Chapter Nineteen

Two Years Earlier … Second Year Out of College

I had Nellie on the phone before I even had my seat belt on. “I hate dating, I hate it, I hate it, I hate it!” I shouted at her.

“What happened?” she drawled, her words dripping with reluctant tolerance.

“You are never going to believe this one.” All of my body nerves buzzed with adrenaline. To think that he’d touched me—I shuddered.

“Try me,” she said.

I told her what T.J. had asked me to do and had to hold the phone away from my ear when she shrieked, “WHAT?!”

“I know! The first time he asks me to punch him in the fucking balls? What the fuck is wrong with him?”

“Oh my God, I’ve never heard anything like that!”

“I know! He’s some kind of pervert or something.”

“Hang on, I have to tell Jason—”

I tried to stop her. “No! Don’t tell Jason! My God!” But it was too late. I could hear her murmuring in the background.

“Nellie!” I shouted, trying to get her attention.

“Jason said he saw something about that online once. He said some guys can’t get off without it.”

“Oh my God! How the hell do you even think of that?!” I demanded. “Who decides to try out getting punched in the balls?”

“I know!”

“God, what a twisted bastard! I just—ugh!”

“No kidding.”

“I want to take a shower. I want to take twenty showers!” I shuddered again, making my car wiggle in the lane as I sped away from the scene of the perversion.

“I don’t blame you! That is so weird.”

“I’m never dating again.”

“Well, maybe if you work it into conversation real early on, you could screen out the weird ones.”

“How the hell am I supposed to work that into conversation?” I demanded. I visualized myself sitting at dinner with a first date. “Mmm, this pâté is delicious! By the way, do you require physical violence against your genitals to get aroused?”

Nellie burst into laughter. “There, see? Totally natural!”

“I am not doing that!”

“You didn’t actually do it, did you?” she asked. “Punch him, I mean.”

“No! Of course I didn’t! What do you take me for? I just got dressed and ran out of the house.”

“You got up and left in the middle of everything?” she asked.

“Yes! What did you think I was gonna do?”

Nellie snickered. “So, poor ol’ T.J. is all alone with no one to punch him in the balls …”

“For all I know he could be slamming them in a drawer this very second. I don’t know and I don’t care!”

She started laughing even harder. “Oh my God, can you imagine …?”

“I don’t want to.” I glanced in the side mirror as if I could see T.J. back there.

“Where are you now?” she asked.

“In my car. I’m going home.”

“Ooh! Jason just pulled up a website about this!”

“Oh Jesus. I gotta go,” I told her.

“Come on, it’s funny!”

“It might be funny after my twentieth shower. I’ll let you know.”

“Suit yourself.”

“I’ll talk to you later, Nell.”

“Bye, Joss.”

We disconnected and I decided to call Matt. When he answered the phone, I could hear voices in the background.

“Hey, Joss. What’s going on?”

“Where are you?”

“Home. I’ve got a few guys over to play Call of Duty.”

“Oh. Sorry, I’ll let you go.”

“No, that’s okay. We just took a break. I’ve got a couple minutes.”

“I was just on the worst date in the history of the world.”

“With T.J.? I thought you liked him.”

“I did. But then he got weird.”

“How so?”

I repeated the story and earned a bellow of laughter from Matt.

“No fucking way!” he exclaimed. “Man, I always thought that was just made up.”

“You’ve heard of this?”

“Yeah, but … I’ve never heard of anyone actually doing it.”

“I didn’t do it!” I protested.

“Yeah, I know that.” He paused and I could imagine the eye roll. “Man, that was a ballsy move.”

“No pun intended?”

“No, that was totally intentional.”

“Great.”

“Seriously, though … I almost have to admire him.” His voice was painted with laughter.

I made an “ew!” face even though he couldn’t see it. “Why?”

“You gotta have some big brass ones to whip that out the first time you sleep with someone.”

“Or a serious lack of brain cells.”

“Hey, listen, are you gonna be okay? They want me back in the game.”

I sighed. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. I’m just gonna go home and shower twenty-seven times.”

“Make sure you don’t scrub your skin off.”

I hesitated for a moment. “Um, how long are the guys gonna be there?”

“I’m not sure. Why?”

“Just … curious.”

“I’m around tomorrow. If you need something. If you need me.”

