6. Looking for a Sign
Jason
My alarm plucked me out of an apocalyptic dream about a supermarket run by alien overlords. I fumbled for the noise, my brain still in the frozen food aisle of renegades until my phone hit the floor.
I grabbed it from under the bed and tapped the screen. What were all these missed calls and texts?
The storm.
I sat up and sorted through all the notifications. The storm made that significant jog to the east overnight and strengthened into a strong category one hurricane, projected to make landfall on the Louisiana coast as a category three tomorrow morning with huge storm surges expected.
Alex already left with his girlfriend. Mom and Dad evacuated this morning with Becca and Brad to Arkansas, so Mom said I could still use the Florida condo for my trip.
Shit. A few hours ago would’ve been the ideal time to evacuate. I threw on a shirt and sandals. Now that I had a renter, what did I do about evacuating? Some of my big trees were ticking time bomb water oaks that I hadn’t taken down yet. The kind that tipped over, roots and all, in a bad storm. I didn’t have my solar powered generator installed yet. No way would I get stuck here without air conditioning, not with the one-hundred-eighteen-degree heat indexes we’d been having.
I headed toward the rectory. Last night when I walked out of the bathroom, Rose was already asleep over the covers, her body wrapped around a long pillow. I’d watched her for the few seconds it took to pull the bathroom door closed quietly, making sure I didn’t disturb her. Her sleep shorts exposed her whole leg, the slant of the bathroom light illuminating a butterfly tattoo on her ankle I hadn’t seen before, and the ceiling fan gently ruffled her hair in the dark. And that jerk in New York City not only dumped her, but cheated on her. How could he do that to a literal angel? I both wanted to punch him and shield her from anyone ever hurting her again.
If she were my girlfriend, I’d treat her like the goddess she was. We’d spent a lot of time together this week, and the more I got to know her, the more I desired her. She wasn’t just sexy and beautiful; she was smart and fun. She made magic with silky fabrics, and she even showed promise as a woodworker. When I laid down every night after spending time with her, my cheeks hurt from all the laughter.
And my body ached from wanting her. After last night, though—I rubbed my whole face. Knowing she was single was a brand-new kind of torture. Unless she was just a shameless flirt, she was attracted to me, too. But our outlooks on love hadn’t changed. I was looking for my forever, and her last relationship was only about sex. If that was all she wanted, then pursuing her was a bad idea on so many levels.
So why did she feel like home?
I stopped and knelt before the statue of St. Dorothy in the courtyard. Patron saint of florists, brides, and newlyweds. St. Dorothy, I prayed silently, I don’t know what I’m doing here. I really, really like Rose. She’s an amazing person. I don’t expect anything from her, and her friendship means the world to me. She just broke up with her boyfriend, and I’m not a vulture. She’s probably not even interested. But… I studied St. Dorothy’s face, serenely smiling at me, as if encouraging me to go on. She just feels so right. I’m having a hard time letting it go, even though I probably should. Would you give me a sign if seeing if she’s interested is a good idea, for both of us? Seriously, any sign. And please keep us and our families safe in the hurricane. Amen.
I brushed off my knees and went in the kitchen door. Music played from down the hallway.
“Morning, Rose!”
“Morning!” she called back.
“Can I come talk to you?”
“Sure!”
I found her in her workroom, cutting out fabric on her new worktable. My heart backflipped seeing her so happily using something we made together. How fun would it be to make more with her?
“Have I told you lately that I love this table?” she asked, her silver scissors slicing through silky white fabric. Her curls defied last night’s straightening, poking out from another bun wrapped on top of her head.
“I’m glad!” I leaned against the wall to watch her work. She’d been the only bright spot in a week full of aggravations, like running into that costly pipe-routing problem in the choir loft bathroom construction and worrying about whether Big Dick Tools would officially offer. The plans for my community room had consumed me this week, too. I tried to make progress designing it on Wednesday, but all I got for my trouble was dozens of discarded attempts littering the floor that I couldn’t bring myself to throw away.
