17. Jeanie
17 /
jeanie
Vaginas Know Best
“We’ve got a problem,” I say, sounding a little breathy.
Even behind closed doors, Nathan touches me like he wants to kiss me. And let’s not forget how wet I am from straddling him on the beach a few minutes ago. It started out by teasing him but quickly went too far.
Four clit swipes and I became a waterpark in central Florida during summer break, and now my vajajay is screaming for an all-access pass. It’s a seductive preview of what he could do to me. Despite the flashing warning signs, I’m still about to enter the Nathan Theme Park where “benefits” is the most popular ride.
“Should I connect you with Customer Service?” Nathan jokes but still looks worried.
“This might be a job for your lawyers.” I hesitate. “I’d like to renegotiate our life-coaching-business contract.”
His gaze brightens. “Reconsidering fake dating with benefits? ”
“Not exactly.” I laugh nervously.
He folds his arms and shifts his weight. “They’re listening.”
“The thing is ...” I pass him to pace the room. “Sophia and Roman think we’re here together, which means, technically, we should be cohabitating. And since they’re on the same floor ...” I press a finger to my forehead, though it won’t help my forming headache.
It’s one thing to play at dating, but it’s another to ask for a higher level of commitment—sans benefits, of course. It could send Nathan running in the other direction. That’s an issue because I need him. He’s doing his job spectacularly well. My vagina would argue too well .
I peek at him from under my lashes, trying to figure out how to frame my request.
Nathan appears shocked. “Are you asking me to move in with you?”
“Would Human Resources object?”
My hands twist nervously at my stomach. Us together in one room is dangerous territory. It’s clear he would seduce me if I let him, and with the way he makes me feel ... every moment I spend with him is a risk. He’s a catch-22.
Nathan paces the room like he’s considering his options.
I take a deep breath and remind myself what this is. It’s simply a business transaction. With some eye candy ... and occasional petting ... in public.
Our hot moment after the volleyball game was a fluke. A mistake. A spillover of adrenaline, nothing more. It was nothing more. If I repeat it enough, maybe it will become true.
Nathan picks up a Halloween-style unicorn mask and slips it over his face. Now, a unicorn with the body of a thirty-year-old stripper stares back at me.
“Neigh, neigh,” he says, responding to my offer in a horsey voice.
“No?” My hope falls.
“Let me translate. In unicorn-speak, that means no , Human Resources would not object.” He flips his rainbow mane.
“Labia thread lift? A face-slapping treatment? Bull semen or bird-poop facials?” I read a small portion of the resort’s swanky spa menu out loud.
Beside me, the bridesmaids snicker. They sit wearing fluffy white robes, sipping champagne while their feet soak in bubbling pedicure tubs. Nail technicians sit before us, organizing tools to reshape and paint toenails.
“It does not say bird-poop facials.” Sophia snatches the paper. In an elegant voice, she reads aloud. “The Good Luck Facial is infused with powdered peacock droppings to create the most unique beauty experience in the world. When this ancient remedy is applied, the micro-burning reduces fine lines and brightens skin, leaving your complexion rejuvenated.”
“I’m totally doing the fish pedicure,” Elsie says.
“Turning my feet into an all-you-can-eat toe-cheese buffet for starved fish does not excite me. Ew.” Mia shivers.
“Whatever happened to asshole bleaching? That’s not even on the list.” Disbelieving, Amelia flips the menu from front to back.
“I think going natural down there is the new trend,” Iris says, but Kayla and Lexi shake their heads.
“What kind of degree do you need to get the job to harvest the ingredients for a bull-semen facial?” Ruby asks.
“I’ll bet it pays really well,” Talia says as if she’d consider it.
“Yeah, but your coworkers are real dicks.” Amelia waggles her brows.
The group collectively groans.
“Someone order Amelia the face-slapping treatment,” June says.
“Allow me.”
Talia reaches over to fake-slap Amelia’s face several times. With each swat, Amelia swings her head from side to side like a stunt woman.
We laugh, and I realize I’m having fun again. Under the circumstances, I shouldn’t be, but these women make it impossible. They have welcomed me into the group, no questions asked.
When the technicians begin their work, the bridesmaids break off into smaller conversations. Because I’m closest to Sophia, I’m forced to reminisce with her about our complicated childhood.
“Remember the time you were supposed to babysit me, but you tied me to a tree instead, and then you went to your friend’s house to play?” Sophia asks.
“How could I forget? Dad grounded me for months.”
“And then the time you told me Santa Claus went to jail after getting in a fight with the Easter Bunny.”
I laugh at my genius. “I believe Christmas was canceled until further notice.”
“And then the time you kidnapped my stuffed animals and held them for ransom? It cost me all the money in my piggy bank to set them free.”
“I needed cash for the movies!” Suddenly, I’m defensive. “You’re making me sound like I was an awful kid. We had some good times too, playing with our, our, our ...”
I roll a hand in the air, trying to conjure nice memories, but my mind draws a blank. A pang of guilt sideswipes me.
Crap. Have I always been the villain?
Scowling, I say, “I was pretty sucky, wasn’t I?”
Sophia laughs. “I admit, I’ve never found anyone to torment me quite like you.” She wiggles her toes when the technician steps away.
“I don’t think you have trouble making nice friends.” I glance at the line of bridesmaids beside us.
“We’re close, but not like you and I were. You may have hated me back then, but you were the closest I ever got to having a sister.”
“I didn’t hate you.” I squirm in my seat at the use of the “s” word as I contemplate. “I hated Dad. ”
“I didn’t see him through the same lens. At least, not until he took off on us years later.”
“He loved the ladies,” I grumble.