Nellie spent the rest of that night and most of the following day sending me definitions of different kinds of fetishes. She accompanied each message with the words, See? It could have been worse! I could just imagine her cackling wildly over her own joke. Each time, I replied with something along the lines of, I hate you and you are the worst friend in the world.

A small selection of the things Nellie came up with:

Formicophilia: deriving sexual pleasure from insects crawling on the skin.

Klismaphilia: deriving sexual pleasure from receiving an enema.

Autonepiophilia: deriving sexual arousal from diapers.

Phalloorchoalgolagnia: deriving sexual pleasure from a painful blow to the male genitals.

The last one was accompanied with the note, I guess T.J.’s not alone!

I had dinner with my family the following night and I studiously avoided all discussion of my love life. Conveniently, my sister, Darcy, had big news—one of her dogs was going to have puppies. The way she was going on about it, I would have thought she was pregnant. I love her, but she’s a little nuts.

Nevertheless, impending puppydom gave me plenty of time inside my own head. There, a sham debate was under way—should I call on Matt after last night, or go at it alone? I knew I wanted to call him. I even knew I would. But for reasons I couldn’t articulate, I needed to spend a little time coming up with reasons why I might not. After a salad course, the main course, and dessert, my list was this:

1. I only sort of had sex with T.J., so it barely counts.

2. I want this too much.

The second one was the problem. I wanted Matt. I’d been on my self-imposed dating hiatus for too long, I guess. Three dates with T.J. had reminded me of what I loved about dating, and then smashed it all flat with his shocking request. I wanted so badly to feel the way I’d felt earlier in the date. And I knew I’d get just that with Matt. The problem was he was only one night. I wanted a more permanent solution. I knew I should be a big girl and turn down a temporary, if certain, dose of gratification. But on the other hand …

As soon as I had finished helping my mom with the dishes, I excused myself, explaining that I had plans with Matt.

“You should have brought him to dinner,” my mom said.

“He had plans already.” This was a bald-faced lie. I had no idea what Matt was doing for dinner. But it was hard to imagine bringing him to my parents’ house for a family meal before we headed back to my place to have sex.

“Too bad. Invite him next week if you want.”

“Yeah, okay.”

I phoned Matt when I left, and he was already at my apartment complex by the time I got home.

“That was fast!” I said when he got out of his car.

“Maybe you were just slow.” The tip of his nose was cold when he kissed me in greeting.

“Come on, let’s go inside.”

He followed me into the building without saying much. I let us into my apartment, and before he could even get his coat off, Dewey was weaving around his ankles and purring.

“Yes, Dewey, I’ve missed you, too,” he said in all insincerity.

“Mrow.”

“You might as well pet him now, you know he’s not going to leave you alone until you do.”

Matt sighed, but hunkered down to scratch behind the cat’s ears. “There, are you happy, you big hairball?”

Dewey flopped on his back and stretched, purring happily.

“I swear, you should just take him with you when you go. When you’re around it’s like I don’t even exist.” I hung our jackets in the closet and tossed my bag onto the table.

“No pets allowed in my apartment,” he informed Dewey. “We’ve been over this.”

“He thinks you should move somewhere else, then.”

“Sorry, cat. No deal.” He straightened up and stepped on the backs of his shoes to remove them.

“Did you eat dinner?” I asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks.”

“My mom said I should have invited you. Sorry.” I retrieved my cell phone from my bag and tucked it in my back pocket.

He squinted at me. “That would have been kind of weird.”

“That’s what I thought. She said you should come next week.”

“Maybe I will.”

“And that won’t be weird?” I asked, pausing with one hand on the light switch for the living room.

“For some reason … no.”

“Something in the rules I’m not aware of?” I teased.

“Yeah, ‘Never dine with your Sorbet partner’s parents on the day of Sorbet.’ ”

I laughed. “What number would that be?”

“Hmm …” He looked thoughtful. “Who knows? Don’t you have the rules?”

“Do I?”

“I think so …”

“I bet it’s in that box of crap from college in my office …”

“Your office.” Matt snorted. He found my name for my spare room amusing. The apartment was technically a one-bedroom, with a “bonus room,” little more than a glorified closet. I certainly didn’t do any work in there, but I had my desk and a filing cabinet in it, so as far as I was concerned, it was an office.

