Page 24 of Ours to Lose
Somethingphysical.
It was what I’d imagined sex would be like until I’d had it, and the all-consuming whirlwind of pleasure turned out to be more of a light breeze.
Let’s just say my vibrator had been more than enough in comparison.
Apparently not anymore. At least not with Gabe sending me shirtless pictures of himself all sweaty and toned from a workout.
That had been the straw that led me to reach out to Dani and her friend Kelly, who I’d learned liked to socialize with the opposite sex as frequently as Evan did.
The plan had been simple enough. Go to a bar, meet a few guys…
I hadn’t thought beyond that, seeing as I figured I’d be ready to jump on the first thing with two legs and a penis. But evidently, even supercharged horniness had its limits.
While Kelly had been in a lip-lock with her catch for the night within twenty minutes of arriving, I’d sat awkwardly at the bar with the guy’s friend, two seconds from flashing Dani our “Get me the hell out of here” signal.
It wasn’t an appearance issue so much as the way he kept eyeing my tattoos and asking me questions like, “So you’re into pain?”
I really wasn’t. I just liked tattoos. Liked how they could capture even a fraction of nature’s beauty in my skin. How with each new flower or herb or creature, my body became that much closer to looking like a real-life fairy garden.
At one point, he followed me to the bathroom as if he assumed “I have to pee” was code for “come have sex with me in the corner stall.” Which, why would that be a thing? What about public bathrooms made anyone go, “Hell yes, I for sure want to have sex beside this well-used toilet”?
But seeing as sex had been my goal, I let him lean in for a kiss. Maybe there was something to it I just hadn’t discovered yet. Only the second he got close enough for me to smell his sour breath, I’d recoiled.
I didn’t get it. How come Evan and Kelly had no problem making out with strangers, but I couldn’t? It was like I was turned on by the idea of sex but not the reality of it.
My relationship with Patrick had pretty much checked that box. I’d wanted to have sex with him, but every time I did felt like me hoping this would be the time that felt good. That I would finally understand what everyone else was so excited about.
I still didn’t, despite being a straight woman who’d spent most of my life surrounded by men.
My social life growing up had been whichever of Evan’s guy friends we hung out with at the time, since I’d been too shy to initiate my own friendships. I’d gotten along with some girls in school, but never to the point of real connection.
Then I went to culinary school and entered a male-dominated industry where every kitchen I worked in was a boy’s club. According to mainstream television, that scenario should have landed me enough sexual partners to fill an advent calendar.
Meanwhile, I hadn’t had sex for the first time until I was twenty-four, had slept with a grand total of one man, and hadn’t seen a penis in real life since we broke up three years ago. If I was on a sitcom, my vagina would have shriveled up and died by now. I might have thought it had if it weren’t for that kiss with Gabe.
It had been so easy with him. Automatic, almost. Like my body knew how to move and respond to his touch to the point I just sort of sank into it. I wasn’t trapped in my head worrying whether I used too much tongue or if I should use more, or where to put my hands and what sort of noise I should make.
I hadn’t been in my head at all. My body had been in charge, and for once, it hadn’t tensed like a rabbit that spotted a hawk.
I wanted to see what else my body could do. What else came naturally when my defenses fell away.
But it wasn’t like I could waltz up and ask Gabe to have sex with me. He didn’t view me that way. The kiss on New Year’s had just been him helping me out. One of what had to be a dozen New Year’s kisses he’d likely had that meant nothing to him. The fact that it hadn’t come up in any of our texts during the past two months essentially confirmed as much.
And really, I didn’t have time for sex anyway. Until Arden Catering was on its feet, the only thing I needed to score was a competent sous chef.
And maybe a second vibrator.
I fed my frustration into my cleaning, polishing the counters until my reflection shone back at me. Ten minutes later as I was putting on my coat, Jillian walked through the door.
She was the same height as me, a mighty five-two, yet with how her presence filled the prep kitchen, you’d think her head scraped the ceiling.
“Oh good, I caught you,” she said, placing her purse on the spotless counter and removing her leather gloves. “I thought you might have left.”
It was a little after five, the time service started at Ardena. I was still adjusting to the fact that, except for the nights I had events, my evenings were now free.
“I just finished prep for the Cimorelli bridal shower tomorrow,” I said. “We’re all set.”
“Excellent. There’s something I need to discuss with you.”