I’d gone straight to talk to Rose about it and found her cooking red beans because she remembered me saying I’d been craving them. And she reassured me that I’d not only figure out the community room puzzle, but I’d knock it out of the park. Later that day she popped up in my bathroom construction and went nuts over my tile selections and smooth sheetrock, making me feel like the god of reno.
Such simple things, but they were things I’d been starved for.
“Have you seen the weather?” I asked. “Hurricane Oscar’s coming for us. Are you evacuating?”
She glanced up from her work. “No, I don’t like evacuating. My family called in the middle of the night to ask me to go with them, but I don’t want to go anywhere.”
“I really think we should go this morning.” I stepped away from the doorframe. When did she and I become we in my head? “That thing’s gonna be a direct hit over the New Orleans area, and I’ve got all these big trees—”
She sighed heavily, looking around at piles of fabric as she grabbed her pin cushion. “You can go, but I’m gonna stay. I have so much to do, and I can’t afford to lose any more time.”
“You can’t get any sewing done if we lose power, right?”
“Fair point, but I’ll get more done than if I leave, for sure. I’ll be fine, really. I don’t have a car anyway, so I’m kinda stuck here.”
“Come with me,” I blurted. “I’m already going to Florida, and I have room in my car.”
“Oh my God, no! I’ve already used up all my favors with you, remember? And most of these turn out to be nothing. When I lived with Heather, she used to talk us into evacuating for every little storm. We’d drive to Baton Rouge or someplace for the weekend, and I’d spend the next week playing catch-up.” She carried the fabric to her sewing machine.
“But what if a tree comes down on your apartment? What if the power goes out for weeks, and nobody can get in or out because of flooding?”
The hum of her sewing machine continued. “I’ll be fine.”
Why hadn’t I watched her sew before? It was mesmerizing watching the needle go up and down, a neat seam outputting from the back of the machine. “Rose, please come with me? I don’t want you to be alone if something happens.”
Her fingers poised over a folded hem. She shifted her leg off the foot pedal, and the machine stopped. “To Florida? I don’t want to impose on your vacation.”
“It’s not a vacation. I have a business meeting on Friday not far from my parents’ condo. There’s plenty of room.”
“Won’t it take forever to get there? The interstates are probably all backed up, even with contraflow.”
I wasn’t looking forward to driving on interstates that had all been converted to all outflowing traffic. But deep in my gut I knew it was the right call. “Yeah, it might take a long time, but I really think you should come with me. This storm could be bad.”
She looked around and sighed, defeated. “Okay. I guess you’re right.”
“And I’d feel better if we moved all your dresses you’re working on into the church. I’m gonna go throw some things in a bag. Pack up. We’re leaving in thirty minutes.”
I gave her fifty minutes, mostly because it took me longer than I expected. I had to pick up everything loose outside that could be a flying hazard in high winds, and then transfer Rose’s garment rack, fabrics, and supplies into the church. The whole time I picked up, humid wind fluttered the trees in an unmistakable pattern that only natives to hurricane weather could discern on a gut level.
In the kitchen, I threw road snacks into an oversized bag, and then I sought Rose out in her workroom again. This time she was packing up. “You ready?”
“Almost. I packed a bag for me, but I wanted to bring some things to work on. I still need to use the bathroom and grab my iPad.” She zipped up the duffle of sewing supplies, and I took it from her.
“Okay, go ahead. I’ll grab your bag and put it in the car. Where is it?”
“It’s on the floor in the bedroom. The purple one.”
“Alright. Lock up the kitchen door for me on your way out, okay?”
“Will do!”
I spotted her purple bag on the floor, added it to my shoulder, and went to the car to wait.
And wait.
“Come on, Rose,” I muttered, flipping through the photos on my phone. Thankfully I was ahead of schedule with my social media posts, so leaving town early wouldn’t mean a lag. And I had photos from Becca’s party, Rose’s table, and a bathroom cabinet I was building. I could turn those into posts, too, if we had to stay away past Friday.
