“I think given you don’t want kids it makes a lot of sense to date older?—”
“Right. So, Mr. Appropriate assumed we’d have sex. Like—just assumed it.”
I’m full of questions but I don’t need to ask them as Christine will tell all, so I sip my Bloody Mary.
“When I said I didn’t want to go back to his place, he’d gotten annoyed. Like rude. Like ‘I bought you dinner,’ and he wasn’t looking for a relationship—mind you. Oh no, he was basically just under the assumption that sex is what happened after dinner.”
“Who was this date with?”
“Harold Thompson.”
“That name is familiar.”
“Divorced two years ago.”
I snap my fingers. “I remember. His kids are older than Stella. Yeah, I’ve heard rumors that he does the escort thing from time to time.” Christine’s eyes bulge. “I don’t know if they’re true. I can’t even remember who said it. How did you end up on a date with him?”
She waves a hand. “It’s not important. The point is, he was an ass. Dating is hard. And I’d be willing to bet if I had sex with Harold, it would suck, and here you are with a younger man who is model-fucking gorgeous and he walked you to my door, and is concerned about you, and I want some of that!”
Yes, I’m laughing.
“Seriously. Tell Dorian I’m in mortal danger and need security,” she whines.
And then a flash of last night hits, of the orgasm that rocked through me, and I have to pluck at my sweater to wave it like a fan to cool me down.
“I don’t know why you’re holding back.” Her statement is half-whine and half-serious, and I settle in to have the conversation she’s been pushing.
“Richard went through a succession of girlfriends. Stella lived through them all.”
“But he’s serious with this one, right?”
“Jessica. Yes, he’s serious with her—I think. But there’s a reason not to do what he does. I need to model good behavior.”
“I agree!” Christine jumps in. “Let her see you date. Let your daughter see that dating isn’t always unicorns shooting fireworks out the anus.”
“So you’re saying that you think Richard is in the right?”
“You know I think that guy’s an ass,” Christine says, waving her celery stick. “But at least he’s living. You, my dear, are over here editing your life like it’s a press release. And all the while you’re having this hot sex?—”
“I haven’t told you?—”
“You don’t need to! You know how I know? Because if sex sucked, you’d talk about it. It would’ve been listed as a reason to not go there again. But the only roadblock I’ve heard mentioned is age and Stella—neither of which are valid roadblocks.”
I open my mouth to disagree.
“Come on,” Christine shouts. “If I can date a guy almost fifteen years older why can’t you date a guy ten years younger? Who says only men are allowed to date younger? That’s bullshit.”
I rub my forehead and pluck a pickle from my drink. “He needs someone younger,” I counter.
“For what? Sex?” She arches a brow. “When he’s with you, does he act like he needs someone younger?”
The memory hits fast—his mouth, his breath, his weight pressing me into the mattress—and I have to reach for my drink just to ground myself.
“Yeah, I’m taking that as a no.”
“I mean long term. And he’s still figuring things out.”
“Okay. Let me go over this with you. Nick being from across the pond—as in the Atlantic Ocean—that’s a distance that warrants fling status. This man is DC-based. The only ocean between you is the one you’re manufacturing. He travels for work? So do you. You say you don’t even want a husband. You, my friend, are still figuring things out. What’s wrong with enjoying what you have in the moment? I would kill to be you.”