I grin. “Actually, I did meet one of the guys he works with, and yeah, he’s…um…yeah. He’s hot, too.”
“I demand an introduction, in that case,” she says, handing the phone back to me finally, but then immediately snatches it back. “Wait—I need to see the photo you sent him.”
I reach for the phone, trying to take it from her. “NO! It’s embarrassing!”
Audra tosses her plate onto the coffee table and hops over the back of the couch with enviable agility. “Just let me look! It’s not like I’ve never seen you naked before, dummy. We used to go skinny-dipping together all the time in the lake at my parents’ cottage up north.”
I sink back to the couch in defeat. “If you make fun of me, we’ll be fighting for real.”
While I clean up the mess I made, Audra scrolls through my phone to find the photo, looks at it for a moment or two, and then lifts her eyes to me. “Why are you embarrassed by this, Imogen?” Her voice is uncharacteristically serious. “It’s a beautiful, tasteful, sensual photo. You’re beautiful. He’s a lucky man.”
I shake my head and snort, but inside I’m fighting a lump in my throat. “Sending that was terrifying. And I felt awkward as hell taking it. I think I took like fifty before I got that one that felt right.”
Audra is not fooled. “Why does it feel like you’re about to cry?”
I duck my head. “Feeling good about how I look is…difficult. Nicholas made sure of that.”
Audra is back over the couch and sitting next to me in an instant. “That’s why you need this, Imogen. This guy makes you feel beautiful?”
I nod, swallowing hard. “Yeah, he really does.”
“And he’s gorgeous, has a big package, he’s muscular, and you said he’s nice and funny, and he’s got skills, and he’s willing to go out of his way to do things for you.” She gives me a look that says, what are you, stupid? “I don’t see the downside, here. What’s holding you back?”
“I’m scared, Audra.”
“Again—of what?”
“I really, really like him. And I really, really want him.”
“But…?” she prompts.
“It’s not a but, it’s a…it’s that I like him maybe too much. He’s a player.” I bob my head to one side. “Not a player—that’s not fair to him. He just doesn’t date.”
“So he’s like me?”
I nod. “And you know I love you. But if you slept with a guy, and he started falling for you, what would you do?”
Audra sighs. “I’d ghost on him.”
“Exactly.”
“But what if he ends up wanting something besides the same old same old with you?” She shrugs. “It’s not impossible. Maybe he’s just been waiting for the right one, and you’re it? How would he know if you’re it unless you try him out?”
I snort. “Try him out? He’s not a car, Audra, he’s a person. God, you’re so tactless sometimes.”
Audra props her feet up on the coffee table, crosses her arms under her breasts, and stares at the ceiling—I wait, knowing that this posture means she’s thinking through something she wants to phrase just right. Finally, she tucks her feet under her thighs and twists to face me.
“Okay, so answer me this: how long has it been since you’ve had really truly amazing sex? Not just okay married couple boring sex, but world-rocking, earth-shaking, hard-core fucking that you know you won’t ever forget?”
I have to give this some thought, and the answer that emerges is one I don’t like. “Lee, in college.” It comes out as a whisper.
“Never once with Nicholas was it like that?”
I shake my head. “No, not really. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t amazing. Not like that.”
She frowns at me. “So then…what was the point of being with him?”
I shrug. “It wasn’t that kind of relationship. It was comforting. Stable. Easy. The sex was good enough for the first few years, and while I knew it wouldn’t shake my world or anything, it was enough to keep me…not satisfied exactly, but not so dissatisfied I’d wander, I guess. Not that I ever would cheat—I’d have left him before I did that.”
“I think I understand that, to a degree.” Audra dishes herself more food as she answers. “And I mean, I know sex isn’t everything in a relationship, but I’ve never been interested in a relationship, and you know why. But it is an important part of things.”
“What does this have to do with Jesse?”
“I’ll get to that,” she says. “But first, another question. The first time you suspected Douche-Canoe was cheating on you, who was there to get you drunk, clean you up, and help you pick up the pieces?”
