than that. Pretty much, if you’re willing to let your freak flag fly the first time I meet you, I’m probably gonna want to get to know you a little better.

So it was with T.J., and I willingly handed over my phone number at the end of the night. He surprised me by calling two days later, and I agreed to go out for sushi with him.

As first dates go, T.J. was a good one. He was as funny as I remembered, which was delightful. He reminded me of Martin in that respect, and Matt, for that matter. I’d always loved funny, but I’d only dated a few guys who truly were. Score one for personal growth—I was ready to trade in a handful of fairy-tale romance for a good belly laugh.

In addition to being funny, T.J. took me to a decent restaurant, paid the bill, and let me take the lead when he dropped me off at the end of the night. I kissed him, but that was it. Like I said before, I’m a huge fan of kissing and I rarely see a reason not to try it out with someone new.

The next week, we went out again, this time to see his friend’s band play. It was hard to talk much with the loud music playing, but it was a decent enough time, and I was friendlier when he came into my apartment that night. We stayed in the living room, as if some unseen parents were watching. It felt safe there, and too dangerous to take off any clothing with the balcony doors showing everything to anyone who had enough ambition to watch. All of that meant I had the dreaded third date horizon ahead of me.

Nellie was a tireless cheerleader in this process—she always wanted me to find someone to date long-term so she could have a “couple’s friend” with her boyfriend, Jason. Part of me wanted to resist her just to avoid the gag-inducing title, but I also knew she wanted me to be happy, so I let it slide.

I know there’s nothing magical about the third date. I didn’t have to sleep with him. I never actually had to sleep with him. But, I liked him, and it had been a long time again—not counting Matt, of course, which I didn’t. Not really. It seemed reasonable to give T.J. a chance.

We did the classic dinner-and-a-movie date, and then T.J. invited me back to his place for drinks. I’d driven that night, since we went to a restaurant on his end of town. I figured, What the hell?

T.J. let me into his house and gave me a tour. It was a nice place, even if it was a typical bachelor pad. He had a pool table in the dining room and a huge TV. Predictably, he saved the bedroom for last. It seemed a little bare bones—hardly end-of-the-tour worthy, but we both knew why he’d ordered it that way, and I wasn’t going to complain.

I did my part to make my intentions known, sitting on the edge of the bed and leaning back on my hands. I must have succeeded in looking at least a little seductive, because T.J. joined me on the bed and kissed me. I rested one hand on his shoulder and put the other on his waist. He was heavier set than anyone I’d been with before, and for a moment, I thought longingly of Matt. Everything was just a little softer than I was used to. He was very gentle though, and I liked that. He also seemed to like a lot of things about me.

“You have such beautiful eyes,” he said.

“Thank you.” Compliments always make me too aware of whatever has been complimented, and suddenly I was conscious of every blink and shift in my gaze.

“And such soft lips.” T.J. kissed me again, resting one hand against my jaw. That is hands down my favorite kissing move and I knew right then I was going to let him get a good long look at my lingerie choices for the evening. I’d gone sort of middle of the road on the sexiness scale—nothing that wouldn’t impress, but a girl has to save a few things for later. You don’t bring your best stuff out the first time.

Slowly, in that heart-fluttering way of the first time, we took off our clothes and moved up onto the bed. When I was down to my skivvies, he pulled back to look at me. It was at this point that I won or lost a man’s attraction. Some guys like the small-breasted, narrow-hipped end of the feminine spectrum. I’ve been called everything from nymph-like to delicate. Others are afraid they’re going to break me. They call me miniature or frail.

“Wow, you look amazing,” T.J. said, eyes undeniably drawn to my lacy bra. A tiny voice in my mind wanted to know if he was reading from a prepared list of compliments, but I ignored it in favor of believing he might actually like me. At least he appreciated the effort I put into my underwear.

His hands roved over my skin and I arched into each move, following the sensations. T.J. knew what he was doing, that was obvious. I was impressed by how much attention he paid to me. To the extent that he rebuffed my attempts to return the attention. He was very gentlemanly about it, but still firm.

“Just lay back,” he instructed, “I want you to feel good.”

“Okay,” I mumbled, put a little off balance by his focus. I closed my eyes and concentrated on my other senses. The room was quiet, except for the rustling of sheets and my own irregular breath. My skin was hyper-alert, awaiting his next move, the next sensation. His fingers and lips painted my body. It was hard to lie still. I wanted to sink my fingers into his hair, twist my legs through his, and taste his mouth again.

