Chapter 17 An Experiment in Not Knowing How to Conduct an Experiment
When we got to the inn, we went to our separate rooms and ordered food to be brought up from the pub.
By then my hysteria had left me, and I had sobered up to the reality of the situation that I had caused.
I attempted to make a clear protocol for what should happen next, but reason failed me and made my head hurt.
I chose instead to double my weight with pub food, take a long shower hotter than the center of the earth, and go to sleep for the rest of my life. But first I did the inevitable.
“Thanks for calling Simone’s Care Home for the Criminally Undateable. Can I interest you in a Celibacy Suite today?”
“I mean . . . what’s the application process? ’Cuuuz I may not qualify anymore.”
She gasped. I smiled and covered my face with the duvet.
“What? You had sex? With who, Maya?” This was literally shouted so loudly that I had to hold the phone away from my face. “Did you have a good date?”
“Um. Well. It wasn’t a date, exactly. It was . . . Tadhg.”
“WHAT?” This was even louder. “Brick House Brian?”
“Okay, calm down. You’re going to rupture something.”
“But you said that you hated each other, and you told me . . . Hold on, I’m going to read your actual text.”
“No, I remember, you don’t need to—”
“‘Don’t get excited, Simone. I would rather drown myself in a Taco Bell toilet than go on a three-week road trip with this overfed goon.’”
I sighed. “Yeah, well. You told me to give him a chance, and now look what you’ve done.”
“Well? How was it?”
“Oh . . . you know. Just the best orgasm of my life, that’s all.”
“Holy crap! What are you going to do?”
“Well, I don’t know, do I? That’s obviously what I’m calling you for. You got me into this mess, now you have to get me out!”
“I think you should ask him on a date. You know, get to know each other better with your clothes on.”
“What the fuck, Simone? A date? Are you trying to kill me? We tried that already, remember? I mean, honestly, what do you think are the chances that alllll these years of dates were just a fluke, and that this is the one time I’m not going to get inside of my head, overanalyze everything, and end up acting like an off-the-charts weirdo? ”
“Yeah, I know, but I had to try. Then why not, instead of dating him, just casually sleep with each other and, you know, see how it goes? Like, what is he doing now? Thinking of you naked? Go knock on his door and find out.”
“No way! We’re stuck together. If anything goes wrong, we’ll be trapped in a nonstop cringe-inducing purgatory for the remainder of this hell trip!”
“Yeah, but—”
“And then what am I supposed to do? Go out on dates with Jackie’s men every day and then go to bed with Tadhg every night? That just sounds confusing for both of us! And also kinda gross. I don’t want to lead anybody on. No, this was just a onetime thing.”
“But you said it was the best orgasm of your life! You’re going to let that slip through your fingers?”
“It was. But it was probably just the adrenaline from almost dying.”
“WHAT?”
“We almost died. That’s not important right now. Can you focus, please? This was just a onetime thing, that’s already been decided. What I need is to figure out how to handle this situation.”
“Well, what I would do is—”
“Don’t you dare tell me to have sex with him again right now.”
“Dammit!” She sighed into the phone. “Fine. But you’re crushing my spirit. Well, are you at least going to talk to him about it like an adult?”
“That’s my usual protocol. But if we do have a talk and it goes terribly, then we have nowhere to hide—we still have like nineteen solid days to fester in the awkward fallout.
Now we’re back to the hell-trip scenario.
No, I think the very best possible outcome is that we both completely ignore it like it never happened. ”
“But what if he thinks you’re going to continue to sleep together, or to, you know, date?”
“I guess the safest procedure would be to let his behavior indicate what would need to happen next. If he acts like nothing has changed between us, then nothing would have to, and we could go on as before without the risk of an awkward conversation. If he acts like something has changed, his behavior would need to be analyzed, and the course of action reassessed accordingly, which may result in discussing our feelings or setting expectations and/or ground rules for future conduct.”
“Oh God, Maya. You’ve gone full instruction-manual mode. I’m not going to sway you on this, am I?”
“No.”
“Then why the hell did you even ask for my advice if you already knew you weren’t going to listen to a damn thing I said?”
“Well. You always give the worst advice, so I just wanted to confirm that I was doing the exact opposite.”
“You are the literal bane of my existence.”
“I know. But you’d be so bored without me.”
THE NEXT MORNING came far too soon.
“Glad you could finally join us,” Tadhg Kelly deadpanned, in the middle of beautiful Killarney, holding the Jeep door open with a stance that said I’ve been here for hours.
That was normal, at least—no change there. “Caffeine” was all I could think to safely say.
Tadhg held the seat back for me while I attempted to squeeze my ass in with great effort, inadvertently giving him a front-row seat to the ass show, as was our usual custom.
When I finally got it in, I looked up to notice that Finn was watching me with what looked very much like a smug expression.
I had only been awake for a half hour. One thing that I most assuredly did not have time for was Finn’s main-character energy.
“What are you looking at? If you would sit in the back like a good dog, I wouldn’t have to debase myself. ”
“Easy, Davis. We’ll get your caffeine. Calm your ham.”
“My ham? That sure as hell better not be an ass joke.”
He let out the snort but neither confirmed nor denied. “The next time you need a hand pushing your ass through the door, just let me know. I’ve two at the ready—free of charge.”
Terror flooded my veins. That was objectively cheeky. Ignore the pun. However, I also knew it to be an objective truth that Tadhg Kelly was not a cheeky chap. Tadhg Kelly was a surly and curmudgeonly crocodile.
Oh, God. This is it! Things are already different!
I was confused. And undercaffeinated. Was he making fun of me?
Was he flirting? Did that mean he wanted to touch my ass again?
Or did it mean he’d be happy to shove me?
How the hell was I supposed to know? And how the ever-loving shit was I supposed to respond?