I blink hard. “You.”
“And when you found out for sure, who was there?”
“You,” I repeat.
“And when your divorce was finalized, who took you out for a celebration?”
“Audra—”
“Who was there for you, Imogen?”
“You, but—”
She takes my hands in hers. “So if you get involved with this guy, and you get in too deep and he ends up hurting you—which, I grant, is a possibility—do you really think I won’t be there to help you through it?”
“I know you will,” I whisper.
“Okay, so yeah, you stand a chance of getting hurt. You wear your heart on your sleeve and you get attached fast, I know this. And if this guy is a commitment-phobe like me, yeah, he could vanish on you if things get to a place he’s scared of going.” She taps her chest. “But if that happens, I’ll be there to do what best friends do—love you, and get you back on your feet, and make sure you don’t gain a million pounds through heartbreak eating.”
I laugh. “And you know I would.”
Audra isn’t done yet. “Next thing I want to say—You’re divorced, now. No kids—I know, I know, touchy subject, and I’m sorry—but it also means you have no commitments besides your job. Nothing holding you back from doing whatever you want. This is your chance to reinvent yourself, Imogen! It’s hard to not fall into the Real Housewives clichés about turning a new page and fresh starts and all that, because that’s really what you have now that you’re free from Douche-Canoe. You can do whatever you want! Be whoever you want. This isn’t a time in your life to let fear hold you back, this is the time to try new things, do things you would never do—” and here she taps my phone, sitting on my thigh, “—like sending topless photos to a hot guy you’re interested in. Be bold, be bad.”
“Look—after Nicholas, I’m afraid if Jesse hurts me, I’ll never recover, and I’ll die a lonely old maid because I’m too afraid to let myself find anyone.”
“That logic cuts both ways, babe,” she says. “Anyone you meet has the potential to hurt you. The only way to know if a relationship—whether it’s sexual or romantic or friendship—is safe and that you won’t get hurt is to give it a chance.”
“Which is why you’re the way you are?” I ask, the question pointed.
She winces. “Yeah, well…I’m great at giving advice, not so great at following it myself.” She sighs. “We’re talking about you, not me. And I’m telling you, as your best friend, as the person who knows you better than literally anyone on the planet, I’m telling you to go for it with Jesse. If it’s nothing but a one-night stand, great. You’ll have a night I doubt you’ll forget. If it ends up being more, even better. If it’s something in between, like just a temporary thing to scratch an itch you both have, that’s great too. There’s no wrong answer here. You have to move on, Imogen. Your marriage to Douche-Canoe was over a long time ago—the divorce was just the final nail in the coffin. This is your time. You’re not getting any younger, babe, so, you know…seize the day, and all that.”
“You just may be right,” I admit.
Audra laughs. “Of course I’m right!”
“Okay, okay,” I say. “I’ll try.”
“You’ll try?” She echoes, faintly.
I nod. “I’ll try.”
She s
hakes her head. “Wrong—this isn’t something you try. You just let whatever happens happen, and you go into it without any expectations. Just enjoy yourself. That’s it. Super simple.”
“Whatever happens, happens,” I repeat, “and no expectations.”
“And tell Audra every last dirty, sordid detail, the moment he leaves.”
I laugh. “And tell Audra every last dirty, sordid detail the moment he leaves,” I repeat.
We drink more wine, and eat too much Chinese food, and then too much ice cream, and watch half of the latest season of The Bachelor on my laptop. Audra falls asleep on my couch—a regular occurrence on our nights in.
I’m half-asleep myself as I head upstairs, but when I get into bed, I can’t sleep from the excitement I feel. There’s trepidation, too—the fear of getting hurt hasn’t gone away or lessened, but I know Audra will help me through it if that happens. And Audra is right—I have to get back out there, or I never will.
And besides—everything I’ve experienced with Jesse so far tells me that regardless of how things end up with him, it’ll be worth it.
Earth-shaking, world-rocking, hard-core fucking? Yes, please.