I swiped back further—Rose’s camp Polaroid and bucket list, the only things I’d taken photos of from the capsule before reburying it. I meant to text them to her. Surely she’d want them, even though she rushed out that night without seeming to care and without even looking at the second half of her list. But instead, I’d printed her list out on paper and used it as inspiration to start my own.
Even though I’d started learning how to take care of myself, seeing Rose’s list made me realize that the pain of losing my future with Kasey had made me stop looking too far ahead. Instead, I’d had my head down, working hard. But it was time I made a conscious effort to make sure I got what I wanted out of my one life.
I pulled the printout from my wallet. She said she’d grown out her bangs and been to NYC, but that meant she hadn’t made it to Paris, had never waltzed with a cute guy. I smirked at “make J.S. fall in love with me.” I was thinking about her all the time, but love? I still wasn’t sure that was a good idea.
From the second half of her list, she’d definitely gotten a tattoo, in fact, several sexy ones. She’d probably learned to drive, and she was already a wedding dress designer. But had she kissed under mistletoe? Had she ever seen a waterfall?
Rose stepped out of the kitchen door and locked it, and I folded the list back up and tucked it away in my wallet. She slid into the passenger’s seat with a backpack and a pillow, wafting in that sweet smell of roses and casting a worried gaze to the sky.
“Are we going to make it? It looks like some rain bands are already moving in.”
I grimaced. “Yeah, they’re saying on the news we have time if we head east, and if we leave…this morning. We’re a little behind on that, but I think we’ll be okay.” I pointed at the pillow. “You know we have pillows at the condo.”
“I go nowhere without Princess Sleeparella.” She gave the pillow a squeeze before stowing it in the back.
“Princess Sleeparella?”
“Best pillow ever. I have a hard time sleeping without it.” She fastened her seatbelt and rearranged her bag by her feet. “Sorry it took me a minute. I couldn’t find my tablet, but it was in my backpack the whole time. Here, I grabbed us each a bottle of water.” She picked up the end of my phone charging cable as I took the bottle and murmured, thanks . “Can I plug my phone in? I’ve only got ten percent.”
“Yeah, sure. Oh and here.” I grabbed a Deck Daddy shirt from the dashboard. “This is your prize from the epic Nerf gun battle. It’s new, so I washed all the chemicals out for you.”
She took it from me and opened it up. “Thank you! Yesss. This is the one I wanted.” She hugged it and sniffed it. “It even smells like you.” She sniffed it a second time.
Something warm filled my chest at her knowing what I smelled like. And liking it enough to go in for another whiff.
She folded the shirt into her lap and fished a prescription bottle from her purse. “Listen. This is a little embarrassing, but if we’re sharing a condo…” She bit her lip and met my gaze. “You should know I sometimes have anxiety attacks.” She shook the bottle, and the pills inside rattled. “And panic attacks. And I don’t always think about taking my medicine when I get that way. So if that happens, would you help me remember?”
I nodded. “Of course.”
“Thanks,” she murmured, putting them away.
“Hey, your table video is scheduled to post today, so hopefully that’ll bring you some new followers. I posted a teaser reel this morning.”
“Oh crap, am I in it?” She opened her phone as I started out on the road.
“No, it’s just video of Strawberry Jello, blueprints, woodpile—that kind of thing.”
She shook her head, scrolling. “Every time I visit your page, I wonder how your super religious mom feels about Deck Daddy.”
I glanced back at her. How many times does Rose visit my page?
“My mom…has a love/hate relationship with it. She’s been one of my biggest customers, but she hates the Deck Daddy shtick. At least I only hear about it once a week when she catches up on my posts, or when somebody new at church brings it up. She really hates that.”
