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I head up the walkway to my parents’ house. It’s two in the morning, and I can’t remember the last time I was out this late. My mother’s car is in the driveway.
Finally! I got home later than my mother!
All the lights in the house are out. I open the door and creep up the stairs, trying to make as little noise as possible so I don’t wake anyone. I feel like I’m doing something illicit, and it’s thrilling.
Of course, there’s nothing illicit about eating pupusas and flourless chocolate cake with one’s fake boyfriend. Plus, I only had a single glass of wine, and I only made out with said fake boyfriend in an alley for five minutes, but what a great five minutes it was.
I wanted to go to bed with him. My body had come alive in a way I thought it might never do again.
Sex was so tangled up with everything that happened last year, and I had no interest in that mess. Sure, sometimes I still found men attractive. Sometimes I got horny. But I never really felt desire.
Until now.
But that’s my body. My head still isn’t ready.
Peter makes me feel wonderful, but I have to be very comfortable with someone before I can sleep with them. It’s just the way I am, the way it’s always been, even more so now than when I was younger.
I brush my teeth and change into a flimsy tank top and shorts. Before I climb into bed, I look at myself in the mirror. At the skin he touched and caressed. My cheeks are slightly flushed and my lips are swollen—or is that my imagination?
I don’t know.
I push aside the neckline of my shirt and rub my nipple between my fingers. I tip my head back and exhale unsteadily, remembering what it was like to feel his mouth on mine, his hands all over me. The pleasure he gave me, which I’m sure was only a tiny fraction of what he’s capable of.
I breathe in sharply at the thought.
It’s been such a long time since I wanted to touch myself.
I crawl under the covers and pull out my vibrator from its special hiding spot. I place it on my pillow, not ready for it quite yet. First, I slip my hand inside my underwear and run my finger over my slit. I’m wet—only a little wet. Stephen always complained that I...
Stop thinking of Stephen!
I rub my clit with my thumb and arch against my hand.
Imagine Peter’s hand on you, his fingers on your clit, sliding inside your body...
I don’t know what he’d say as he touched me, but I’m sure it would be perfect, because somehow he always knows the right thing to say, and I would melt against him. Surrender to whatever he would give me, knowing it would never be more than I could take. He thinks I should be cherished, but not because I’m made of glass.
I imagine running my hands up his bare arms, over his pecs. Licking a trail down, down his chest, until I reach his boxers and take his cock in my mouth.
This isn’t something I’ve fantasized about before, though I’ve given a blowjob, of course. But now, the thought of bringing him to orgasm with my mouth is almost unbearably sexy.
I grasp the vibrator and turn it on. It’s a quiet one—I got it specifically for that reason. When I press it to my clit, I gasp.
Shit.
Quickly, I cover my mouth with my hand, and then I get to work.
Oh, God, it feels so good, but I want more. I want him inside me, I want...
There’s a knock on my door.
Oh, my fucking God.
Instinctively, I chuck the lime-green vibrator across the room.
Yeah, that was a smart move.
“Valerie?” Mom asks. “What was that noise?”
“Coming!” I say, then snicker.
Jesus, I really need to get it together.
After picking up the vibrator and tossing it in a drawer, I walk to the door and open it a crack.
“It’s almost three in the morning,” I hiss. “What do you want?”
“Why are you in such a grumpy mood? And what was that thump?” My mother sounds perky despite the late hour.
“Oh, I just dropped my e-reader,” I say. “I was reading. A little light reading after my late night out, you know.”
“You were with Peter?”
“Yes. With Peter. Yes.”
Why am I so bad at this? My heart is thumping wildly in my chest—and not in a good way, like it was earlier.
“Hmm,” Mom says, looking at me in a way that makes me shiver. Like she can see right into my brain and knows exactly what I was doing.
Not, of course, that there’s anything wrong with a little late-night masturbation after seeing one’s fake boyfriend, but this is my freaking mother, and she interrupted me, and I can’t help feeling awkward as hell.
“What did you do tonight?” Mom asks.
“Ate dinner, went dancing.”
“You went dancing?”
“Shh. You’re going to wake everyone up.”
“But you hate dancing.” She peers at me. “Have you been drinking? Are you on drugs?”
“No, I just felt like dancing. Now, I’m working tomorrow and I’d really like to get some sleep.”
Mom regards me suspiciously before leaving my room.
I breathe out a sigh of relief and return to bed, but I don’t take out my vibrator. Nope, the mood is ruined.
But after I turn out the lights and cuddle up under the covers, I imagine Peter’s arms around me.
* * *
“You went dancing?” Chloe says. “But you hate dancing!”
“You sound like my mother,” I mutter.
