Chapter Seven
Chelsea
Challenge: Go on a double date
How had I gotten myself into this predicament?
At first, I’d agreed to the double date because Bas was right: I’d get to check something off the list. But honestly, I was horny as fuck. I’d been afraid Bas might get the wrong idea, but he hadn’t pushed anything or stalked me. For a local, he was an ideal hit-it-and-quit-it fuck. I’d bet he’d had a string of dead-end romances. I didn’t even mind that we were starting to become friends. I’d gotten some amazing food out of it, and the company wasn’t half bad. I was proud of New Chelsea.
Elizabeth didn’t turn tonight into a dare, exactly, but she did warn, “Don’t even think of bailing on me. If you do, I’ll drag Kate out with us, and she might go home with your boyfriend.”
Elizabeth had as much chance of getting her boss to go on a blind date at the last minute as she had of dragging me to a lecture on Derrida. Still, the thought of Bas with Kate made me itch. If anyone was going to bed with Bas, it was me.
I shouldn’t have to pick through the unvetted pool of wannabe suitors for a partner for one night, only to go home alone. Evan teased Bas for being an easy lover. Well, so was I.
“What makes you think I’m going to bail?” I said, acting offended. “I’ll be there in thirty.”
I tossed my towel on the floor and donned a silky, midnight blue top with a loose and plunging neckline and a flirty miniskirt. I slipped my feet into the burgundy pumps that showed off my legs. I wanted Bas to gape at me like he’d catch fire if I so much as touched him. I’d paid too much for those shoes, and I wanted a return on my investment.
Thoughts of money reminded me to transfer a chunk of my paycheck to my vacation fund. The balance was higher than I expected, so I scrolled down through my statement, unsure what I was looking for. Then it hit me. My mom never cashed my check.
She’d never called me back the week before, either, but when she’d finally texted: tried to call. got the check, thx. good now , I took it to mean the money would stretch until her next paycheck. I sent her that money to make sure she wouldn’t stop filling her meds. I felt a little guilty that I didn’t mind her not calling. She needed so much support, it drained me emotionally. She got mired in depression or gripped by a hyperactivity that caused her to chase unrealistic dreams, spend money foolishly, and make other irrational decisions. I’d urged her for years to see a therapist, but she’d just scoffed at the idea.
Honestly, I couldn’t blame her. The first counselor I approached in high school insisted that it wasn’t abuse if my dad never hit me. Spanking or slapping— a firm hand— didn’t qualify. Spare the rod, spoil the child . If my dad’s temper hadn’t left bruises, I was being dramatic, seeking attention.
No way I’d ask that counselor how to survive the constant belittling. Words could never hurt me, right? I never told her about the door slamming that presaged a night of cowering in my room to avoid an onslaught of nasty insults, walking on eggshells until the storm had passed. I held those incidents inside, ashamed. If my mom ever found the gumption to confront him on his tirades, rather than apologize, he’d counter with gaslighting. He wasn’t yelling, he’d tell her. Did she want to see yelling?
The lingering shame and fear of victim-blaming scared me from seeking professional help for years. By the time I did, too much bad advice had baked in. The patriarchal double standard ensured I’d never want to let some man decide my fate. I was still a woman with physical needs, but commitment-free sex could never trap me if I kept a man temporarily, moving on before he burrowed in and assumed command.
The best thing my father ever did was leave.
I was the only family Mom had, and so I tried my best to be there for her as much as I could. Now I needed to know what she’d done with the check. I dialed her number, expecting voicemail, but she answered on the third ring.
“Chelsea?”
“Hey, Mom.” I always hated talking about money with her. “Um, I was looking through my bank statement, and I noticed you didn’t cash my check.”
“That’s right.” Her voice sounded gritty. Like I’d woken her after a bender. “I texted you to let you know I’m good.”
“What does that mean, Mom? Are you taking your medication?”
“Yes, hon. I just didn’t need the extra cash, but thank you. It was thoughtful.”
Thoughtful. I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to force this into logic. “Did you get paid yesterday?”
“I did. Everything’s fine. No need to worry.”
If she didn’t want to take the money, I couldn’t force her, but I legitimately feared she’d suddenly cash it in three months when I’d already spent it. “Can you tear it up so I know it won’t get cashed by accident?”
“You want me to mail you the evidence, too?” she snapped.
“I’m not trying to offend you, Mom, but I like to keep my bank account balanced.” I couldn’t stop myself from adding, “You know if you need anything, you can always ask.”