Her shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry. That’s so unfair. You’re building something amazing here. Look at all the engagement you get. And yeah, a lot of them are just thirsty, but even more are praising your work or thanking you for your help. Listen to this one. ‘Dude you rock. Thanks for the plans for this table. It’s the first thing I made on my own and my wife thinks I’m a god now.’ And this: ‘Thanks Deck Daddy! Your advice on drying up sap with nail polish remover was a godsend—it’s been a month, and no more ooze. Hot, talented, and brilliant’ with a hot face emoji. Okay, that one was both.” She laughed. “But don’t let anyone throw shade on what you’re doing.” Her hand landed warm on my arm. “I hope you’re really proud of yourself.”
Her praise warmed my heart, and her touch heated my face. “Thank you.” I smiled at her and slipped my sunglasses down over my eyes, which were tearing up. Damn, it felt good for someone in my life to be proud of me, no mockery even in her laughter. Rose was always in on the joke, never making me feel cheap or dumb or embarrassed.
She squeezed my arm once before slipping her hand away. “Of course. Does the rest of your family give you trouble too?”
I huffed. “Dad wants to know when I’m getting a real job to use the degree he paid for. Becca and Alex make fun of me every chance they get, and Mark thinks it’s just a phase.”
“Seriously? Girl, if you get paid for doing the thing you love, that doesn’t make it less of a real job. Why would they act that way?”
I shrugged and shook my head. Her outrage on my behalf was refreshing—supportive without insulting my family.
“Okay, well what about your friends? They support you, right?”
I sighed heavily, using my mirrors to safely wedge my way into the stop-and-go interstate. “I haven’t reconnected with most of my friends, post-Kasey. I was a real ass. Just dropped everybody because they all told me she was bad for me.” Another sin confessed.
“It sucks that things happened that way. I can relate, a little. I’ve been kinda avoiding my friends since I got back.” She didn’t elaborate, but I wanted her to. “Well, I think your work is amazing. And I don’t just mean your work as in the things you build, but your whole business.”
She slipped her phone between the seat and her bare thigh—wearing those damn short shorts again—and dug through her purse. She picked out a bottle of lotion, squeezing some on her hands and elbows and filling the whole car with her rosy scent.
I breathed it deeply in, comforted that she came with me. It normally took over four hours to reach my parents’ condo, but today it might take twice as long. We were one car in a massive school of fish trained to swim in neat, three-lane formation, stretching out for miles.
What would Rose think about my sponsorship offer? After Mom’s scorn, I hadn’t told anyone else about it, but…
I swallowed hard and took the plunge, my heart racing. “So…the reason I’m going to Florida is to meet with a major tool company. They want to talk to me about a sponsorship and maybe appearing in their ads.”
“Wait, what?” She turned to me fully, putting both hands on my arm. The excitement in her voice made me laugh. “When did this happen?”
I pulled to a stop in the stand-still traffic. “A few minutes before I found a shady woman digging in my garden.”
“Oh my God! Congratulations!” she squealed, throwing her arms around my neck in a quick hug.
“I mean, I don’t have it yet. I have to go talk to them, and they still may not offer.”
“Why didn’t you tell me before? That’s huge! What brand of tools?”
I rubbed my beard, laughing, expecting her to laugh. “Big Dick Tools.”
But she didn’t laugh. “I fucking love the name.” She picked up her phone and tapped away. “We love a big dick. I don’t know them, but then my toolset was a dollar store special. Here they are.” She scrolled for a bit. “Jason, they look perfect for you! Huge, quality brand with just the right amount of silly.” She stopped, put her phone down to her lap, and threw her head back, laughing. “Oh my God, the names they have for their tools is the best thing ever.”
I laughed with her. “What is it with you and naming things?”
“I don’t know,” she wheezed. She looked back at her phone and laughed harder, tears in her eyes. “The Three-Way Screwdriver. Size Matters Tape Measure. Tongue-in-Her-Groove Pliers. This is brilliant.” She cackled as she scrolled. “When are you going to meet with them?”
“Friday morning. They’re about an hour from the condo.”
“And your family’s not excited about this?”
