Sweeter Than Fiction

Chapter One

Abby

“Look, sweetheart, if you’re not careful, you’re going to end up alone. You’re going to die with your knitting needles in hand and surrounded by your cats.”

I roll my eyes at my best friend, Jenson. Pointing my finger at him, I reply, “Uhm, don’t you think you’re being a bit dramatic? I have more than just my cats and my knitting.”

“You do realize that the last line you said makes you sound like an old spinster, right?”

“Jenson, I’m thirty-three. I’m not in college anymore.”

“Exactly. You’re only thirty-three. Don’t you think you should get out and have some fun?”

“I’m out with you now. Doesn’t that count?”

He sighs. “One, we are at the bar right next to your apartment building. I’m not sure if that counts as going out. And two, it took me over an hour to convince you to leave at all.”

“Man, I finally come out with you, and you’re still busting my balls.”

I love Jenson, but he’s the exact opposite of me. He’s the greatest gay bestie a girl could ask for. He’s outgoing and fun and always the life of the party. Meanwhile, I’d rather avoid the party altogether. He’s the perfect yin to my yang.

Unfortunately, that also means that he occasionally forces me out of my comfort zone.

“When was the last time you went on a date?” He asks.

There he goes again.

“What’s the point? It never goes anywhere.”

“Haven’t you ever heard of the law of averages?”

“Huh?”

“Well, if you only go on one date a year, chances are, it’s not going to end in holy matrimony. But if you dated more, the chances of that would go way up.”

“Who says I’m desperate for holy matrimony?”

“Even if it’s not that, you could at least have someone who could give you some toe-curling orgasms.”

“What do I need a man for? I have a vibrator and smutty books. I have plenty of orgasms, and they’re better than any a man has ever given me.”

He wiggles his eyebrows at me. “You just haven’t found the right guy.”

Maybe he’s right, but chances are, I’m not going to meet the right guy any time soon. I hate dating. I’m weird and awkward. I always say too much or too little or just the wrong thing entirely. Men aren’t overly turned on by my knitting or my cats.

My romance books and my vibrator never judge me.

“Did you have me come out tonight just to give me shit?” I question.

“I’m sorry,” he replies. “I just worry about you.”

“Why? I’m fine.”

“You barely even leave the house anymore.”

He has a point, but honestly, there’s just not really a need for it. I work from home, and I live in a city where I can have anything I want delivered any time I want. I take full advantage of that fact.

“I like my apartment,” I defend. “I have it exactly the way that I want it. Why would I want to leave? There are too many people outside.”

He lets out a small laugh. “It cracks me up that you are such an introvert, yet you choose to live in one of the most crowded cities on Earth.”

“New York is my home. I grew up here. As much as I hate people, the thought of going somewhere new scares me even more.”

“How about you let me set you up?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why not?” He whines.

“Because I’m nowhere near that desperate. And I’m really in no hurry to find a boyfriend.”

“Will you at least consider it?”

I sip my wine. “Tell me why it ‘s so important to you.”

“Because I have this overwhelming fear that one day, I’m going to come to your apartment and find you dead. With a smutty book in one hand and your vibrator in the other. An open can of frosting on the coffee table. And your cats eating the flesh from your lifeless body.”

“Wow,” I stammer. “That was…detailed. Have you been binging The First 48 again?”

“Well…yes. But that’s beside the point. It’s completely possible.”

I may think his whole scenario is completely ridiculous, but a tiny inkling of a thought creeps into my mind. If God forbid something were to happen to me, how long would it take someone to find my body? Would my cats really gnaw on me if they ran out of food? Would the fire department think I was a loser freak if they saw all my yarn and my vibrator?

Oh, good lord.

“Okay, I’ll think about it.”

After finally getting Jensen’s attention off of my indefinitely lonely demise, we actually had a lovely time. As much as I despise going out, usually, when I’m with him, he’s entertaining enough to keep me calm. And he knows me well enough to know not to take me anywhere too wild. A quiet bar is plenty for me.

Any more than that, and I start to break out in hives. And this man really wants me to start dating more? The thought of that utterly terrifies me.

