Eh, not exactly. But I hold my tongue. My mom’s cool and all, but no way in hell am I telling her about the night Noah Maxwell caught me masturbating and finished the job for me. I blush just thinking about it.
“Anyway…” I clear my throat. “I’m feeling a little out of my league here. I haven’t really felt this way before.”
I feel like a dork admitting it, but there it is. I’ve dated plenty. Hooked up with a few, albeit a tiny fraction of what the media assumes to be true.
But it’s never been quite like this. I’ve never experienced this all-consuming obsession with someone else.
“Well, what is it you’re after?” my mom asks slowly. “If it’s just a good time, in my day that meant putting on our prettiest dress and convincing him to take us out dancing. In fact, that was your dad’s and my first date. I asked him out dancing. I wore a pink polka-dot dress and he bought me white wine spritzers, and we danced the night away.”
I put a hand over my mouth to stifle the giggle. Could she be any cuter?
“But if you’re w
anting to figure out if this could be something more,” she says, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial tone, “you’ll want a different approach.”
“Pins and needles, Mom. Pins and needles.”
“Well, the first time your dad told me that he knew I was the one—”
“Whoa. Sorry, have to halt you right there. I’m not looking to marry this guy.”
“You never know who you might marry, sweetie. Nobody ever does until they do, you know?”
I blink. “Does Kelly understand when you talk like that? You remember, right, that she’s the smart one?”
“Nonsense, both my girls are smart,” she says loyally. “But anyway, whether or not you marry this guy, there’s exactly one tried-and-true way to crack any man.”
Zip-tying him to the bed and giving him a blow job?
Eep.
“I’m listening,” I say, hoping this suggestion doesn’t involve dancing, because there’s no way in hell I’m getting Noah Maxwell onto any kind of dance floor in any universe.
“You’ve heard that the way to any man’s heart is through his stomach?” she asks.
I blink. “No. Is that a thing?”
She sighs, sounding maybe the tiniest bit frustrated. “Honey, is there a grocery store nearby?”
“No, Mom. No food at all in this time zone.”
She ignores my sarcasm. “Get a pen and paper. I want you to write this down….”
Noah
I’ve never in my life been embarrassed about a sexual encounter. I’m sure as hell not embarrassed now.
And yet I’m avoiding Jenny today.
What the hell does one say to a girl who hid in your closet, ambushed you, zip-tied you to the bed, and then sucked you off to within an inch of your life, before promptly trotting out your front door without so much as a backward glance?
Thank you.
How about another?
My turn.
But I have no business touching Jenny Dawson. Or any woman, for that matter. Not until I figure out how to extricate myself from the last one.