“Nah, it’s only more material to make fun of me with. But that kinda money will let me finish my house.”
She frowned, studying me. “Of course you love your family, and you want them to be proud of you. But you’re allowed to make decisions that are right for you that they may not understand or approve of.”
Her gentle words echoed what my therapist had always told me. Easy to say, easy to agree with, in theory. Almost impossible for me to do in practice.
She looked back at her phone. “They have a great mission. Responsible sourcing. Excellent reviews. Would you be embarrassed to be associated with them?”
Her question hung in the air for a few minutes. “No. I don’t think I would.”
She smiled softly at me. “Then there you go.”
I smiled but kept my eyes on the road. If someone had told me a few weeks ago that I’d have to spend all this time with Rose Guidry from middle school in a car, I’d have been dreading it. But now that I knew her, I loved being with her. Like, a lot.
I risked another glance at her.
Like, so much more than I should.
We started cruising in what hopefully wouldn’t be our only pocket of quick-moving traffic. The image of her lying in bed last night kept popping up in my head, her shapely legs bare, her hair mussed from making love to herself. In my shorts, it was dancing at the prom with her all over again. I had to get a hold of myself, or this would be a rough trip.
“I know what might help.” She dug in her backpack and pulled out a small velvet bag with a drawstring, and from the bag, a deck of colorful cards.
“Are those tarot cards?” I’d never seen any in person, unless you count the ones behind the counter at the bookstore.
“Goddess oracle cards.” She shuffled through them, looking at one at a time. “One of my NYC roommates gave them to me as a going-away gift, and I haven’t had a chance to look at them.” She shifted toward me again, tucking her bare foot under her other leg. “Can I do a reading for you?”
Mom would about die if she saw those, and her ghost would come back to haunt me if she knew I was engaging with them willingly. “Um…are you going to…tell my future or something?”
“No, I use them for new ways of thinking about things.” She shuffled the cards some more, then chose three off the top of the deck, laying them face-down on the dash. “Maybe they can give you some perspective about the sponsorship and your family. I pulled you a what you want , obstacles , how to overcome spread.” She turned over the first card. “For what you want, I pulled the Egyptian cat goddess, Bast, who represents pleasure.” She flipped through a booklet about the size of the cards. “I’m still learning this deck…but what you want is…pleasure. All kinds. Daily, simple pleasures, self-care, sexual pleasure…”
The way she emphasized the last one wasn’t helping my situation. I needed to stop thinking about her like this.
But the card hit home. “That’s a little…scary?”
She raised her eyebrows at me. “Because of your celibacy?”
“No, because I’ve spent the past two years trying to get past all that awfulness with Kasey. Learning to take care of myself again. And I’ve taken on a kind of mantra. God, I know this is gonna sound so cheesy, especially coming from Deck Daddy.”
She looked very seriously at me. “Deck Daddy isn’t cheesy. What’s your mantra?”
I breathed easier. She was the first person to see it that way. “It’s ‘follow your bliss.’ Because I’ve never really done that before. I followed my anxiety, I followed my girlfriend—ex-girlfriend. But I never did what made me happy until I came back home and re-evaluated. And now…”
She smiled. “And now you’re building the life you want.”
“Yeah. I’m finally trying to make a happy life for myself.”
“I think that’s awesome.” She turned over the second card. “So let’s see what’s your obstacle to all that pleasure and bliss. It’s Ala, the Ibo goddess of morality and fertility.” She grimaced, her eyes teasing. “I didn’t think Deck Daddy had any loose morals.”
“Not me, of course,” I said.
“But I can see how this could relate to Big Dick Tools.” She flipped through the booklet, found her page. “So, your obstacles are…making sure you’re acting with integrity. Or maybe even struggling with other people’s ideas of what your integrity should be, what they see as acceptable, and not feeling like you need to compromise what you believe…while also respecting their opinions.”
“Ha!” I barked. “Does that card have my mom’s picture on it?”