“Shut up.” I went into the so-called office and pulled a plaid banker’s box from the corner. It was full of odds and ends from college, including—as it turned out—the computer printout of my last semester class schedule, some cardboard Blue Moon beer coasters, and a picture of me and Jessie with our faces painted red and white for a football game.

Matt hunkered down behind me, covering my shoulder with one of his hands for balance. When I came across a picture from freshman year of all of the girls on Halloween, he leaned forward for a better look.

“Hmm, I remember that costume …”

I smiled and tilted my head against his. “Yeah, me, too.”

The picture slipped from my fingers. I let it go and picked through interlaced stacks of papers, pictures, pamphlets, magazine clippings, half-finished crosswords, and an expired prescription for codeine cough syrup.

“Why the hell are you keeping this stuff?” he asked, extracting another water-stained coaster from The Pub.

“I don’t know.” I shrugged, and Matt swept my hair around to my right shoulder to get the clingy curls away from his face.

“Aha!” I produced the Rules for Sorbet Sex with triumph. “Rule twelve.”

“Twelve it is,” he agreed, plucking the paper from my hand. “Where’s a pen?”

“There’s probably one in here …” I rummaged in the bottom of the box and came up with a red pen.

“Give it here.”

“No way, you wrote the last three rules.” I took the paper back and bent down to write on the floor.

12. Never dine with your Sorbet partner’s parents on the day of Sorbet.

13. You may dine with your Sorbet partner’s parents on any other day.

14. The female Sorbet partner is entitled to spooning.

“Hey! You totally snuck that last one in!” Matt protested, taking the worn list from me.

“No way, I brokered that deal from you last time.”

“But now it’s in writing.” He sank to sit, one knee still raised behind me.

“Exactly.” I grinned at him and tapped the pen on the tip of his nose.

He snatched the pen and leaned on one elbow to add another rule.

15. The male partner may never ask the female partner to punch him in the nuts.

I burst into laughter when I saw the addition. “That should just be a rule in general. Like, for life. It should be posted on signs in public places. Like ‘No Smoking.’ ”

“What do you suppose the little signs would look like?” We grinned at each other.

I let the rules fall into their familiar fold-lines and handed the small square to Matt. “Here. You can study up on rule fifteen—make sure you understand it.”

“I’ll do that.” He leaned over to tuck the paper into the pocket of his jeans. When he straightened up, we nearly knocked our heads together. He laughed and kissed the corner of my mouth.

“You know what makes me so mad?” I said when he pulled back.

“What?”

“He officially ruined my favorite make-out move of all time.”

“Who, T.J.? What are you talking about?”

“This—” I demonstrated the hand-on-the-jaw move that T.J. had earned so many points with the night before. “I used to love that. Now … everything he did just feels … gross. Dirty … I don’t know.” I sighed.

“We’ll fix it all,” Matt promised, moving his hands to cradle my face and kissing me softly. I edged closer, and pressed my fingers into the tight muscles at the crest of his shoulder. “What else?” he murmured against my mouth as I tried to continue the kiss.

“He … touched me … and kissed me … all over.”

“Okay …” Matt’s hands left my face, drifted over my shoulders, and down to the edge of my sweater. He lifted it slowly, knuckles grazing against my skin until I had to lift my arms to let him pull it free. Goose bumps followed in the wake of his fingers and I couldn’t help a shiver.

“Nice,” he said, riding his fingertips along the edge of my bra. It was black, with textured embroidery that made it impossible to wear under anything form-fitting. Under a sweater though, it was a girly dream come true. The fact that I paired it with the matching lace panties should have been all the information my subconscious needed to tell me how this day was going to end long before I called Matt.

“We could go …” I glanced at the door where Dewey sat, watching the proceedings with feline boredom.

“Later.” He brushed my hair away from my shoulder and kissed the hollow made by my collarbone. I shivered again. “Like this?” he asked.

I shook my head. “No.” He stilled, and I rushed to explain. “You do it better.”

His soft laugh tickled my throat. “Okay, good.”

Bit by bit, Matt erased all the false hope that I’d had the night before. His hands smoothed across my skin, taking away the counterfeit affection T.J. had given me. His lips, tongue, and teeth were persistent reminders that I didn’t have to settle; that there was more. Best of all, he gave me free rein to return the attention.