I fall asleep trying to picture what that might feel like.
10
I’m nowhere near bold enough to simply ask Jesse to come over so we can sleep together, so I’m oddly relieved when my kitchen sink starts leaking the next day.
I text him immediately, but have to edit my text several times before I’m comfortable with the wording: Hey, so my kitchen sink is leaking, both from where the faucet attaches to the sink and around the edges where it’s supposed to be sealed to the countertop. Any chance you have a pretty porcelain farmhouse sink just laying around?
The bubbles pop up immediately, and a text bloops in a second later: You just want me for my skill with power tools.
I let my fingers do the talking, and don’t edit or filter my reply. Yep. No ulterior motives here. Just pure opportunism.
Jesse: I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or not.
Me: that’s the tricky thing about text messages, it’s hard to infer stuff like that.
Jesse: Ryder is doing the electric for a remodel an old farmhouse remodel, and I think they’re actually doing a total gut job and going super modern on the inside, so there’s a possibility I may be able to score one.
Me: I was totally kidding about that. I’ll gladly pay for a new sink. I mean, you may even be able to fix the one I have, but I’ve always wanted a farmhouse sink. You don’t have to go scavenging for me.
Jesse: Hey, why pay for something if I can easily find it for free? I’m not promising anything, but I’ll swing by the job and look. Either way, I’ll get you fixed up ASAP.
Me: You’re the best.
Jesse: Don’t forget you said that when you’re trying to come up with ways to thank me. My previously stated methods of acceptable thanks still apply. ;-)
I laugh out loud at that, because, it being a day off with nowhere to go, I’m in my pajamas. I decide to “thank” him a little right away.
I stand in front of my full-length mirror in my bedroom and take a full-body selfie, making sure to twist and lift and work all the magic for the best pose—showing off cleavage and thigh and making my waist look smaller than it is.
I leave it unedited, and send it to him with a caption: here’s a little down payment on my thank you. :-*
I second-guess the kissing-face emoticon the moment I send it, but it’s too late to take it back.
He texts back instantly: Have mercy!
Me: fine. Here’s a little extra…mercy.
I face the mirror again and tug the neck of the shirt down a little, showing a bit more cleavage, snap a photo, and send it.
Jesse: I meant that as an epithet, but I’ll take the extra mercy. The only problem is now I’m installing cabinet hardware with a hard-on, which I can’t very well just disappear to take care of, if you know what I mean.
Me: Poor Jesse. Should I apologize?
Jesse: Hell no. Just saying. That’s what you do to me.
Me: It’s not even that hot. Just a little tugging on the shirt.
Jesse: It doesn’t take much where you’re concerned. I have to go, though. James is getting pissy that I’m texting instead of working. He’s a real slave driver. I’ll let you know what I come up with regarding the sink.
Me: Okay, thanks. See you soon?
Jesse: Not soon enough, but yeah.
Me: You’re sweet.
Jesse: and you’re hot. GTG. Bye for now.
I’m grinning like a fool, and vibrating with excitement. And trepidation. But mostly excitement.
I spend the rest of the day cleaning house, mowing the backyard, and weeding the beds.
Once I’m done with my chores, I decide to sun myself a little in the backyard and do some reading, so I fix myself a little drink—some red wine mixed with soda water—and stretch out on my lounge chair. I’m only out there a few minutes when I figure, what the hell, may as well get some real sun. So I wiggle out of my shorts and peel my tank off, and enjoy some naked rays—with proper sunblock, of course, because skin cancer would suck, and so do sunburns. I flip to my stomach after an hour or two, and then, simply because I’m so relaxed, I end up falling asleep.
I’m startled awake by the sound of my front door opening, and Jesse’s voice calling a hello.
I wriggle back into my shorts and tank top in record time, and I’m still tugging the shirt down when he appears in my kitchen, carrying a huge sink in his arms. He glances through the window and sees me, catching me just as I finish rolling the tank down over my breasts, and his eyes go wide. He sets the sink down and sidles outside. I remain on the lounge chair, trying to stay calm.
