Page 34 of Love Lessons
“Maybe,” I concede. “But he’s just reached out to me for the first time in years. And I have this idea that I want him to give me a second chance. Or teach him a lesson. One or the other.” I take a breath. “What if you could teach me? Tell me what turns a guy on. And, uh, show me. Maybe. If that’s not too weird.”
He stares.
“Oh God, that is weird, right? I’m sorry. Crap! Forget I ever mentioned it. Never mind! I’m…” I’m going to flee. I whirl around, because the nearest exit is through the bathroom.
But he catches me by the wrist. “Hold on there, contessa. Not so fast. You didn’t wait to hear what I think of this idea.”
“Never mind,” I say quickly. “I’ll just go and die of embarrassment now.”
He chuckles. “From the sound of things, that dude is not worth your trouble.”
“That’s my decision,” I point out quietly. Even though Charli might agree with him.
“Look, I’m on board for anything that results in you and me blowing off some steam together. Especially if we’re naked in your bed.”
“Really?” I’m surprised he’d say that, now that he knows for sure I’m super awkward and also bad in bed.
“Well, yeah.” He slides his palm down my wrist and presses my hand between both of his. “I know a fun idea when I hear it. But like I said, there’s nothing you can actually learn from me that you don’t already know.”
“Who are you, the Wizard of Oz? Besides, you’re wrong,” I insist. “You can tell me what guys want, and how to be more fun and adventurous. It’s just like fashion tips, Ian. Everyone wears clothes, but not everyone wears themwell.”
He snorts. “It’s not the same at all. Because those of us whodon’twear clothes well don’t care all that much.”
“But you’re still judged,” I point out. “Your manager wants you to look sharp, because the world is judging you on its own terms. How is that not the same?”
“Aw, honey. If I get you into that bed—” He nods toward his queen-sized bed covered with a thick white comforter. “—nobody is gonna judge you. Not on my watch.”
You say that now. “Then it’s a deal,” I say in a slightly hysterical voice. “You show me the ropes. I’ll make it worth your while.” That comes out of my mouth with far more nonchalance than I actually feel.
“Hot damn. This conversation didnotgo where I expected it to.”
“I bet,” I say under my breath. But then I plan my exit. As a businessperson, I know how to close a deal, and I know how to quit while I’m ahead. I grab my measuring tape off the floor and leave before he comes to his senses.
ELEVEN
A Living Demonstration of my Awkwardness
VERA
Regret setsin about two minutes later, as I’m needlessly touching up my makeup befor dinner. Honestly, what was I thinking? I can’t believe I asked him for seduction lessons. Only a loser would do that.
Oh wait, that’s me. A confident girl would just…wink at him or something and invite him over later. But me? I give a living demonstration of my awkwardness and then beg him for help.
I lean closer to the mirror and tap the mascara brush against my bottom lashes. As if lush eyelashes will make me less of a freak.
The truth is that Idoneed help in the bedroom. I need some straight talk from someone who knows what turns a guy on. I lack experience. I’ve only ever slept with one guy—the same one who told me that I wasn’t enough between the sheets.
My only source of information up to this point has been women’s magazines. From articles with names like “Ten Ways to Thrill Your Man.” I’ve scrolled through dozens of these articles, but their advice is always too generic.Eye contact is key. Make time for sex. Put on some mood music.
As if any of that could address the real issue—that I don’t enjoy sex that much, and faking it never seems to work.
An antique clock chimes somewhere out in the hallway, and a wave of anxiety rises up inside me. Before I can even deal with the awkwardness I’ve created, I have to survive a friendly meal with nine other people.
Yikes. I toss the mascara onto the dressing table and trot out of the room. Maybe a cocktail will help. My sandals sink into the rich carpet runner on the grand staircase as I descend toward the main dining room.
I’d been told that dinner would be served “family style” in the villa’s dining room. And that might be true, if the family in question were Italian royalty. I step into the room and find the table is already set with china and crystal and loaded down by platters of mouth-watering dishes.
“Wow,” I say in a hushed tone.