It’s Sunday night, which is when Chloe, Sarah, and I usually hang out. Both Happy As Pie and Ginger Scoops have shorter hours on Sundays and are closed on Mondays, so none of us have to work tomorrow.
Today, we’re at a unicorn bar.
No, I’m not kidding.
We’re at a goddamn unicorn bar, which is simply called...
Unicorn Bar.
This was not my choice of venue, I assure you. It was Chloe’s.
The bar has simple white tables and chairs—I have no objection there. But the servers are all wearing unicorn headbands, there are paintings of unicorns on the walls, and the bar itself looks like it was attacked by rainbows.
Then there are the drinks. Oh, the drinks. They have names like Glitter Bomb, Let’s Prance, Magic Dust, and Rainbow Delight.
I tried to order a rum and coke, but Chloe wouldn’t let me, so instead I’m drinking a Glitter Bomb. It’s a blue cocktail (thanks to blue curacao) with a disturbing amount of edible glitter, and I’m afraid it’s going to make me poop rainbows or something.
I have another sip. It’s actually quite good, not that I’ll admit that to anyone.
“I still can’t believe you went dancing.” Chloe has a sip of her Rainbow Delight, a layered cocktail with a unicorn pop.
“Well, I did,” I say, thinking back to the way Peter spun me around and made me not care about anything except being close to him.
“Oh my God. You have a dopey look on your face!”
“Do not!” I school my features into a perfect frown.
“You do,” Sarah says. “Is this relationship not-so-fake after all?”
“It’s a fake relationship,” I insist. “But, okay, fine, I like him. Happy now?”
“No!” Chloe cries. “You need to tell me more. Are you hoping it will turn into a real relationship?”
“That’s what he’s hoping.”
She bounces in her seat. “Ooh, how exciting!”
“You need to be cut off,” I mutter.
“I’m only on my second drink.”
“It’s not the booze I’m talking about. It’s all the goddamn sugar.”
“You are such a delight.” Chloe throws a unicorn napkin at me.
“I know, that’s me. Such a delight. Why couldn’t we go to a demon-themed bar instead? Maybe a Goth bar where everything was black instead of rainbow-colored?”
“So he hopes it’ll turn into a real relationship,” Sarah says, “but what do you hope?”
“I hope everyone will stop bugging me about my hare-brained idea to have a fake boyfriend.”
“But you like him. I know it can be scary—it was scary for me, too, when Josh and I started spending time together, but it’s been pretty amazing.”
“And Peter got you to go dancing,” Chloe says. “This isn’t the kind of guy that comes around every day.”
“Well, it’s not every day you spill durian ice cream on someone.”
Chloe places her hand over mine, which is clenched on the table next to the Glitter Bomb. “I think this one might be worth it. You’ve been happier these past few days.”
“I have?” I ask in horror.
She laughs. “Yeah, you’ve been genuinely smiling, not just customer-service smiling.”
“Hmph.” I swirl my straw through the glittery blue of my drink. “I guess you’re right. Peter is just so...nice. I like being with him.”
“Nice” sounds lame, but it’s true. It’s refreshing to be with someone like that.
Chloe pats my hand. “I’m happy for you. You deserve it, after everything that’s happened.”
I swallow, uncomfortable, and then something catches my eye. “Do you see what that table ordered? It looks like the ultimate unicorn sundae.”
The sundae is large enough for four people. Hell, it would probably feed six or eight. There are several scoops of ice cream in a myriad of colors, topped with an extremely generous amount of whipped cream, fruit, and rainbow sprinkles. There are also six unicorn pops and a unicorn cookie.
I look at my menu. I think that’s the Unicorn Deluxe.
This is enough to temporarily distract Chloe from my love life, thank God.
I’m still a bit unsure about the whole Peter thing, though I don’t know how to articulate everything I feel. Nor do I feel like sharing the embarrassing my-mother-interrupted-my-masturbation-session story.
But I’m out with my friends and I had a great date on Friday, and life is better than it’s been in a while.
* * *
It’s after midnight when I get home. Sabrina is up, but Mom and Dad are asleep.
I quietly ascend the stairs and get ready for bed, but this time, I do not look at myself in the mirror. I do not take out my vibrator.
I really need to get my own apartment, but it’s just so damn expensive. A one-bedroom apartment downtown would cost a lot, and I don’t particularly like the idea of having a roommate. I want a place that’s all mine. My sanctuary from the world, without any mothers who stay out late playing mahjong and interrupt me at inopportune times.
And without any sisters knocking on my door when I’m about to go to bed.
“I heard a rumor that you went dancing the other night,” Sabrina says.
God, why is everyone obsessing about that?
“I did,” I say. “Now leave me alone and stop that incessant giggling.”
She gives me the finger—in a loving, sisterly way, of course—and I pick up the greeting card on my night table.
I run my finger over Peter’s words and smile.