“Hey, you,” he says, grinning. “Did I interrupt something?”
I don’t know how to respond. “I…um. No. I was just…sunbathing.”
His smirk is knowing. “Making use of that privacy fence, huh?”
I stand up and meet his gaze. “Yes, Jesse, I was sunbathing in the nude. I actually fell asleep, so you startled me.”
“I did knock like, twenty times,” he says. “And you know, next time you don’t have to be quite so quick to get dressed.”
I roll my eyes. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
He nods, not a trace of humor on his face. “Sure as hell would. Those stupid pink heart stickers are driving me crazy.”
I laugh. “I wasn’t quite daring enough to do it without them.”
“I get it. But I’m going crazy not knowing what’s beneath them.”
I snort. “Nipples, Jesse. Just nipples. Seen one pair, you’ve seen them all.”
“I know that, intellectually.” He steps a little closer, and the items in question tighten, harden—a fact his gaze doesn’t miss. “That doesn’t change the fact that I desperately want to see yours.” His smirk shifts into a full-on smolder. “Or better yet, taste them.”
I clench my thighs together and fight the urge to moan. “Taste…them?”
He nods, his voice dropping to a whisper so low and intimate I have to strain to hear him, have to lean into him. “Taste them. Lick them all over. Kiss them, rub them against my face, devour them until you’re begging me to stop.”
“That’s stupid,” I breathe.
“Which part?”
“The part where you think I’d beg you to stop.” I can’t believe the words coming out of my mouth. “I’d beg, but not for you to stop.”
“You change your mind about me, then?”
“It was never about that, Jesse. Not entirely, at least.”
He’s staring down at me, his eyes firmly on mine rather than the generous view he certainly would have down my shirt, from that angle. “Last time we saw each other, you shut things down pretty firmly. Now you’re singing the opposite tune.”
“Yeah, I’ve been kind of back and forth about things.” I’m not going to apologize for it, and I don’t.
He just lets the silence between us breathe for a moment, and then backs away. “Want to see your new sink?”
“Yes, please.”
He heads into the kitchen, and I gasp at the sink he’s brought. It’s huge, two deep tubs, made of spotless porcelain. On the floor next to it was a box with a photograph of an antique-style double-knob, high-arch faucet.
I crouch and stroke the porcelain. “It’s lovely, Jesse. Absolutely perfect. Exactly what I’ve always pictured.” I glance up at my current sink, which is significantly smaller than this one. “But will it fit?”
“What did I tell you about my skill at fitting big things into small spaces?” he says with a lopsided grin.
I blush. “Jesse!”
He just laughs and whips out a tape measure, lays it across the sink lengthwise and widthwise, and then the space between the lower cabinets. “Like the windows, it’ll just fit. You’ll lose a few inches of counter space on either side, though.”
“For a sink like this, I’ll happily trade the counter space.”
He slaps the counter. “Well, I’ll get started. Shouldn’t be too labor intensive.”
“I’m gonna get some dinner going,” I say, heart in my throat. “Um. Do you…want to stay? Have dinner with me?”
“You know I do.” He wiggles his phone out. “And we’re in luck—James is up at his hunting cabin in Wisconsin, so there won’t be any emergencies from el jefe.”
“Good, because it seems like every time we get a few minutes alone, your boss has an emergency.”
He rolls his eyes. “No kidding. Who knew construction involved so many emergencies, huh?”
“Right?”
We each begin our work, him removing the old sink, and me putting together a meal. Fortunately, I have chicken thawed, so it’s a matter of pan-frying some breasts while water is on the boil for pasta, with some broccoli steaming.
Jesse sniffs the air as he marks where to cut the countertop away. “You’re a really good cook, you know that?”
“According to my ex-husband, I’m a utilitarian cook. I can do the basics pretty well, but—”
“Your ex was a dick,” Jesse cuts in. “Not to put too fine a point on it, but he was a grade-A dick who clearly had no clue what a treasure he had in you.”