3
Lukas
After my workout and a shower, I sit down at my kitchen table with my first cup of coffee. My mind wanders to the Abby situation before I even raise the cup to my mouth as it has for most of the morning.
The question is—what to do about it?
So far, my best idea is to camp out on her doorstep around the time she gets home from work so she can’t avoid me. I’ll talk her out of any awkwardness and promise I hadn’t taken her seriously to ease her mind. Keeping it all very light and casual. This seems the best option. In my experience, letting a woman stew with embarrassment never leads anywhere good, so I’ll force the issue. After, she might be uncomfortable for a bit, but as long as I’m cool about it, treat her as I always have, we’ll go back to being friendly neighbors.
No harm, no foul.
And eventually, after months of seeing her in mousy clothes, no makeup and pulled-back hair, I’ll forget what she looks like in those jeans and skimpy tank top. Forget those lush, pink lips and tumble of brown waves. I’m sure, after time, with proper discipline, I’ll once again see her as my sweet little neighbor.
With time, last night will seem like a dream and I’ll stop wondering what it’d be like to experience that kind of innocence. Or how I could teach her about all that pent-up sexuality she’s been carrying around.
I can’t believe she’s gotten to me. I shake my head, clearing it from the lingering lust. I’ll get over it. She isn’t an option. A girl like Abby deserves to be taken home to the family, and I don’t do involved.
Don’t get me wrong I have nothing against commitment. Strings are great for some guys, just not me. I’m well aware it can work, and I don’t have any childhood trauma that makes me leery of women. In fact, I grew up in a great home with parents who’d adored each other, so I have a healthy respect for relationships. Only, I’d spent too many nights watching my mom worry and fret about my dad when he went off to work, and I can’t do that to a woman. It’s not fair.
Unattached is best.
Some other guy will get to explore Abby and all her curiosity, and I’ll stick to my endless parade of pretty, vapid party girls.
Girls like Rachel, the to-die-for redhead I’d met last weekend and was supposed to see Friday night. She’s wild and loves sex. Any and all kinds of sex. Only now, I can’t quite work up the same level of enthusiasm I had about our plans. Post Abby’s surprise visit, those plans now seem boring and trite. Maybe I’ll give Rachel to Trevor, he loves redheads, and she’d made it clear she was interested in—what had she called it? I cringe remembering her words. “Having herself a fireman sandwich.”
Yikes, what the hell had I’d been thinking?
I have no desire to go out with Rachel again. She seems like a hassle instead of convenience. I’ll pass her off to Trevor. Without thinking too much about how last night with Abby is affecting my actions, I pick up my cell and text her to cancel. Later I’ll send her info to Trevor and he can do what he wants with her.
Dropping my phone back on the table, I pop open my laptop and power up, taking a sip of coffee as the machine churns through the startup. Even when I’m not working I still go through email, and I click on the icon, waiting while mail loads.
I freeze, mid-sip at the top email. It’s from Abby.
The subject line reads,About Last Night.
How does she have my address? Then I vaguely recall us exchanging information about a month after I’d moved in. I check the time stamp. She’d sent it at eight thirty this morning, well after the alcohol had worn off.
It must be to explain. I click it open and skim while taking another sip of coffee—and start to choke, coughing and sputtering as hot liquid clogs my windpipe. What in the holy hell is this?
I straighten in my chair and read in earnest.
Lukas,
Yes, this morning I woke up with the appropriate mortification, and I’m sure you can imagine my embarrassment. Of course I’d determined the only logical course of action was to put my house up for sale and move as far away as possible. But, see, in the shower it hit me…the margaritas just gave me the courage to face what I wanted and take action. Turning thirty has made me realize, if I’m not careful, I’ll go my whole life playing it safe. I don’t want that. So, I’m taking a deep breath and crossing my fingers you’re a man of your word. God, I hope you didn’t make your offer in vain. I’m terrified writing this, but I’m not going to let that stop me.
So here goes. I accept.
I thought about what you said last night, and while I’m not advanced enough to talk dirty, I figured I could start with email and work up from there. As soon as I can say the words without sounding stupid, I promise I’ll try. It’s the least I can do, right?
Since you’re willing to help a girl out, I thought I’d return the favor and make you a list of the kinds of things I want to try. If I’m going to do this, I might as well make sure I get some of these items checked off my list. I’m sure some of this sounds kind of lame to you, but hey, I have to start somewhere. I can’t get what I want if I don’t ask for it. Or at least that’s a rumor from a meme I saw on the Internet.
Completely humiliating, but here goes nothing:
1. Have an orgasm. (Yes, I know it’s sad.)
2. Have really great sex. (Don’t judge me.)
3. Oral sex, both kinds. (I’m sure you can see why I need you.)