Charlie’s studying my face as he lies back on his pillow. I pull the covers up over him and mess up his hair.
“You gonna sleep here?”
“Course. What do you want for breakfast?”
“Waffles,” we say at the same time.
“Okay, but we’re gonna have to put a few berries on them, or broccoli, so we can pretend to be healthy.”
“Not broccoli,” he groans, rolling his eyes. Like he can’t believe how big of an idiot I am. I wonder myself, sometimes.
“Berries it is, then. G’night, kid.” I turn off the bedside lamp, and the nightlight switches on. Gabe thinks Charlie’s too old to have a nightlight—but fuck him. We all need a little light in our lives. Charlie is ours. He should be able to have whatever he wants, as long as we can give it to him.
After consuming five of Michelle’s cookies and two glasses of milk, I crash on the couch without washing up for the night. I want to be able to smell Nina on my fingers just a little while longer until I fall asleep. I think I might even be excited about seeing her tomorrow. I am fully aware that almost everything that led up to us having sex was all wrong. So why does this feeling I have now, and everything I’ve felt since I first started talking to her, feel so damn right?
6
Nina
“The nanny left that guy for Russell? Is she a blind idiot?”
“Oh come on. I mean, she might be an idiot, but Russell’s a handsome man.”
“Sure. In a very Brooks Brothers, bring-him-home-to-meet-Mom kind of way. This guy is so hot I would keep him as far away from my mom as possible. Because she would immediately kick me to the curb and try to give him a blowjob.”
“I thought your parents are still together.”
“They are.”
Marnie came over ten minutes ago, in her Lululemon outfit and sneakers, claiming to be jogging around Brooklyn. But I know she just wanted to check up on me. She had been texting me every ten minutes, since five thirty this morning until I got back to her. Making sure I didn’t get murdered. Now she wants all the juicy details, and I’m trying to stall by claiming that I need a cup of coffee first. As soon as my timer goes off, she presses down on my Bodum French press, pours me a cup, and says, “Now. Tell me about the sexy bits.”
I can’t help smiling as I think about how I woke up this morning, feeling sore in places I’ve never been sore before, in a way that has never felt so darn good. I had lain awake, remembering last night, still tasting him in my mouth, smelling him on my skin. But I almost couldn’t believe it wasn’t just a dream. I had immediately checked my phone to see if he’d called or texted and then realized that we didn’t exchange numbers. We didn’t even exchange last names.
I can’t believe I physically surrendered myself to a stranger so many times. Was as vulnerable as I could be…and I might never see Vince again. The thought had caused my stomach to turn earlier—not the fact that it happened—the possibility that it won’t happen again. But now that I’ve had a shower and an hour to get used to the idea, I am almost complacent just focusing on how good he made me feel for a night. And how he saved me from what would surely have been the lamest breakup drinking binge ever. He turned my closed-off anger into openness, turned that into lust, and turned that into sweet satisfaction. He’s a sexy alchemist. I’m grateful.
And I can’t stop smiling.
“Uh-huh,” Marnie replies, even though I still haven’t told her about the sexy bits yet—with words, anyway.
We both collapse onto my sofa.
“Well, I already know you brought him back here, because this place smells like sex. The coffee and incense did nothing to cover it up. Nice try, though.”
I put the coffee mug down and laugh, pulling my knees up to my chin.
“So I take it he had a penis and a condom and he knew how to use them?”
“Oh, Marnie.” I drop my forehead to my knees, covering my face with my hands. “Oh my God.” I lift my head up, but I can’t look at her when I say it out loud: “He had a penis and a condom. And he had fingers and a mouth and a tongue. And his eyes. Oh God, his eyes are what really killed me.”
“Yeah. That and the big hard weapon between his legs, right?”
I’m blushing. I didn’t divulge much information about my sex life with Russell to Marnie. Because there wasn’t that much to talk about, and also, we all work together, so it wasn’t appropriate. But she’s easy and fun to talk to, and I have to talk about this with someone. “Oh my God. It was so amazing.”
“So the sex all happened before he told you that he had stalked you?”
“After. Well—wait. Partly after.”
“That’s hot. I don’t know why that’s hot, but it’s hot. Last night, Dave and I binge-watched Arrested Development, made out for thirty-five seconds, and then fell asleep on the couch. I woke up in the middle of the night and his hand was on my boob, his mouth smushed up against my cheek. We literally fell asleep in the middle of making out. Your thing sounds a little more fun.”
“I would love to stay in and make out while watching Arrested Development. That’s basically my dream date.”
“Please. In case I haven’t made it clear yet—I’m proud of you. It takes guts to spread your legs for a total stranger. Guts and a blue drink.”
“I don’t know why, but I just trusted him. I mean, I knew he wouldn’t hurt me. On purpose, anyway.”
“Yeah. It’s the eyes.”
“Yeah.” I cover my face again, but that just makes it worse. Because those eyes of his are all I see. And his mouth. And his chest. And his hands. And his arms. And his butt. “I kind of hope he doesn’t come back.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m afraid I’ll fall in love with him. I don’t think I could handle getting my heart broken by a guy like that.”
“Awww.” She pats my knee. “Sweetie.”
I sigh. I’ve been sighing all morning. Vince Whatever-his-name-is is the kind of guy who makes women sigh. And take their clothes off. And scream while having orgasms.
Oh God.
“Well. What the hell right? What’s the worst that could happen? You’re what—thirty?”
I gasp. “I’m twenty-seven.”
“You are?” She appears to be genuinely shocked by this news.
“Yes.”
“I thought we were around the same age.”
“I’m five years younger than you.”
“Wow.”
“Do I look like I’m in my thirties?”
“No. God no. You look nineteen. You’ve just always had a thirty-something vibe to you. Like, we always joke that you have a secret husband and five kids in Canada and you just work here during the school year.”
“You do? Who’s we? Is that really what people think of me?”
“Well, honey, it’s not an insult or anything. You’re just usually so proper. It’s about time you realized you don’t have to act like a first-grade teacher every second of your life.”