Page 44 of My Favorite Lost Cause
“Do you want to borrow the book?”
“Nipples, I wasn’t turned on by thebook,” he replies as he rolls onto his stomach.
Which means…he was turned on by me? I like the idea of that way more than I should.
In the evening, we go into town for dinner. There are two bartenders working, including the one with a crush on Charlie. Not that I blame her—Charlie would stand out almost anywhere, and this restaurant is a sea of balding, middle-aged men gone soft aside from him.
“That toothsome bartender is staring at you again.”
He raises a brow. “Toothsome? Have you suddenly turned into one of the Bronte sisters?”
“I meant…the girl with the teeth.”
“Toothsome means attractive, I believe.”
“Eh,” I say with a shrug. “I don’t know if I’d go that far in describing her. Let’s stick with my definition.”
He turns to glance over his shoulder. “Maren, perhaps she’s never been the face of a Tom Ford campaign, but that girl is definitely attractive. Or maybe it’s just that I haven’t had sex in over a week, and she looks more attractive than my right hand.”
I glance at Charlie’s right hand reflexively. His lovely, large hand. I picture it grasping his lovely, large...stop Maren.
“You should ask her out then,” I say, picking up my fork, focusing on my plate, as if the suggestion means less to me than my next bite.
He raises a brow. “Is that what’s going to happen here, now that you’re single? Are we going to be each other’s wingmen?”
“No, because I don’t need a wingman. What would be the point of me dating someone here? I’m not staying.”
Which again has me thinking I shouldn’t be on a cleanse at all. I should be back in Manhattan, being introduced to better men than Harvey.
“Maren, have you ever dated anyonewithouthoping it would lead to marriage and children?”
“Why would I?” I demand. “What else is in it for me? I don’t need some guy’s money.”
He shoves his plate away, laughing. “Companionship? Sex?”
“I have my family for companionship and sex is—” I shrug. “Not all it’s cracked up to be. Unnecessarily stressful.”
That brow of his raises again. I swear to God I’m going to Botox it in his sleep if he keeps it up. “How the fuck is it stressful?” he demands. “Then again, I’m speaking to a woman who’s admitted to freaking out about the healthfulness of her green juice, so if there’s a way to make it stressful, I’m sure you’ll find it.”
I shrug. I could blame Harvey—he certainly didn’t improve the situation—but that stress existed long before him.
“You never know what someone’s going to think. If he’s comparing you to his ex; if he’s decided he prefers someone curvier than you or less curvy. Or he wants someone louder. Or quieter. There’s no standard. No way of knowing what any guy wants or if he’s happy with you. And I just don’t like it that much.”
Harvey was so consistently unhappy with me—not just in bed but everywhere—that it’s almost impossible to imagine anyone could feel otherwise.
Charlie runs a hand through his hair. “Of course you don’t like it much if that’s what you’re thinking the whole time, and if you’re this insecure, my heart breaks for all the women who weren’t models at some point. Maren, if a guy wants to sleep with you in the first place, consider the challenge won.”
“But you need him to enjoy it enough that he wants to stay,” I argue. “Something no female has managed to pull off with you, apparently.”
He finishes his beer. “Exactly. Because it’s not about whether or not you’ve succeeded in some way…Some men, like myself, don’t want a commitment, so there’s no chance of success. You sleep with them just for the fun of it—no other reason. Before you start looking for husband number two, why not attempt to enjoy sex, just for what it is?”
Charlie clearly has no understanding of how deeply I want the things I want. I’ve never felt like a full-fledged member of my family. I’ve woken each day of my sentient life craving a family of my own—a group of people I could love unreservedly without fear that they’d shut me out.
“I don’t think I’m capable of it. If I like someone enough to sleep with him, then no matter what the guy said about commitment, I’d be hoping to change his mind.”
He gives me that cocky half-smile of his, high on one side, full of mocking doubt. “So you’re saying you think you could change me?”
“You might be the only person I know who’s douchey enough that I’dneverthink I could change.”
