Page 8 of The Playboy SEAL
When you’ve never opened the door to this, it’s hard to understand what it truly means. How can so many people date? The probability that you’ll end up alone and hurt is high. Almost certain, actually. People don’t have to like each other to have sex. Not even a little bit. You just have to want sex and find the other person physically attractive. The simplicity of it makes anything other than this mindset absolutely boggling. Perhaps I could find someone worth keeping around. I wouldn’t be so lonely. My mom would finally be able to meet someone in my life other than my girlfriends. The thought makes my heart race.
My friends start a casual conversation about my sex life. I don’t balk. It’s not normal for a woman to lead a lifestyle where boyfriends don’t exist. Even if I don’t agree with their choices, I understand why they think I’m strange. It is strange. In college it was perfectly acceptable as long as you used all the proper precautions. Suddenly in our late twenties, I’m an oddity.
“Let’s make it interesting,” Jasmine says. “If you can have a normal relationship with a dude, then we all pay for your share of the girls’ vacation. It’s Vegas this year, so you know how awesome it would be.”
I smile even though I’m still nervous and confused as sin. Never one to shy away from a bet, I say, “You’re on. Get out your Gucci wallets, ladies. I’m going to crush a relationship, and then you’ll all wonder why you can’t find the right one.”
“If she doesn’t win and fails miserably, like we all predict, then she has to buy drinks and dinners the entire vacation,” Charlotte says, her tone victorious.
I stand, place my hands on my hips, and cock my head to the side. “Oh, ye of little faith, you have yourselves a deal.” Who the fuck am I going to find to participate in this experiment long enough to garner a free trip to Vegas? “How long does the relationship have to last?”
I shake Charlotte’s hand because she’s closest and because she’s smiling so wide it’s almost a snarl.
“Months. And you can’t sleep with him until at least the fourth date,” she says through her teeth.
I widen my eyes as I glance at each of my friends one by one. They nod in agreement.
“That’s an average amount of time, Teala,” Charlottereplies. My expression must be alarmed. “Four dates is actually on the lower end. I usually don’t sleep with a guy until, like, the fifth or sixth date.” She must wear a chastity belt made of solid steel and swallow the goddamn key.
I sit down and put my head in my hands. I don’t want them to see me sweat, but damn. Admitting I have no idea what I’m doing is hard.
“I’ll need advice. I don’t know if I can wait that long. There are actual decent-looking men out in the world who will wait that long for sex? Four dates?” Incredulity seeps into my voice. “A relationship. Sure, fine. That’s something I could manage, but waiting four dates for sex is like torture!”
“If he really wants to be with you, he will put in the work and time. You can’t use sex to keep a relationship going,” Charlotte explains. “That’s lesson number one.”
I nod.
“Find common ground.”
Common ground for me has always been deciding who goes downtown first.
I glance at my quiet friend to my right. Carina scoots her chair closer to me.
“Teala, what’s the worst that could possibly happen?”
Leave it to the writer to ask the open-ended questions—the questions I don’t want to answer. She makes me feel things I’d rather never feel.
Looking at her big brown eyes, I realize what she’s trying to force me to understand. “I could like it,” I reply.
That would be so much worse than anything else. It would be terrifying.
From across the room, I hear my cell phone chiming with a new text.
CHAPTER FOUR
Macs
Teala doesn’t respondto my text right away. This is already more work than swiping at my cell phone screen. Maybe she has no clue who I am, so she’s ignoring me. I text a little more detail.Moose gave me your number. I work with him.There, now she’ll know exactly what she’s working with. Literally and figuratively. I’m not lazy. It’s quite the opposite. I’m one hundred percent constantly. Keeping things like women and dates less complicated is a requirement for my sanity. I drum my fingers on the side of the cabinet as I let my imagination get the better of me.
After a daydream moves from me killing a bad guy while fucking a bottle blond, I realize there’s still no response. If Moose hadn’t told me she was worth it, I wouldn’t have even bothered with explaining. I tap my foot to the beat of the music as I alternate my gaze from my cell phone to the kitchen cabinets I’m currently trying to put up in my dust bowl of a house. My friend Tahoe is outside with the table saw and a cooler of beer. For adrunk Saturday, he’s gotten more accomplished than he usually does. He’s the one friend who knows how to do everything. He’s a kickass SEAL, and he built his own house from the ground up.
He lumbers through the front door with an armful of unpainted molding and drops the stack on the counter in front of me. “Time for paint,” he says, wiping his brow with a tattooed-covered forearm. Tahoe is his nickname because he’s built like a motherfucking SUV. He has everything, including that third row in the back that most other trucks are void of. Picking his beer up, he polishes off the contents in a few seconds flat. “What the fuck are you doing in here?” he asks, his brow furrowed at the accumulating molding.
I shrug, finish my own bottle of beer, and set the empty down in front of me. “I’m exercising,” I say, flexing my bicep as I make a show of popping the top off another brew. “Painting will be quick. You’re doing the time-consuming part outside.”
“Fair point. Maybe we should trade places.” He scoffs and digs for his cell phone in his pocket. A huge grin breaks out on his scary face. He flashes the screen my way.
“Nice rack,” I say. “Is it new?”
