Getting Real (Getting Some #3)(35)

After Connor takes care of condom number two, we lie in bed facing each other, exhausted, spent, and satisfied—my leg hitched over his hip and his hands holding my ass like a security blanket.

If I was thinking clearly, if my mind wasn’t clouded by all the orgasms, I might be concerned by how deeply I feel for him. How ruined I am already.

But I’m too resplendently content. Too happy. Joy takes up all the air in the room; there’s nothing left for worry.

So instead, I sleep.

We both do.


*

It’s sunny when my eyes creak open. Still early, probably before 7 a.m., but late enough that there’s a robin on my bedroom windowsill pecking at his reflection in the glass.

I breathe deep and stretch—a little stiff—sore in all the good places.

I fully intend to make a sneaky dash for the bathroom to brush my teeth and untangle my hair, but first . . . I want to know what Connor Daniels looks like when he’s asleep.

Is he a boyish, peaceful slumberer? Is he a devilish sleep-smirker in the midst of a stupendously dirty dream? I hope so.

I want to memorize Connor’s sleep face. Sketch it in my mind so I can transform it into poetry later.

So I roll over in his direction. And blink.

Because the bed is empty beside me.

Connor is gone.





CHAPTER NINE


Connor


“And then I left.”

I’m smiling as I give the D.U.H. group an update on the latest developments between me and Violet the next day. Well, the G-rated version of the updates—because only scumbags kiss and tell.

I haven’t stopped smiling since I left her house. Literally. It might be an undiscovered medical condition—some kind of Joker syndrome, an overdose of endorphins—and if it is, I don’t care. I’m just that fucking happy.

The other members of D.U.H. look at me like I’m an alien.

An asshole alien.

“What do you mean, you left?” Stewart asks.

“Like . . . you left to get her bagels?” Lou guesses.

“You left her a heartfelt note thanking her for a beautiful night and telling her you can’t wait to see her again?” Tikki hopes.

“You left to buy her coffee and pick her flowers from the neighbor’s yard?” Maria tries.

“Nope, I just left. I got out of her way—let her get on with her morning.”

And they still look confused.

“What was in your mind when you made that decision?” Dr. Laura asks.

“Well . . . I’m into Violet in a big way—so I have to play this just right. I can’t be stupid. I don’t want to scare her away. And she’s young.”

“How young?” Karen asks.

“Thirty.”

Lou shakes his head, “Thirty ain’t that young.”

“It’s young enough to have a whole different outlook. Girls like her don’t want some old dude who’s clingy. They want freedom, they want to do their own thing with a man who’s capable of doing his own thing. Sex is the first step. I read that in a dating book—compatibility is huge. If you’re not good together on the screwing front, there’s no point in going forward. That’s how thirty-year-olds think. And our sex was fucking earthshattering, so we’ve passed the first hurdle. Now I need to back off and show her I’m not going to smother her. That’s how this works.”

They still seem concerned.

Dr. Laura adjusts her glasses and seems to choose her words with care.

“Connor, are you sure this is the way you want to handle this? Best-case scenario, it’s very presumptuous. Are you certain this isn’t an excuse to keep Violet at arm’s length? To protect yourself from forming an emotional attachment to another woman, and possibly being hurt again?”

I think about all those careful words. For five seconds.

“Yes, I’m sure. It’s not any of that.”

The D.U.H. posse is unconvinced.

Delilah raises her hands to the sky and prays.

“Jesus, take the wheel. And make it a convertible, Lord, so you can smack Connor upside his stupid man head with a lowlying branch.”

There’s a few muttered amens around the circle. Lou makes the sign of the cross.

“Connor,” Dr. Laura tries again. “What you’re talking about sounds dangerously close to playing mind games. Acting in a way that doesn’t reflect what you truly feel, but as a manipulation to achieve a desired outcome. Those maneuvers tend to end badly for everyone involved.”

I shake my head. “I’m not playing mind games. This is how committed relationships get started now. This is the foundation. Honesty comes later; right now I just have to keep her interested. It’s like the Mandalorian says: this is the way.”

“Fuckin’ Mandalorian again,” Carl snarls.

And everyone groans. Because ever since the new crop of movies came out, he’s deeply resentful of anything Star Wars related. Don’t even get him started on the Jar Jar Binks conspiracy.

“That helmeted bastard could be leading you all off a cliff and you’d follow him saying, This is the way, this is the way. Like zombies.”

“Let’s not digress, Carl. We’ve talked about this.” Laura says.

“Disney is the Empire, Dr. Laura! Mickey is Palpatine. It’s been there in front of us the whole time!”