Page 6 of Changing the Playbook
“No rush.” The lie tastes medicinal. “Just… usually we’re at the main event by now…”
Curiosity kindles in his expression. “How do you usually do this?”
“Efficiently.” The word escapes before I can edit it.
“Efficiently,” he repeats, like I’ve just admitted I organize hookups with Gantt charts. “That’s not exactly the adjective most people aim for.”
My face ignites. “I didn’t mean?—”
“I know.” He caresses my cheek. “Efficient doesn’t mean good.”
“It’s quieter,” I admit, surprising myself with honesty. “In my head, I mean. When things move fast and someone else directs, I don’t have to…” I gesture vaguely at my temple, already regretting this long and completely unnecessary detour into Oversharing Avenue. “Process so much.”
His expression softens a little. “That’s what you need, Sophie? To stop thinking?”
“That’s always what I need.” I shrug, aiming for casual and missing by miles. “One-night stands are simple. No complications, no expectations. Just… relief.”
Mike studies me with a focus that makes me want to check if my thoughts are leaking. I don’t know exactly why this guy gives a damn, or seems to, but when he takes my hand, that simple contact sends electricity branching up my arm and jumpstarts my brain. No more too-much-information tonight, strictly physic?—
“Let me ask you something,” he interrupts my thoughts with a statement, not a question. “Do you actually like them? Theseefficientencounters?”
My mouth opens to offer an automatic yes. Of course I like them. Why else would I keep having them, right? That’s basic behavioral conditioning—we repeat rewarding activities—right? Everyone needs to have sex once in a while, and college kids are meant to be like horny rabbits, right?
“They …” I pause, genuinely considering. “They address a need.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“Then—”
“Do you find them good?” He rephrases with the patience of someone prepared to wait. “Not just… functional. But actuallygoodforyou?”
The word sits between us.
Good?
I think about my handful of post-Jimmy encounters. Brief, mechanical transactions where I went through the motions and they went through theirs. Where I got what I came for—respite from the constant static in my head, the worry-roster about Mom, the scheduling Tetris, the pressure—and walked away.
Physical checkbox marked, back to real life.
But good? The sort of sex that’s supposed to make your neurons light up like Christmas and your body sing hosannas? Is that something I’ve ever experienced? With Jimmy? Withanyone? Hell, do I even know what that would feel like if I did experience it?
“I don’t…” My voice cracks slightly. I stare at his hand holding mine, at the careful way his thumb traces my knuckles. The word comes slowly. “No.”
I expect to see disappointment on his face, or confusion, followed by a polite excuse as he walks toward the door. Instead, Mike’s face transforms with a smile that crinkles around his eyes. The same smile he’d given me from across the room in the bar and a dozen times during our conversation. And it’s anicesmile.
“Then let’s figure it out.”
Five words. That’s all. But they totally rearrange something fundamental in my understanding of how tonight is going to go. And, suddenly, walking up to a guy in a bar seems like the easiest thing in theworldcompared to what we’re about to do.
“That’s not—people don’t—” My laugh comes out high and nervous. “People don’t usually give a shit about that…”
“Says who?” He shrugs like he’s suggesting Thai instead of pizza, not proposing to reconfigure my entire one-night-stand framework.
“What about you?” The question tumbles out, driven by genuine concern matched with suspicion. “Won’t you feel… cheated if we’re focusing on… me?”
A shadow flickers across his features—there and gone. “For years, everything was about me taking whatever I wanted whenever I wanted it.” His voice drops, weighted with something that looks like regret. “It meant I could be pretty terrible to people I cared about, so this year, I’m trying something new.”
There’s a story there, buried under careful words. We all have them—the befores that shape our afters—but I’m not sure that I’ve earned the right to his yet. But his led him here, to my apartment, offering something I didn’t know was possible to want… well, I’m not sure if I can say no.
