Chapter 17 Carrie #2
He laughs. “The nineteenth century called—it wants its life hacks back.”
“Oh, I’m sorry—I didn’t realize you were an expert now.”
“I mean—”
“So, like I was saying—when you do tell her you love her, make sure you get down on your knees.”
He exhales sharply, shaking his head. “Break it down for me. I need to visualize this.”
“What part of ‘on your knees’ is hard to picture?” I scoff. “You know how to tie your shoelaces, right?”
“Anyone ever tell you you’re an amazing teacher?”
“Copy that. You get down on your knees, and look up at her with shining eyes, and—”
“I do her laces up.”
I sigh. “I guess you can lead a horse to water…”
Suddenly, he jumps to his feet and scurries around the table, falling to my feet and hugging my legs to his chest.
“I adore you!” he gushes. “I adore your beautiful calves!”
I stare at him. And despite myself, my face breaks into a smile. I would never have guessed that Donovan Wolinski had this side to him—playful, almost silly. It was easier back when I thought he was just a dumb, pointless egomaniac. Fuck my life!
“You done?”
“May I touch milady’s thigh?” He raises an eyebrow.
“You realize your face is dangerously close to my kneecap…” I narrow my eyes at him. “I wouldn’t want my leg to slip, or anything.”
“So much hate, in such a cute little body…”
“Down, boy!” I point at his seat. “Now we need to talk sex. When you guys got coffee—did you kiss?”
Subtle, Carrie. Real subtle.
“Nope.”
“Oh thank God!” I say, before I can stop myself. “I mean—that’s great, because it gives us more scope for your first time,” I stammer. “Do you plan on bringing her back here after dinner?”
“Good question.” He looks unsure. “What do you think?”
I glance around me. “Well, it’s a cozier vibe. And it definitely gives you options.”
“Are you insinuating I should be getting laid on the first night?” He makes an O with his mouth. “That’s pretty bold of you, Carrie.”
“I was thinking more like you could curl up and watch a rom-com.”
He purses his lips.
“Okay, so fast-forward to after dinner. I bring her back here—then what?” There’s a gleam in his eye, and I try my best not to want to squash it. “Which room should I use for the part where I ‘caress her pillowy pout with my hot lips’?”
I cringe outwardly.
“Oh gimme a break—I’m trying, here!” He laughs.
“The kitchen,” I blurt out. “You suggest grabbing a nice cool drink, so she follows you in here. You tell her what a great time you had, and then you sit there in silence together for at least forty-five seconds.” I take in his face, making sure he’s soaking this up.
“Then, you look deep into her eyes. But not in a psycho way. Linger over her eyes, her mouth. Let your gaze drift back up to her eyes, down to her lips again…”
“Are you trying to get me hard?”
“Focus,” I snap. “So, you’re looking at her mouth. You with me?”
“Mm-hmm.” He nods.
“You bite your lip, like you’re already imagining what she might taste like.
And then you go for it. Well, make sure she’s okay with that first, obviously,” I add.
“And then go for it. In an ideal world, you’d knock something over in the process—like you’re in such a hurry to kiss her, you’re losing control. ”
I scour the counter for the right prop and spot an open milk carton next to a half-full glass. I lay them out on the table in front of us.
“Here.” I point. “Now when you get here tonight, you can spill milk on her.”
He looks confused. “Really? Feels kind of sketchy…”
“Trust me! It shows her just how desperate you are to touch her—how much you want it,” I counter. “It’s a way of telling her that you’ve been waiting for this moment since the first day you met, and now you can finally get some relief.”
He tilts his head.
“Is the milk a metaphor for me ejaculating?”
My mouth falls open. I think this might be the first time he has actually left me speechless. If there is a god up there, I’d love to grab a coffee with her sometime—ask her what she was thinking when she made Donovan Wolinski.
“You know, there’s a part of me that feels incredibly irresponsible for enabling you to go on that date.” I sigh. “Poor, sweet Cheyenne. I hope you’re a good kisser, Donovan.” I look him square in the eye. “That way maybe she can overlook the personality.”
“Shame you never found out for yourself.”
“I’m good,” I say, waving him off.
“Isn’t there a practical component to this unit?”
“There’s no way I’m kissing you, Donovan.”
“Why not? Scared you might like it?” He smirks.
“More like scared I might drown—Sarina Samson said you’re like Niagara Falls.”
“Sarina?” He frowns, his eyes lightening as it dawns on him. “Oh, come on! I was fourteen!”
“Details.”
“Not details at all. I’ve had a lot of practice since then.” He beckons me over. “You come right here—I’ll prove it!”
“I am not kissing you,” I repeat.