“Thanks, sweetie. I doubt I will.”
Something wasn’t adding up. “Did you get another job? More hours?”
“Well, ain’t you full of questions.”
I let it go. “Okay. We can talk about what you still need from me over Thanksgiving, okay?”
“Oh, about that.”
My stomach dropped. I shook my head, knowing exactly what she was going to say next.
“Can you make other plans?”
My teeth ground together. “Where are you going to be?”
“Don’t worry your head.” She laughed, like I was the one who’d lost my mind. “I’ll be fine.”
Clouds parted. “Did you meet someone?” I didn’t know how I’d feel about that, honestly. She certainly deserved a second chance at a relationship, but she couldn’t take care of herself, much less someone else.
“No. I ain’t met nobody new.”
She was playing coy, but I couldn’t control her life, so I breathed in the good and breathed out all my anxiety over this situation. “Well, let me know if you need anything, okay?”
“Thank you. See ya at Christmas?”
“Of course.” Although maybe she’d bail on me then, too. She wasn’t very far away, and yet a mountain range divided us.
I hung up, thinking, And how are you, Chelsea?
She didn’t ask anything more about my job, my friends, my love life. I wasn’t sure at what point we’d become strangers tethered by blood. I’d done what I could to maintain a relationship with her, but I felt closer to the lady who bikini-waxed me. At least she told me she was sorry for hurting me.
I knew Mom didn’t mean to be so narcissistic. I could have offered information, but it would have meant more to me if she asked, if she cared.
Elizabeth was all decked out for trouble when I showed up at her place. This was a vast improvement over her weeks of moping. I’d worried our gambit might backfire since Evan had been so frosty to her for pranking him. I still couldn’t figure out how that had happened, but maybe tonight was a new start. Elizabeth hummed, like she hoped it was.
She loved being romanced, and she glowed from the renewed attention.
“Sorry I’m a little late. My mom called.” Her little gray-and-white cat, Jacques Lacan, hopped on my lap as I settled in front of the vanity mirror to pick through Elizabeth’s lipsticks.
“How is she?”
“Honestly, I don’t know, and I just talked to her.”
“She’s not your responsibility, Chelsea.”
“Nope.” I exhaled. It was the reminder I needed. Only my own choices were under my control, and I chose not to talk about my parents if I didn’t have to. “So how’s it going with Evan?”
She half-shrugged. “I’m not expecting anything, but today went well. Might as well see, right?” She poured me a glass of wine, saying, “You’re spending an awful lot of time with Bas.”
“He’s just another distraction.” I took a sip. “It’s no big deal.”
“It is, though. It’s unprecedented for you to let a guy take you out.” She leaned against the vanity.
“This isn’t exactly a real date. If anything, it’s a prelude to a quick hookup.”
She pursed her lips. “I’ve seen the way that guy looks at you. He doesn’t look like someone who’s interested in another hookup.”
“He was the last time.”
I found some coral lipstick and tried it on. It reminded me of my mom somehow, the color staining the butts of her cigarettes while she talked on the phone. I could almost hear her whispering to someone after my dad left. I shouldn’t have let him take all of me. Now there’s nothing left.
“But that was before you spent so much time together. He seems to really like you.”
“He doesn’t even know me.” The coral made my skin look sallow. I rubbed it off with a tissue. “I have milk older than the time I’ve known him.”
Elizabeth held out a raspberry gloss. “So get to know him.”
“What’s the point? I’ll only end up hurting him.”
“So don’t.”
“Easier said than done.” I dug up a wine-colored matte from the collection and examined it.
“You don’t have to be all love-’em-and-leave-’em all the time.”
I closed my eyes and let the accusation slide off me. She meant it as a joke, but she wasn’t saying anything new.
“Don’t worry, E. I’ll do my best not to accidentally promise him anything I can’t deliver.”
She frowned. “I’m not worrying about him. I don’t even know if he’s the right guy for you, but I wish you’d give him an honest chance. You don’t have to always choose loneliness.”
That’s exactly what Dr. Rubin had said at our last session.
“The way you protect yourself. One day, you’ll be forced to make a choice between all or nothing, and I’m afraid you’ll choose nothing out of some misplaced fear of future disappointment.”
I scrubbed the tears off my cheek, unaware when I’d started crying. Christ, I’d turned into a faucet lately. “Don’t worry about me. I don’t believe in fairy tales. I’ll take what I can get.”