She looked at the card thoughtfully. “I don’t know. Is your mom a stunningly beautiful Nigerian woman sitting on a crescent moon throne with her tits out?”
“Not last I checked.” How did she pull a card that summarized exactly what I was struggling with? St. Dorothy, where are we at on a sign? Is this it? Because I don’t get it.
“Now I want to know what the third card is. What did you say it’s for? How to overcome the challenges?” The sun disappeared behind a cloud, and rain sprinkled the windshield, the tiny pinpricks of a hurricane moving in. Thankfully traffic was moving now.
“Yes.” She flipped over the card, gathering all three into a stack in her hands. “How to overcome is Hathor, Egyptian goddess of joy. She’s usually at the beginning of something new, encouraging you to go for what you’ve been thinking about. Jason! This is perfect!”
Adrenaline kicked through my system. “Really?” Okay, St. Dorothy. I hear you.
Her returning smile was beautiful, her eyes unabashed. “Yeah! Does it resonate with how you feel about the sponsorship? Or is there something else you’ve been thinking about going after?”
I glanced at her—did her eyes just drop to my mouth? Swallowing hard, I checked my mirrors and switched lanes. “Yeah, I think there is.” At least, since I met you again.
“Then it looks like you should totally go for it.” She stacked the cards back up together and busily flipped through them for a few minutes before putting them away. She yawned and stretched. “Do you mind if I take a nap? I was up late and early.”
“No, go ahead.” I had plenty to think about to entertain myself. Mom desperately wanted me to be who I was before Kasey, a church-going man who wanted to sit at a desk all day designing houses for other people. Alex and Becca treated me like I was still that person.
But I’d never be that Jason again. I’d been through too much not to come out the other side a little wiser. And I was happy about how I was changing. Why would I want to be the naive idiot who fell in love with my eyes closed, the asshole who valued my cruel girlfriend’s opinions over my family’s feelings? Or the dumbass who thought that to keep her, I had to lose them. Why would I want to move backwards?
It sucked that I was disappointing my family with who I was becoming.
But Rose wasn’t disappointed.
Granted, she hadn’t known me as an adult before Kasey, and barely even as kids. But she seemed to respect the journey I took to be who I was now, and she seemed proud of who I was becoming.
She sighed and shifted in her seat, her head lolling toward me with her eyes closed, long lashes on her pale, pink cheeks.
Yeah, I had a lot of things to think about. I smiled, glancing at Rose. And one of them was making my heart skip a beat.
Rose
“Rose, wake up.”
Everything was still and quiet. I opened my eyes. “We’re there already?”
“I wish. We’re still in Mississippi.”
The clock on his dash read a quarter after noon. We’d been traveling for three hours. “What? Seriously?”
He nodded. “Biloxi. Traffic was a bitch. I was gonna keep pressing on, but my stomach won out. You like pizza?”
After a bathroom break, I met Jason back at our booth where he was scrolling through his phone. “I got you a Diet Coke. And hey, our video of your sewing table went up.” He grinned and handed his phone over to me. “The comments are blowing up. They’re obsessed with you.”
My stomach dropped. “What?” Thousands of likes. He sent it to me to approve last night before he scheduled it, and the video was super cute. I didn’t even look half bad.
I knew better, but I couldn’t stop myself. I scrolled down to the comments.
How big, exactly, was Jason’s cock? Now I needed to know.
“These comments are unhinged.” I raised my eyebrows at him. “Did you read these?”
He shrugged. “I know you don’t need me to tell you that the internet’s basically lawless and not to read the comments. But keep reading. They’re not all unhinged.”
I took a deep breath and scrolled down more.
I laughed out loud. This person needed to stop reading my mind.
My cheeks stung with heat, and I squirmed a little in my seat. “Some potential customers,” I murmured. “But Jason, all these people totally think we’re doing it. There’s more eggplants in the comments than in the produce section at Winn Dixie.” I handed his phone back and picked up mine.