We were still on the floor of my little office when he lifted the back of my bra, looking for the closure.

“It’s a little stiff,” I breathed against his cheek, “but, don’t—let’s go to the bedroom.”

“Okay,” he agreed.

I got to my feet, leaving most of my clothing on the floor. Matt was right behind me and scooped me up as soon as we crossed the threshold to my bedroom.

“Oh!” I startled, but he had me firmly as he put one knee on the bed.

“Are we doing okay so far?” he whispered.

“Yeah, we’re doing just fine.” I smiled.

We found our way under the covers and out of our last bits of clothing and then it was nothing but the delicious feeling of skin on skin and wet kisses and his much more satisfying body under my hands. He smelled like the cold air of November, and the same laundry detergent I’d smelled the first time we met. His mouth tasted like Crest with an undercurrent of coffee, his skin like … Matt, just Matt.

He eased my knees apart with one of his own then flattened his palms against my inner thighs, pressing upward. I recalled the motion from our other times together. It was something only he did and it made my pulse go wild. I arched off the bed when he reached the end of his path and he gave me a lazy smile. Reaching out with both hands, I beckoned him down to kiss me. He complied, but tortured me by bracing his weight to prevent any contact except for our lips. So, I slipped my hands between us and scratched my nails lightly over his abs. Already tensed for the position, he couldn’t help laughing, breath rushing out against my cheek. He caved, dropping into the waiting cradle of my raised knees and pushing his fingers into my hair.

We rocked our hips together in a familiar rhythm, and I let my hands go on exploratory missions across his back. He had unfairly smooth skin back there and I loved the feel of it on my fingertips. He tipped my head to kiss my throat, which urged a moan from my lips. He laughed again, softly against my skin.

“Is that a good sound?”

“Yes,” I whispered. “Can we …?”

“Yeah, hang on.” He slipped one arm beneath me. I hooked my ankles behind his hips and he moved us farther up the bed. He made me feel as light as a feather. After a moment, he turned his attention back to me. I shivered as we slid together and clamped my hands against his lower back.

“Just a—”

“I know.” While he waited for me to acclimate, he painted my shoulder with openmouthed kisses. The rough scrape of his five o’clock shadow against my collarbone made me gasp, but it almost felt good.

I eased the pressure on his back and said, “Okay.”

And then we began to move.

For a few delirious moments, I wondered why I ever bothered with anyone but him. I liked the sight, the feel, the taste, and the sound of him in bed. I liked how we knew just enough about each other as lovers to be comfortable and move in sync, but not so much that I wasn’t strung tight with anticipation every time he tried something new. I liked that I could predict that even though he would hop out of bed just moments after we were done, I knew he’d come back right away and kiss me and ask if I was all right.

And, I reminded myself, it was for all of those reasons that I wanted him around when my relationships went bad. He was my port in a storm, and I couldn’t imagine losing that. I also knew that he hadn’t really let anyone into his heart since Meghan, and I didn’t ever want to be a placeholder. As the Sorbet Girl, I was singular, and that was just fine with me.

His promise was good. By the time we lay in a contented heap, waiting for our heart rates to return from the stratosphere, T.J. was nothing but an unfortunate bump in the road.

“I—” Matt started to speak, but stopped to swallow hard and let out a forceful breath. “Did we fix it all?”

“Yes.” I turned my face into his cheek and gave him a gentle bite. He squeezed my ribs, making me jump, and laughed.

“I’ll be right back.” He slunk out of bed without letting in too much cold air and I burrowed deeper into the capsule of body heat we’d created. I listened to the sounds of running water and let my eyes drift shut.

“Come here for your stupid spooning,” he said with exaggerated distaste when he returned to bed.

“Shut up,” I said, but slipped happily into the space he made for me.

“So, I know you’re all kinky now, but … don’t hit me in the family jewels, okay?”

I laughed. “Fuck you, Matt.”

“I’m not touchin’ that one.”

I elbowed him halfheartedly, but I wasn’t mad. I was amused as hell, actually, and that was part of the magic of Matt. He knew I’d be ready to find the T.J. thing funny after we’d so successfully overwritten the memory.

We drifted in a drowsy haze for a while, sharing space and letting our breathing settle into synchronization. “Thanks for being here,” I said.