She rubbed my arm. “Keep telling yourself that. I’m not buying it.”
She was right about one thing. Bas was the perfect guy to take for a test run. He’d already confessed to quitting sports and degrees and probably more women than he’d ever admit. He was likely as transitory as I was.
Except for one dangerous detail. He was different than any guy I’d ever known. Calm. Funny. Attentive. He pushed, but if this was a dance, he was following my lead. I wouldn’t hurt him for anything. I didn’t think he’d hurt me, either, at least not on purpose. But with his gentle humor and unabashed interest in me, Bas had hooked a finger around my heart, and I wouldn’t give him the power to yank it clean out of my chest. I wouldn’t make the same mistakes my mom had.
Elizabeth laid a hand on my shoulder and studied my expression, and I realized tears had wrecked my mascara. I definitely didn’t want her reading into my emotions. So I turned to face the vanity mirror, to shut her out, but then I was left facing myself.
“Got some mascara in my eye.” I lifted my chin and focused on fixing my makeup.
A knock at the door announced the arrival of our dates.
Elizabeth and I stared at each other for a minute, both a bit anxious. When I opened the door, my jaw dropped. This wasn’t ten-in-the-morning-sweats Bas. He’d showered and shaved and futzed with that great head of hair. He looked sharp in his gray sport coat over a white dress shirt that he’d left unbuttoned seductively. And he smelled like someone I’d like to eat with a spoon.
He scanned me and inhaled sharply. “You look incredible.”
Evan was complimenting Elizabeth in my periphery, and I assumed he looked amazing as well, but I couldn’t stop staring at Bas.
With an effort, I dragged my eyes away from his neck. “You clean up pretty well, yourself.” I tried to sound casual, but my voice quivered a little on the last words. His face lit up. I squashed the rising pull I felt toward something ephemeral, something I couldn’t place or name or control. And my heart cramped as I shoved that fleeting desire down, convinced it was nothing. Just my off-the-charts libido.
How had this guy I barely knew wormed his way into my life? What magic did he possess to hijack my waking—and sometimes sleeping—thoughts? Surely, it was simple lust, a superficial physical attraction, and yet it felt…
It felt like infatuation. But infatuation would run its course, especially if I nudged it back into my bed.
Bas picked up my jacket and helped me into it before leading me to his car and opening the door for me. It started to rain, so it made more sense to drive even though the music venue wasn’t far.
Evan and Elizabeth opted to take her car, and I predicted they’d end up at her house before the night was out. Fortunately, Bas still didn’t know where I lived, but gauging by the way he nervously fumbled his keys before starting the ignition, chances were looking good that I’d become well acquainted with the inside of his house by the end of the night.
I was tempted to invite him to my place right now to get rid of this annoying want, but my address was on a need-to-know basis with guys I slept with. It helped to maintain boundaries.
Bas tuned to some cheesy jazz station and didn’t stop glancing at me with a stupid grin the whole way to the parking garage. His demeanor screamed date . My stomach twisted in ways that had nothing to do with how recklessly he drove.
“Watch the road, Bas. You’re gonna get us killed.”
He parked in the garage and raced around to open my door. He even offered me a hand as if I hadn’t been getting in and out of cars on my own my entire life. But I loved his attention. I didn’t want to get used to it. I knew it wouldn’t last. He was showing his feathers to seduce me. It was working.
Revelers hooted on the side streets as we entered the pedestrian mall. We caught up with Evan and Elizabeth close to the coffee shop where I worked, and we walked quickly together down the brick walkway, teasing Evan for failing to bring an umbrella.
“Hey,” he laughed, “I don’t start work until Monday.”
Inside the renovated old theater, a guitarist strummed about love. We hadn’t bothered to find out who was playing. It didn’t matter. We just needed a place to listen to music together, so we could get points for the list.
Bas brought me a glass of red wine, bless him. He stared at my lips as I sipped it, clearly contemplating the same urge I was, and it sucker punched me. I leaned against him, feeling his heart beat. He draped one arm around me, and I closed my eyes, pretending this could be a real thing.
Why couldn’t it?
My fear of future devastation kept me lonely right now. I could do this. I was doing it. Like Elizabeth said, this didn’t need to be everything. I could accept this small slice of affection. This could even be a trial run to dip my toe into the romance waters.