His face was all contrition. “I’m sorry. I never meant for it to—”
The server came back, and the whole time they took our order, Jason shifted in his seat, tearing off little pieces of his napkin.
“I’m really sorry, Rose,” he said when she walked away, his brow furrowed over his big brown eyes. “I should’ve expected that, but I didn’t.” He picked up his phone. “I’ll shut the rumors down.”
“That’s okay. You don’t have to make a statement or anything. I’m not offended that they think we’re together, and it’s not like I’m surprised by internet comments.” I tapped over to my notifications. “Wow, I have a lot of new followers. Maybe you were right, that it helps when you show your face online.”
“Are you sure? I can say something. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”
I patted his hand. “Yeah, it’s okay. I’m not uncomfortable. It’s flattering that they think I could land a guy like you. You’re sweet to care.” Very unlike any other guy I’d dated.
Wait. I wasn’t dating Jason.
A soft smile lit his face. “Okay, Sweet Rose. If you’re sure.” He popped his straw into his drink. Flattening the straw wrapper, he wound it around his finger and hummed to himself.
He was dishy, though. Nice hands, too. And now, thanks to the comments, I imagined them holding his big cock up to measure on my table.
I fanned myself and put my hair up again. “It’s so hot in here. I can’t believe what a great mood you’re in after all that driving. If you want, I can take a turn. I’m a safe driver, I promise.”
“Nah, that’s okay. I’ll be fine after I get something to eat. Maybe some caffeine.”
We were both quiet for a moment, and I flashed back to prom night when we hadn’t had much to talk about. I took another sip of my drink, scrolled through my new followers. “Oh, that’s weird. Misty followed me.”
He rolled his eyes. “Jesus, she’s probably jealous about the video.”
“Probably. She seems aggressive.”
“You have no idea.” He took a sip and set his drink back down. “You know, while you were sleeping, I was thinking about what you said a few days ago.”
My heart sped up. “Oh God, what did I say?”
He glanced around before leaning in. “About sexual compatibility,” he said quietly.
And held my eyes while he said it. Instant lady boner.
“It was refreshing to hear you say that, because for the past few months, all I keep hearing about is how awful sex and sexuality are. You shouldn’t take care of it for yourself.” He pointed his hands at his chest. “If you’re working out and taking your shirt off on social media, you must be down to fuck anything that moves. And God forbid you do it before you’re married. But all of that is such bullshit. Sex is just another way to connect with and be vulnerable with someone you love, isn’t it? And I think you should fall in love before you’re married. Why not express it then, too?”
His brown eyes were dangerously earnest, looking at me. He was downright adorable. Who knew Deck Daddy had such an emotional side?
“That’s sort of what my mom says. And it depends on what you want out of life. If sexuality is important to your happiness—and it may not be. Asexuality is completely valid, obviously. But if it is important to you, she says a sexual connection with the person you love is important to express.” I laughed nervously. “But not everyone grows up with parents who encourage that sort of thing. Not that she encouraged us to sleep around! God, I’m just digging myself deeper, aren’t I?”
“No, I think you’re really lucky to have had her influence. I grew up in such a repressed household. We couldn’t talk about relationships at all, much less sex. You know what I don’t get? My parents were fine with us watching action movies with people getting shot up, or stabbed, or whatever, but good God forbid there was a loving couple having sex. They even skipped ahead through fade-to-black scenes.”
“Girl. Come on up.” I patted the table. “There’s room on my soapbox for you. Tell me why you can watch superheroes breaking all kinds of necks in movies but have one person kissin’ a boob and suddenly it’s porn.”
“Exactly! I don’t understand why our society treats something so natural as so dirty. Even with Kasey, I had no idea what I wanted, and no idea how to ask for it.”
“So I guess what you’re saying is that y’all weren’t compatible. Sexually ,” I added, leaning in and whispering it as a couple with little kids were seated at a nearby table.