“The point is, you were the only one to make time for me at that age, even if it was ninety-nine percent hazing.”
“And now you have Roman to torture you,” I say without thinking.
“Nah, Roman only sees himself.” She shrugs.
I bark out a laugh. “He is conceited.”
“And cranky, and stubborn, and short-tempered,” she adds.
“Why do you want to be with someone like that?” I ask, testing to see how attached she is to him.
“Why did you?” She looks up at me, appearing curious.
I’m taken aback by the question. Our conversation unfolded so naturally that I didn’t have time to consider she might turn this around on me.
My lips pucker as I lean back into my seat, thinking seriously about how to answer.
Why did I then? And outside of my wish to have the family back together, why do I now? How did I get to the point where I would accept the measly crumbs of love Roman would toss me here and there?
“We were fifteen when we met. He was the high school loudmouth, and I was the resident weird girl. Back then, we were misfits who joined forces out of necessity and then formed an attachment. But now? He’s honestly changed so much on the inside, I don’t recognize him, but I suppose he could say the same about me.”
This truth bomb is like an arrow through my heart. It detonates so hard, I have to gulp in a breath.
Did I really expect Roman to be the same person after all these years? Did I expect myself to be? When I think of when we tried to get reacquainted, I can’t say it went well. I love him, but not in the same way.
Until this moment, I’ve never compiled the assessment into a coherent thought, much less said it out loud. A painful lump of reality forms in my chest.
“Instead of sticking together as we grew older,” I say, “he walked down one path and I took another. We drifted apart.”
“But you have hunky Nathan now and you seem happy. Is he a good guy?”
“We haven’t been dating long, but he seems like a good guy.”
When he’s not playing the devil on my shoulder.
And when I think of the time we’ve spent together, enthusiastic flutters fill my stomach, so I guess he makes me happy.
Sophia picks up her glass of champagne and sips. “He really likes you.”
“How do you know?” Avoiding her gaze, I play with the belt of my bathrobe.
“The way he admires you when you’re not paying attention. The way he touches you when you’re close. The way he talks about you. It’s like absolute reverence.”
“That’s ... that’s ...” It’s pretend , I remind myself. Then I latch onto something else she mentioned. “He talks about me?”
“He told Kayla he’s never met anyone like you. He said you’re a beautiful badass and he feels like the luckiest guy in the world.”
My toes curl. The technician taps my foot, reminding me not to move.
Then I remember Nathan and I practically humped each other on the beach. I don’t even know what came over me. It’s like I couldn’t help myself.
I touch the chilled champagne flute to my bottom lip and then take a sip to cool myself. It only makes my face clammy. Suddenly hot, I flap the lapel of my bathrobe.
After analyzing all my questionable interactions with Nathan, I’m realizing the line between us has blurred. Nathan plays the part of my lover so well, our connection is starting to feel real.
Do I want to fake-date Nathan plus benefits? Would that make me happy?
I haven’t thought about what would make me happy in a long time; I’ve been too busy catering to everyone else in my life. So much so, I’ve lost all sense of my own ambitions and desires.
Sophia and I continue chatting until our toenail polish dries. Eventually, aestheticians guide each of the bridesmaids to their own rooms. We decided to try different treatments so we could compare.
I disrobe and climb onto the padded massage table, stomach down, face pressed through a hole. The aesthetician knocks and enters. She covers my back and legs with sheets, leaving my back end exposed for my “fanny facial.”
“I’ll be right back and then we’ll start,” she says. The door snaps closed.
In the silence, my eyes sink shut, and I try to imagine the life that would make me happy. Though deciding what to see doesn’t come easily. It’s like an unexercised muscle that needs stretching. Yes, I’ve done little things for myself, taken cooking or art classes, but nothing big-picture. Everything in my life has been firmly in place without room for deviation.
Trying harder, I relax my jaw and drop my shoulders. After a few deep breaths, random images cross my mind like a brainstorming session.
There are palm trees, sunshine, and beautiful vistas on long vacations. I could take up a sport, rescue a pet, or work at the shelter. These are great ideas, but nothing life-altering.
Knock, knock, knock.
“Come in,” I say, my eyes still closed.
The door opens and the aesthetician slips inside.
“That view never disappoints,” a deep voice says.
“Nathan?” I ninja roll off the table, wrapping myself in the sheet as I go, trying to avoid Boobs, The Movie, Part Two . I land in a guarded position, my back against the wall.
I scowl at him. “You’ve seen me naked—twice!”
He smirks. “I’ll show you mine later. It’s only fair.”
“Yes, please do,” I say sassily. “Now get out.”
“I lost my keycard. Since I’m not on your reservation, the front desk wouldn’t give me a replacement. ”
Annoyed, I waddle to my purse and snag an extra card. I hold it out, but when his fingers curl around the plastic, I won’t let go.
I’m not having second thoughts about him staying in my room. No, I’ve been having naughty thoughts about him staying in my room. We play tug-of-war with the keycard until Nathan pries it from my vice-like grip.
“I’ll be moved in by the time you return, roomie.” He waves the card in triumph.
“We’ll go over the list of rules when I get back.”
I don’t know what those are, but I decided right now, we need them. I need them if I’m going to stay the course.
“If we followed the rules, sweet cheeks, we wouldn’t be doing any of this.” He laughs, opens the door, and steps outside.
Frustrated by my rapidly forming attraction, I throw a plastic water bottle at him. It hits the closed door and tumbles to the floor.
“Nice butterfly tat.” Nathan’s muffled laughter carries through the wall.
Then it happens like it always does when he teases me. I smile. Wide. Full teeth. My giggle escapes like a schoolgirl with a crush.
And that’s the moment I realize that I’m in serious trouble.