As the singer crooned, I faced Bas. His dark, wavy hair called for me to dig my fingers through it and drag his face toward me. Those eyes pierced my soul, devoured me, and every time he licked his lips, I envied his tongue. I longed to kiss him, taste him, bite him. I wanted to feel his mouth on my skin, surrounding my nipples, sucking on me to bring me some relief. His long fingers touched mine, pulled me close, brushed my neck, and sent crackles down my skin.
He wasn’t shy in showing his naked desire. He wanted me as much as I wanted him, and all I had to do was crook my finger.
My eyes flicked up to his. He knew I wanted him, too.
He held me closer still, and the bulge in his pants pressed into my hip. I wanted to ride that until I lost my mind. I ground against him so there’d be no doubt about my intentions.
“You want to get out of here?” he asked, voice gritty.
Finally. “Can we go to your place?”
He frowned. “Ordinarily, yes. But—”
“Evan’s here,” I offered, assuming he was going to remind me he had a houseguest.
“It’s just that my roommate will probably be there, watching TV.” He ran his finger across my temple. “We could go get coffee and talk.”
Oh, hell no. We’d already talked too much. What would New Chelsea do? Or was I just using her as an excuse to do what I wanted? Fuck it. I was already in so deep. “Let’s go to my place.”
I didn’t get any argument there. He grabbed my hand and waved at Evan, pointing at his watch. Evan did some hand gesture I interpreted to mean he wanted to stay out with Elizabeth.
Bas pulled me from the club like it was on fire. The rain had stopped, but it was still chilly. The bracing wind outside quenched some of the heat as we walked to his car. He took my hand without asking permission as he drove me back to the street where he’d parked before, but I directed him to my house. He opened the car door for me and followed me as I dug in my purse for my keys.
I halted on the sidewalk. What if he turned out to be a stalker? If I stopped wanting his company and he wouldn’t take no for an answer? He’d know where I lived.
But that wasn’t why I was frozen in indecision. Old Chelsea knew better than to mix the streams. Sex was sex. Why complicate it with emotion? It was safer to keep romance off the table. Nobody would get hurt.
Once I let him in, I’d have to accept that I wasn’t just casually hanging out with Bas. I’d be opening more than the door to my house.
He laid a hand on my shoulder. “Do you want me to go?”
Of course he’d let me off the hook. I shook my head and walked the rest of the way up the steps to my porch.
While I unlocked my front door, Bas leaned his head against the post, fucking me with his eyes. My keys slipped from my fingers from sudden nerves. He picked them up and held them out to me, then wrapped his hand around mine and gently tugged me closer, pressed his lips to my palm. His breath tickled my wrist.
“Is this what you want?”
I laughed. “Of course.”
His hands dropped to my waist, then splayed out across my lower back. He pulled me into him and kissed the side of my neck, his soft mouth inching up to my ear. He whispered, “You feel amazing,” before brushing his lips across my jaw, my cheek, teasing, agonizing.
I let my head fall back, eyes closed, waiting, wanting, needing. If he didn’t kiss me soon, I might detonate.
His fingers slid under the hem of my shirt and traveled over my skin, sending vibrations in all directions. When his mouth found mine, at last, my throat released a feral sound. I dug my hands into those thick waves and grasped him hard, barely stopping for breath as I sucked on his lips, sought his tongue. It wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.
I hooked his calf with my ankle, to pull him closer, so I could feel how my body was affecting his. When I ground into his hard cock, the smallest moan escaped his lips.
Desperate for more, I tugged his shirt hem free. His stomach rippled as I ran my thumb across exposed skin. He had tight muscles and a trail of hair I wanted to follow. I popped the button on his pants.
His hands fell from my body, and he pulled back. He stood to his full height, considering me. Did he expect me to beg?
Every cell in my body throbbed with energy. I couldn’t resist him.
I was a heartbeat away from begging when he whispered, “Tell me what you want from this.”
As a response, I kicked the door open, fisting the fabric of his shirt and pulling him inside.
He licked those luscious lips and asked, “And tomorrow? Will we still be good?”
Funny, that was my line. “I don’t know. Will we?”
“What are you thinking, Chelsea? Can I get one of your patented truth bombs?”
The question made me laugh. Nobody but Bas would think I was too honest. “I’m thinking this is uncharted territory for me, and I’m scared of tomorrow. I’ve never let a man into my house.” Not for this.
“Do you want me to go?” he asked once again, and I loved that his first response was to prioritize my needs.
I shook my head. “I want you to kiss me.”
He closed and locked the door, then let me lead him into my inner sanctum.