“No,” he grimaced. “Not at all. She was kind of touch-averse, even before she started cheating on me. Which was hard for me, because I thrive on physical affection. Like, holding hands, hugging, touching. I’m sure that sounds like such a guy thing—”
I put my hand on his forearm and squeezed. His muscles tensed beneath my hand, and I flushed, imagined them flexing as he dipped his fingers into my—nope. “It’s okay to enjoy physical affection, no matter who you are.”
He looked quickly from my hand on his to my eyes. “Thank you,” he said softly.
Gosh, his lips were beautiful. I cleared my throat and removed my hand. “Carry on.”
“And Kasey didn’t…she didn’t like…” He looked around at the people in booths around us and lowered his voice. “She really hated when I kissed her…” he motioned around his chest.
I suppressed a shiver. It wasn’t okay to imagine his mouth on my breast, especially since he was talking about another woman. I shrugged. “To each their own, but yeah, I don’t get that, because I love it.” My face shot through with heat, and I crossed my arms over my chest.
He laughed, coughing and choking a little on his drink. “Much less do the other thing I liked to do that she didn’t. Of course, I respected all of it, but goddamn the temptation. It was hard to live with.” He stretched his back, face reddening. “That sounds so selfish and completely shallow, I know, but it was just…” he trailed off, searching for a word.
“Another indicator that things between you were off.”
“Yes!” he said emphatically. “Exactly.”
I desperately wanted to ask what that other thing was, and it was a real testament to my personal growth re: not blurting things out that I didn’t.
Just kidding.
“What’s the other thing?” I asked eagerly, propping my cheek on my fist and my elbow on the table as I sipped from my straw.
He threw his head back laughing, and his face went bright red. Heads all over the restaurant swiveled toward him. He covered his mouth with his hand, eyes twinkling. “I knew after it came out of my mouth, you were gonna ask.”
“You’re laughing but not answering.” That set him off more. I loved his laugh. I got the sense that it was disused, that he hadn’t laughed this hard in a while. “What came out of your mouth, Jason? Or went into it? You’re really not gonna tell me?” I shook my head. “Such a tease.”
He leaned forward. “I’m trying to think of a euphemism that’s PG-rated.”
I leaned in, speaking quietly. “Is it thirty-four plus thirty-five?”
He frowned then chuckled, clearly having done the math. Placing his elbows on the table, he leaned in, eyes twinkling as he held my gaze. “Half.”
“Ahh, she wouldn’t play the pink oboe, huh?”
He cackled, shaking his head and licking his lips. But he held my gaze with those eyes. “The other half.”
“Oh!” I couldn’t keep the surprise out of my voice. “You like giving Australian kisses.” Hell, yeah. Now I couldn’t keep my eyes off his sexy mouth.
He blinked. “What?”
“You know, it’s like a French kiss…but it’s…” He continued to stare at me. How was he not getting this? “It’s down under.”
The server chose that moment to place our pizza on the table, and we giggled like guilty teenagers and murmured our thanks.
He waited for me to grab a piece before digging in himself. “But back to Misty. I’m actually repulsed by her. I’m sorry. That’s so mean. But—she’s pretty, I guess, if you like fake flowers. It’s just that her character is so ugly. I don’t even want to get close enough to see if we’re compatible. My Mom doesn’t understand why I don’t want to go out with her. Alex thinks I should take what I can get from her. But sex is…it’s an emotional thing for me. Not that I haven’t done it casually before. But for me, there’s no substitute for that kind of connection. It’s so, so beautiful with someone you love. You didn’t have that kind of connection with Isaac?” he asked softly.
My cheeks burned. It was one thing to talk about sex in the general way, and quite another to talk about my own sex life. “I mean I wouldn’t have dated him if the horizontal refreshment wasn’t good.” I stuffed another big bite in my mouth to chew on my response to him. I thought I’d felt that way once, with Michael. But finding out it wasn’t mutual had tainted every good memory with him.
“No, we didn’t have that connection,” I finally said. “It’s hard for me to be that vulnerable. Emotionally. With Isaac—with almost any guy I’ve dated.”