“Here. Something tells me you’ll like this place,” Tadhg said as we rolled up to a pub-cum-café, saving me from the trauma of constructing an adequate response.
Thank fuck for small mercies. We’ll just go in there and get coffee, like two normal people whose minds are not constantly straying to images of each other’s naked bodies, and forget all about that comment.
It was called the Shire. The outside had a little garden and a circle around the entry reminiscent of Bilbo’s front door, and the inside was every bit as adorable, making use of rounded archways, florals, and antler chandeliers.
The floor was grassy Astroturf, and there were signs for the Prancing Pony and Mordor, and lots of little LOTR details, which made me fall all the more in love with it.
I took some photos to show my parents, then remembered that I was technically at work and snapped a few selfies to send to Simone.
“I love this place! How did you know?”
“You’re easy to read.”
“Am not.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You’ve all the mystery of a neon sign.”
Rude. Oh . . . rude is great. Perfect, actually! A strong indicator that we can go back to our ongoing asshole competition and business as usual.
But as I squeed over the adorable menu of themed coffee names like Shire Spice Latte and the Eye-Opener of Sauron, I couldn’t help noticing that he was watching me with a soft expression that looked a little bit .
. . pleased, if such a man were capable of said emotion.
He liked that he had made me happy. I didn’t know what that meant at all!
My brain spiraled. It instantly came up with about a hundred questions, and a billion possible answers.
Not helpful, overanalytical brain! Bad brain! Bad!
“You know, you’d make a pretty good Hobbit. All that curly hair, and you’re Hobbit-sized.”
“What? I’m five-ten. That’s tall for a woman. I’m only Hobbit-sized to you because you’re Orc-sized.”
He laughed. “I’d bet anything you have some of those stick-on fairy ears at home.”
I scoffed and resolutely did not confess that I had several pairs. “Are you teasing me right now? Is that what this is?” I decided to ask him directly.
He crossed his arms. “Nope.”
“Good.” Goading and insulting seemed safe. Playful teasing, on the other hand, did not. I was glad this wasn’t teasing.
We put in our orders, and I was delighted to find out that we had to pay an extra two euros for reusable cups because, as the barista explained, the whole Killarney area had decided to ban the use of single-use cups.
Killarney, now that I had a bit of caffeine coursing through my veins, was truly lovely!
Elegant Victorian stone buildings crowded the streets, offering their wares on colorful painted shop front.
I was tempted by nearly every window we passed, specialty chocolates, outdoor outfitters, cool cafés, and cozy pubs, a shop specifically for rubber duckies, and in one window we passed, the most beautiful muffin I’d ever seen.
“Did you eat already?” I asked Tadhg.
“ ’Course I did. I’ve been awake for nearly four hours.”
“Further evidence that you are not human.”
Tadhg’s lips pulled a bit at the corners as he looked sidelong at me. It better have been a facial tic, because a grin would be dangerously uncharacteristic and a decided point for Team You’ve Fucked Everything Up.
“Okay, well, I think I might pass out if I don’t get that muffin immediately. Although it says it’s a cruffin. Is that one of these newfangled, high-tech chimera muffins?”
“Come on, then. Can’t have you passing out on the street and making a spectacle of yourself.
Let’s go get you some calories.” That seemed fairly normal.
He held the door open for me with one long arm braced between him and the door, and as I slid between them, he added in a low voice that sounded so close it made my skin tingle, “After all, you had quite the workout yesterday.”
Shit! I tripped on the doorjamb and did a little clumsy run, just as a strong hand caught my elbow. He rumbled a laugh, and heat crept up my neck.
Dammit! No way did he just say that. Impossible!
It wasn’t that I was embarrassed of what had happened, sex was sex, and that sex .
. . well, that sex was incredible. It wasn’t even that I minded talking about sex, as I tended to be blunt in a way that Simone called “uncanny and unsettling.” No, none of that was a problem for me.
The problem, the thing that nearly had me sprawled out across the café floor, was that Tadhg had mentioned it.
And so casually. This man wasn’t flirty.
He wasn’t playful. No, this comment was inescapable confirmation that the sex had thrown us off course into uncharted territory—a liminal postcoital land where nothing was certain and there was infinite potential for disaster lurking around every corner.
I hazarded a quick glance at Tadhg, but he looked perfectly normal. As if he hadn’t just thrown a grenade into our fragile peace.
Tadhg bought two cruffins and handed me one as we walked back out. I rushed to open the door for myself before he could open it for me in some sexy way that would mean I had to slide past the solid bulk of his body. I remembered it far too well without any need for reminders, thank you very much!
We both unwrapped our flaky hybrid cruffin things and took a bite.
It was, of course, croissant dough that had been sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar and stuffed into a muffin pan.
Crispy, perfect flakes drifted to the sidewalk like snow.
It was the butteriest thing I’d ever put into my mouth.
My eyes fluttered closed and I had to stop walking.
As I chewed slowly, I was transported to a higher plane of existence.
“So, are you ready for your dates today?”
I snapped back into my body and almost choked on my transcendental cruffin. I’d been so preoccupied with the Tadhg situation that I had forgotten today was a workday. And I didn’t have one date—I had an interminable stream of them.
Why is he asking that? What the hell am I supposed to say?
What is a date with a stranger going to feel like only hours after this glorious sex god has been inside of me?
I started walking, mostly so I wouldn’t have to look at him.
Is he teasing me? Is he flirting? What if I’m misinterpreting?
Should I test it? Should I flirt back? Should I ask him to stop?
Do I want him to stop? Where do all of these multiverse choices lead?
Is this what an existential crisis feels like? Uggggh.
I did not have an experiment for this. My observations were inconclusive! I had zero protocol. I’m going to throw up cruffin!