After a while, I couldn’t be passive any longer. “We can …” I suggested, slipping my thumbs under the elastic of my thong. “If you want.”

“If you’d like,” he said.

“I’ve got a condom in my purse,” I said. He probably had them, but I was never willing to count on someone else to protect me. I always figured two people with condoms was better than one. “I hope that’s not a problem.”

“No, of course not.”

Good answer.

I got the condom out and handed it to T.J. He did his part while I slipped off my underwear.

“Come here,” he said with a soft smile.

I swung a leg over his hips and bent low to kiss him. My heart trembled in my chest. It had been a long time since I’d been with someone new.

My eyes slipped shut as we found our rhythm. His hands never seemed to rest and the constant flood of sensory input had me panting for air in no time. I forced my eyes open and looked down at T.J. who was staring at me with intent.

“What?” I asked, feeling self-conscious.

He shook his head and grunted “Just watching you.”

Pleasure ebbed and flowed through my body as T.J. tried several different paces. He just couldn’t seem to find one he liked. I stopped trying to help and let him take complete control. I could see frustration in his eyes.

“Is everything all right?” I asked.

“Fine,” he said through clenched teeth.

I was coming out of the pleasure haze as I watched him. The concentration was obvious. Sweat began to bead on his forehead.

“Is there something …?” I trailed off, not sure if I should end with “wrong,” or “I can do.”

He slowed to a crawl and looked up in my eyes. “I’m sorry, I … I’m having a little trouble.”

Not words a girl wants to hear. “Do you need to change positions or something?” I asked.

“Um, yeah, maybe.”

I slid away and waited for him to make a decision.

He appeared to be considering options, shifting his weight and looking very serious. “Could you, uh … do something for me?”

My pulse ratcheted up a notch. The question felt … loaded. “What?”

“Okay, this might sound kind of weird …”

Oh God.

“But, uh … sometimes when I’m … having trouble … it helps if you use your hands.”

Phew. “What would you like?” I asked, tucking my legs under me to lean forward.

“Here …” He guided my hands to his erection, still in the condom.

“Um …” I kept a loose grip and did my best to help him get closer to the big moment.

“Can you squeeze a little tighter?”

I didn’t answer, but tried.

“A little harder …”

My eyebrows pulled together in confusion, but I followed his instruction.

“A little harder …”

My arms strained with effort. I wouldn’t be able to keep it up for long. “I’m sorry, my arms are getting tired,” I said when the rhythm faltered.

T.J.’s eyes opened, but he didn’t look at me. “Then, can you just hit it?”

What? “What?”

“Hit it.”

I shook my head. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Sometimes it helps. Hit me. Really hard.”

“Excuse me?” I could feel the weird look I had on my face.

“Just … you know, punch me.”

“What are you talking about? Where?”

“Right here.” He pointed at his crotch.

“What?!” I pulled my hands back, curling them tightly against my chest.

“It really helps me. You could use your knee if you want.”

“N—no … no …” I shook my head. “No, I’m not gonna do that. No.”

“I know it’s a little weird …” he said.

“It’s a lot weird!” I scooted backward on the bed. As soon as my feet hit the ground, I looked for my clothes.

“It’s actually not that uncommon …”

“I’ve never heard of it,” I said.

“It’s no worse than people who like biting.”

“Ha!” I slid on my bra so fast one of the straps twisted.

“Jocelyn, I’m sorry. Don’t leave like this …”

“No, really, it’s okay. I’m just gonna go.”

“I didn’t want to say anything. It’s just something I need to get excited sometimes. I know it’s weird.”

I shook my head as I reached back to hook my bra. “I don’t think you do. I gotta go.”

“Dammit,” he muttered, getting out of bed himself. “Well, then, can we just forget what I said?”

“No.” I yanked my shirt on and shoved my feet in my shoes. “No, we really can’t.”

T.J. sighed. “Well, could I call you again?”

That stopped me in my tracks. I looked at him with wide eyes. “Are you kidding me?”

“No, then?”

“Please don’t.”

He called my name as I hurried down the hall, looking for my coat. I ignored him, and snatched up my coat and purse. I didn’t even bother putting it on, just ran out the door and to my car, frantically thumbing the UNLOCK button on my key fob.