“What’s your issue with kissing?” he snaps. “We’ve slept together a bunch of times, and you dodged my mouth every single time.”
“It’s not that deep. It just makes sex messy. It would be like if we fucked in your actual bed. And we were naked, and like making love slowly—all tender and shit.”
Scenes go rushing through my mind, and I wince. There’s a heat pooling in the pit of my stomach.
When I look at Donovan, he’s frozen—like he just pictured the exact same thing.
“Anyway,” I start, desperate to break the tension. “Never underestimate a first kiss. It’s the ultimate foreplay—the thing that makes you want to learn more about your partner. It’s—”
“So, you don’t want to learn more about me, huh?”
I rub my eyes and pinch my nose shut for a second.
“Interrupt me one more time, Donovan Wolinski, and I’m going to whoop your ass.
I mean that,” I add. “And for the record, don’t forget the plan was never for you to become my boyfriend.
That’s why no kissing. And that’s why you really need to focus on the point here—which is having a shot at Cheyenne! ”
He stares at me in silence. Something about the way he’s looking at me is unsettling—a glimmer in his eye, something unfamiliar. Probably him imagining his damn date.
“So, once you—”
“Hold up.” He raises a hand.
“What now?”
“You can’t just throw that out there right after telling me I’ve got a rep for being a bad kisser. I mean, this is vital information. I need to get some practice in, or else I’m screwed. Or you know, not screwed,” he muses. “This could mess up all the hard work we’ve put into this…”
“Like you said, though—you’ve really improved lately.”
He rests his hands on my shoulders and tuts. “Let me kiss you, Carrie.”
“Oh my God! Drop it, already!”
I wrestle his hands off me, and glare at him.
“Just for a minute,” he argues. His eyes skim over me. “It’s been a while since we last—”
“That won’t be happening again.”
Why do I sound so breathless?
“Why not?”
“You seriously have to ask?” I stare at him. “You’re dating a girl, remember? Did you forget rule number one?”
“Always call her by her actual name?” He beams at me. “See? I do remember stuff you tell me. I even write it down in a little notebook. It’s Cheyenne—I won’t forget, I swear.”
“I was thinking more along the lines of ‘monogamy.’ ”
“I know, but—”
“No buts. When are you going to start taking this seriously?”
I had been doing such a good job of staying focused on the end goal.
I had managed to keep my cool, and now here I am, super pissed again.
This guy is insane. Does he really think there’s any chance we would keep fucking around?
Is he actually taking any of this in, or is the old Donovan Wolinski right there beneath the surface, ready to pop back up as soon as our one-on-ones end?
“Bad book boyfriend!” I admonish, poking at his chest.
It’s shaking, I realize. I look up. The asshole is laughing. If this were happening in some book, I’d be urging the heroine on, silently begging her to slit his throat with one perfectly manicured nail. But this is real life. And real life is way messier.
“You win, Carrie. I wasn’t thinking straight. I’m sorry.”
I frown. Is he messing with me?
“It’s not that I don’t give a shit,” he adds, like he can read my mind.
“Am I that transparent?”
“Compared to some, yeah.”
“Lovely,” I sigh. “Okay, I think that’s ‘date night’ covered. Any idea what you plan on wearing?”
“Once Adam finishes his last ride, we’re going to hit up the mall.”
“Wow. So, like—a shopping trip with the boys?” I snort. “Just remember—no ties. They’re unbelievably lame.”
He smiles at me so genuinely, it’s like the air is sucked out of my lungs.
I focus back on my breathing. In, hold, out.
I hate the feelings fighting for space inside me right now—like a murky cocktail of hurt and jealousy, and some more I don’t understand.
It’s not like I want Donovan to… Want him to what?
Want him to want me? Want him to be my boyfriend?
I mentally bitch-slap myself. That can never happen.
Images of my parents flash into my mind, and I’m suddenly surer than ever.
“Any questions, or are we done here?”
“There is one thing,” he starts. “About how to get to the kissing part. I mean, do I just go straight in for the kill? Or should I do something like this?”
He traces a circle around my wrist with his fingertips, and the whole world tilts on its axis.
“That’s not bad,” I murmur.
“And then maybe I could tuck her hair behind her ear.”
I feel him brush my earlobe.
“What do you think?”
The skin there is burning. He’s too close. Way too close. Stay away, Carrie!
It doesn’t matter how firmly I warn myself to step back. My body won’t obey.
“A kiss to end the class is the only thing that makes sense,” he insists.
He takes a step toward me, the toes of his sneakers skimming mine. I’m like a deer in headlights. A deer with a death wish.
“Don’t tell me you’re freaking out again,” he whispers.
I shake my head. “I just don’t want some guy drooling in my mouth.”