Playing It Safe(64)

We slow down our movements until I’m fully seated on his semi-hard length, both of us slick with sweat and gasping for breath. I run my hands through his hair and gently pull back so that his lips are level with mine and I can finally kiss him. Our mouths open, and the feel of our tongues gliding against each other’s melts me. It’s slow, deliberate, and exquisite—the perfect description for Alex.

Then like a bullet to the brain, a fleeting thought runs through my head: if I’m not careful with him, there will be no if I fall in love with him, it will be more like when I fall in love with him. I try to shoo it away, but that’s hard to do with the way his fingers are soothingly running up and down my spine. Mix that with him still being inside me and his searing kiss, and I know I’m in big trouble. And this is technically our first date.

Who am I kidding?

I’m already falling for him.





CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The next week is kind of surreal for me. I can’t tell you how many times within the first week of dating someone they had me running for the hills. But with Alex, it’s been nothing but smooth sailing. I’m sure most people will say that it’s only been a week and every relationship in the beginning is like that. My ass every relationship is like that in the beginning. That’s the biggest crock of shit. Pure propaganda bullshit spouted out by, yet again, books and movies.

Does any of this sound familiar? There is a fair young maiden—a virgin, of course, because she’s never had sex in all her twenty-one years of living. And before you go off the deep end and start hollering about how there’s nothing wrong with being a virgin, I agree there is absolutely nothing wrong with it. But in these stories the chick is always a virgin with a magic vagina who apparently has a beacon in said vagina that only attracts tattooed bad boys or roguish millionaires who are without one flaw and sweep her off her feet so they can live happily ever after.

Not one f*cking flaw.

Like I said, propaganda bullshit.

You know why?

Because no one is perfect. Not even the virgin with the magic vagina. Everyone has skeletons in their closet. Actually, some people have a whole goddamn graveyard in there. So the sooner you get all that shit out in the open, the better.

Unfortunately for me, I’ve usually had the pleasure of finding out about those skeletons within days of dating someone. Don’t get me wrong, there are some who have slipped through the cracks, and I’ve let down my guard long enough to get zapped in the ass. And I mean that literally. Ladies and gentleman of the jury, I present to you exhibit A: Jake Ryan.

No, not the Jake Ryan from Sixteen Candles. That was just a coincidence, but that was his real name. We met, of all places, in the checkout lane of a grocery store. I’m rolling my eyes just thinking about it. Anyway, we dated for a few weeks, and everything was going great. Really great. He seemed perfect.

One night post-coital, I dozed off. Next thing I knew, a pair of teeth bit down really hard on my ass, which made me shoot straight up in bed and yell so loud that the paint may have chipped from the walls. In total shock, I rubbed the spot and asked him what possessed him to chew on my ass like he was Hannibal Lecter. He said he was trying to get me back into the mood and thought I’d enjoy it. I don’t know when I gave off the vibe that I’d be into having my ass chomped like it was a cheeseburger. I spent the rest of the night with one eye open until I could make a clean getaway in the morning, and Jake was never to be heard from again. I had teeth marks and a welt on my ass for a good week afterward, making sitting down a chore because I could only sit on one ass cheek comfortably.


I have plenty of stories like this one. Too many. So when I say that so far this week has been surreal, I mean it.

Alex and I have spent the last week together in a blissful bubble of happiness. With every layer that is peeled back and revealed to me about him, I find myself wanting more, needing more from him. And that is saying a lot because I may be a lot of things, but needy is not one of them. So for me to admit that to myself is pretty huge. No, I’m not in love with him, but I’m definitely more in like with him than before.

And what’s not to like?

He’s attentive, thoughtful, caring, affectionate, sexy, gorgeous, suave, insatiable, interesting, funny … I could probably go on.

Every night has been spent either sleeping at his house or at my house. He’s even come to my office a couple of times this week and brought me lunch because he thought I was working too hard. Add sweet to the list. So can you blame me for thinking somewhere in the back of my mind that there has got to be something wrong with him? Like maybe he saves his toenail clippings in a ziplock bag. Or maybe he has to repeatedly wax his back because if not he’d look like Sasquatch. I’m actually right in the middle of trying to block out a few of these crazy theories while sitting in my office—one of which involves Alex potentially being the Zodiac Killer—when my office phone rings.

“Julia,” the receptionist says cheerily. “Your one o’clock appointment is here.”

I swipe my mouse and open my desktop to see that I do in fact have an appointment at one o’clock that I had completely forgotten about. Probably because I’ve been spending the better part of my morning trying to find out if Alex’s personality fits with a serial killer’s profile.

“Thank you,” I tell her. “You can send them in.”