“Yeah, of course.”

The weight of his arm felt good across my waist. He always put off heat like a generator, which felt amazing as my body cooled. “He was kind of … soft,” I confessed suddenly.

Matt snickered. “I thought that’s why he wanted you to hit him.”

“No, I mean, like, pudgy.”

“Oh.” He paused, trying to determine my point. “Okay.”

“He just seemed so nice.”

“I thought you didn’t like nice,” he said immediately.

“Of course I like nice.”

“But not too nice,” he reminded me. “You told me I was too nice a million times.”

“Well, maybe I’ve changed my mind about nice guys. Maybe I just want someone intelligent, funny, and yeah, nice. Someone who likes me, isn’t a pervert, and happens to be fantastic in bed.”

“Just happens,” he echoed, laughing. “It’s good that you have realistic requirements.”

“I’m sure there are plenty of guys like that. I just have to find one.” Suddenly, I was too warm and I had to toss the comforter away from my shoulders. The cool air helped a little, but my nerves continued to send signals of discomfort. Like an all-over itchiness. I wriggled a little and tried to shake off the feeling.

Matt slid one hand down my arm and threaded our fingers together. “Well, I can tell you one thing—all guys are a little bit perverted.”

“I can handle a little bit. But, I never want to need props, reinforcements, or a protein shake for sex.”

He laughed, chest vibrating against me. The itchy feeling receded. Weird.

“Okay, what about the famous lingerie collection? That’s a prop,” he said.

I considered, pursing my lips. “Fine. I don’t want to need a safe word.”

He laughed again, harder this time. “New rule: no safe words.”

“That’s too broad, counselor. Nothing requiring a safe word.”

“Deal.” His body shifted against mine. “Of course, there’s always the possibility that this will be the last time, you know.”

“I know.” It was always a possibility. The weird, itchy feeling came back. “God, what is wrong with me? I feel like I’m going to crawl out of my skin.”

“You look okay,” he said, but the room was dim.

“Maybe I’m allergic to something. Maybe I should take a shower.”

“Yeah, go ’head.” He peeled his body away from mine to let me up.

I got out of bed, simultaneously feeling better and worse when the cool air hit me.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I’m just—I feel jittery.” I grabbed clean pajamas from the dresser and headed for the bathroom. When I had the water running, I heard a tap on the door.

“Joss?”

I opened the door. “Yeah?”

“Seriously, are you okay?” He looked genuinely concerned.

The electricity jangling through me settled a bit as I looked at him. I didn’t want to worry him. “I’m okay, really. I probably just need to cool off or something.”

“See? Spooning is bad for you.”

I picked up a hand towel and swatted him in the face, right on his grinning mouth. “Oh, shush.”

“You want any help in there? I could scrub you down with the toilet brush.” Matt smirked.

“Gee, our first shower together and already you’re offering the toilet brush?” I put on false doe eyes. “You’re such a romantic.”

“I have never once claimed to be a romantic,” he reminded me.

“No kidding.” I stepped away from the gap in the door and got into the steaming shower. Already the feelings were going away, but I figured I might as well give myself a rinse. I couldn’t imagine what had caused the weird sensations, but a shower wouldn’t hurt.

“Was that a no on the toilet brush?” Matt called over the sound of the water.

I laughed, quiet enough that he couldn’t hear me. “That was a no.”

“Suit yourself.”

I heard the door latch shut, then a few minutes later open again. “Where do you keep your clean sheets?” he asked.

“What?” I opened one end of the curtain to look at him.

“Clean sheets? Where are they?”

“Why?”

“I’m going to change the sheets, just in case that was the problem.”

“Really?” I blinked, trying to process the kindness. “Uh, in the trunk at the foot of the bed.”

“Is that what those things are for?” he asked. “I’ve always wondered.”

“That’s what it’s for in my house.”

He nodded. “Okay, I’ll take care of it.”

“Thanks, Matty.” I made a kissy face at him. “You’re the best.”

He very deliberately looked through the curtain at my wet body. “I’m sure you can make it up to me.”

Which sucked all the romance right out of his gesture. That was Matt.

I turned my back to the spray as he left, letting the water beat away the last of my unease. Next up on my agenda: finding a guy who would know when to keep his mouth shut and let me pretend he wasn’t a lecher at heart.