Confessions of a Bad Boy(37)

11





Nate




The tension between me and Jessie as we begin our long drive back down to L.A. is so thick you could swim in it.

Since I started my video blog the one question I got more than any other was about how to deal with the morning after. The sense of embarrassment between two people that makes you talk to each other like bad actors with a half-written script. The memories of what you did the night before looking a whole lot worse in the unforgiving light of day. Avoiding conversation not because you both regret something, but because you’re not sure if you regret it for exactly the same reasons.

I’ve got a whole new appreciation for those questions right now, and a load of new material for my blog.

Once the polite goodbyes to the rest of the people at the retreat were said, and the bags shoved quickly into the back of my car, we got inside and haven’t said a word in the hour since.

To be honest, we hadn’t talked much for the entire Sunday. Not unless commanding each other to do various things ‘harder’ and ‘faster’ counts as ‘talking.’

Rushing back from the golf course on Saturday turned out to be the tip of the iceberg. After that we were late for dinner because we f*cked in the shower, left the table early to go for a walk and f*cked up against a tree at the far edge of the vineyard, then had a few drinks with the others before finally doing it in the pool. I’d never met a woman whose stamina could match mine the way Jessie’s did, and it turned out that learning Jason the porter’s first name was a smart move when we ended up needing him to discreetly get us more condoms, having exhausted my supply…although judging by the satisfied look on Dominique’s face over dinner, it seemed possible that the porter had needed some for himself anyway.

After another morning-call blowjob, we had a long serious talk about how all of this was a bad idea, and how we needed to stop doing it. We both promised vehemently that was it, then broke the promise around forty-five seconds later when we passed each other a little too close on the way to the bathroom.

During a quick lunch where a few others commented on how much time we were spending in our room, and how low-energy both of us seemed, I thought on my feet and told everyone Jessie was feeling a little ill. I think they bought it, though I don’t know for sure, because Jessie and I finished eating quickly and took advantage of the excuse to spend the rest of the day working through more positions than an Olympic gymnastics routine.

We were right about one thing, though, which was that things would change as soon as we left the retreat. The second I pulled out of the long driveway and hit the main roads, the cold realization of what had just happened descended upon us like a blanket made of guilt and embarrassment. As if the retreat itself was a dream in which anything goes, and the long drive south was the journey back to reality.

“Nate…” Jessie says quietly, after about twenty miles of the most focused driving I’ve ever done in my life.

“Yeah?” I say, sounding perky.

“Are we…just not gonna talk about this weekend?”

I wrap my fingers tightly around the wheel as anxiety bubbles up from deep in my soul.

“What’s to talk about? It was an arrangement. It was just sex—”

“Right. Just while we were at the retreat. It doesn’t count,” Jessie interrupts wearily. “I know the lines by now, Nate. We’ve been saying them all weekend.”

“Right.”

She takes a breath. “But…was it?”

“Was it what?”

“You know what.”

“I don’t.”

Jessie throws her head back and sighs.

“Come on, Nate. Don’t be unfair.”

I curb myself before spitting out another dismissive, instinctual response. Normally I’d shrug it off, but this particular situation – because it’s Jessie – is anything but normal for me and for once I have no idea how to react. She must notice my change in expression, because instead of pushing me again, she waits for me to talk.

“I don’t know, Jessie,” I say, and it comes out sounding like an admittance of defeat. “I’ve got a million questions I’ve got to answer myself before we can talk about it.”

I glance over and she nods with empathy.

“Okay,” she says, more strength in her voice now. “How about we get back to L.A., leave each alone for a few days, and then we can talk about it.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“I mean, we’re cool, right?”

“Of course,” I say, looking at her to show I mean it. “We’re always cool. It’s us.”

“Good,” Jessie says, smiling a little.



We don’t talk much for the rest of the journey, both of us comfortable enough with Jessie’s idea of giving each other some time to just relax and enjoy the drive, and the rambling tunes on the radio filling the quiet space. For a while, I can almost believe that things really are cool, that we can really just go back to the way things were.

But then I look over at her, and realize that rationally, reasonably, and objectively, my mind might understand, but my body’s going to take much longer to forget.

Eventually I pull up outside her apartment, and I get out to help her with her heavy bags up the elevator and to her apartment. She opens the door, takes the bags from me, and walks a little way into the apartment before turning back towards me.