As I walk the short distance back to my apartment, I try to think of an excuse to get Jenson off my back about this whole dating thing.

I could tell him I think I’m a lesbian.

Nah, he’s seen how I stare at Jason Mamoa when we watch Aquaman. Plus, he probably knows more lesbians than straight guys and would try to set me up with one of them. Then, I’d have to learn how to eat pussy, and I just don’t know if I’m ready for that kind of commitment.

I step out of the elevator and make my way to my front door. As I round the corner, I see the backside of my neighbor as he unlocks his own door.

Don McDowell.

One of the most attractive men I’ve ever laid eyes on. He’s the definition of tall, dark, and handsome.

And he works for some type of construction company, so he’s got the whole rugged thing going for him.

We make small talk on occasion when we run into each other picking up our mail or riding the elevator together. He’s always been super nice despite my extreme awkwardness.

I see he’s got a model-like date accompanying him.

Another one.

He has, at minimum, a few different ones throughout the week. Sometimes, I’ll see a repeat here and there, but this one doesn’t look familiar. I’m sure I would remember her because her long legs come up to about my forehead.

She lets out a loud laugh, and I roll my eyes. If she’s a loud laugher, I can bet that she’s going to be loud in other areas too. The wall between our apartment isn’t much of a sound barrier, and I can always hear exactly how well Don’s evening is going. Some of the women are screamers. Some are moaners, and others are dirty talkers.

But the one common denominator? All of the women seem to be enjoying themselves.

I’m sure this one will be no different.

And with as hot as she is, I’m sure he will be enjoying himself too. Being that fit, she probably can ride him like she’s in the rodeo. Meanwhile, I get winded thirty seconds in—and that is with me doing the absolute bare minimum.

As I walk through my door, I make a mental note to ensure my noise-canceling headphones are charged up.

One of my cats, Whiskers, greets me at the door. That’s no surprise. He’s the friendly one of the two. Whiskers likes me. Snowball, on the other hand, simply tolerates my existence. To him, I’m merely the server of his food and cleaner of his litter box.

I spend the next few minutes taking a shower and then pouring another glass of wine and making a fancy cheese and cracker plate. Then, I settle in with my knitting and smutty audiobook.

Man, I sure know how to live it up on a Friday night.

Oh well. There’s literally nowhere I would rather be.

I put on my headphones so that I don’t hear anything that may be going on next door. I’d rather listen to it in my book than in reality. I don’t know if that’s more or less sad.

I get to work on knitting the penguin I’ve been working on and let myself get lost in the book I’m listening to. I’ve been on a huge “dominant guy in the bedroom” kick. Not that I would really even know what that feels like.

My list of sexual experiences is a mixed bag of crazy, weird, and overall disappointing. My first naked experience with the opposite sex involved a guy who was so nervous that he went into the other room to put the condom—well, two condoms—on. And then, it was four minutes filled with, “Are you done? How about now?”

And now that I think about it, neither one of us was actually naked.

Then, there was the guy who wasn’t impressed with my fellatio skills. When he shoved my head all the way down on him, it caused me to uncontrollably gag and throw up all over him. That, in turn, caused him to do the same all over the back of my head.

Then, there was the guy who told me going down on me was gross. He caused me so much trauma that my therapist and I spent almost a whole month on it.

And the only other guy I’ve been with was one who was actually my boyfriend. We dated for a few months, and it was okay. But there was no real chemistry. It was fine, but I still never had an orgasm during sex.

Maybe I’m just broken and can’t get off like that.

Or maybe I’ve just slept with guys who had no idea what they were doing.

Either way, just the thought of it makes me feel like my ulcer is going to start acting up again.

And Jenson wonders why I’d rather avoid all of that.

As I’m knitting away, Snowball finally makes his appearance. He moves to my side and starts licking my arm. This is a cat who usually ignores my entire existence. Now, he’s licking me like I’m a…well, like a snack.

Oh my gosh, they really are going to eat me when I die. No one will find me until there’s nothing left but bits and pieces of my mangled corpse.

I glance around at the messes of tangled yarn, realizing it’s what the firemen will see. Jenson was right.

Pulling out my phone, I send him a text.

Okay. Set me up.