The Girlfriend (The Boss 2)

“Good plan. No sad thoughts.” I rose and went with him to the seating area, where we buckled up and waited.

I squeezed Neil’s hand hard during takeoff, but once we were in the air it was smooth sailing. I worked my jaw to pop my ears, and Neil offered me a piece of gum. I took it and chewed gratefully. “At least this plane isn’t as loud as a seven-forty-seven. It’s the worst when your ears are clogged and there’s all that ambient noise. You can’t hear anything and you feel like you have a bag over your head.”

“No, the worst are takeoffs and landings.” He looked a little pale as he smoothed both hands over his face and into his hair.

“You took it really well.” Or maybe I just hadn’t noticed because I’d been so nervous, myself.

“I was suppressing my fear, because you were frightened.” He gave an embarrassed laugh, and in an exaggerated and terrible southern accent he quipped, “Gotta be strong for my woman.”

I pretended to swoon, leaning my head on his arm. “My hero.”

After we got the all clear to unbuckle, I went to the bathroom— teensy, but still not as cramped as commercial airline bathrooms, for sure— to brush my teeth and get changed into my nightgown. I still couldn’t bring myself to do the faded flannel pjs thing in front of him willingly, so I’d brought a short, silky black chemise to sleep in during the flight. I hated the fact that I was still bleeding as if I was having the world’s longest period, but the literature from the doctor’s office had said it could last up to two weeks. It would have been nice to join the Mile High Club.

A part of me felt irrationally guilty for wanting to have sex again, so soon after having an abortion. Maybe it was my Catholic upbringing, or just misogynist cultural conditioning in general, but I felt like I had done something bad, and that I should go on punishing myself and denying my dirty, dirty sexual urges.

But how was I supposed to feel repentant and dirty— in the bad way— when someone looked at me the way Neil did when I stepped through the door?

He swallowed and murmured, “Good lord, Sophie.”

I smoothed the black silk down, over my still-bloated tummy that a moment ago had made me feel super self-conscious. I know I should be comfortable in my own skin all the time, and not just when some man found me attractive, but it was nice to have that reassurance every now and then.

Hey, I’m a product of the culture I live in.

“Well, you’ve seen enough of yoga pants and baggy t-shirts lately. I thought I should step up my game.” I went to his side and slid my arms around him. He’d already stripped down to his boxers for bed, and his skin was warm and soft under my cheek as I leaned my head on his chest.

His hands glided over the silk to cup my backside. He bunched it in his fingers, and I rose up on my toes, trying to keep him from feeling the sanitary pad in my panties. Something about that just didn’t scream “romance!” to me.

“Why are you so jumpy?” he asked, frowning down at me.

“You know.” I stepped back and gestured down. “Two weeks.”

“I wasn’t intending to ravish you.” He paused, his gaze darting upward as he reconsidered his word choice. “Well, I was. But I was just intending to get you off. No full intercourse.”

“Yeah, not in any way, until I’m done reading Crimson Tide, if you catch my drift.” I sighed unhappily.

He nodded thoughtfully. “You know, if you’re truly uncomfortable with the idea, or you need more time emotionally, I completely understand. But if you’re afraid that I’m going to be disgusted to touch you, let me assure you that is not the case.”

“No, no, it’s nothing like that,” I protested. “I’m dying for you to touch me. I just don’t want to turn you off or ruin something between us because I’m... gross.”

“Sophie, you are never gross.” He sat on the bed and patted the spot beside him.

“Yeah, well, you’ve never seen me eat Thai food with a sinus infection.” I sat next to him. Made up with crisp sheets and a thin woven cotton blanket in a crème color, the bed matched the color scheme in the rest of the plane.

“I just don’t think I can let you put your hands down there. Prepare yourself for five sexless days a month.”

“Gladly. After what we’ve just been through, I’ll hold a celebratory parade in honor of your menses if you asked me to. But for future reference, your period will not turn me off.” He scooted himself back and pulled down the blankets, swinging his legs under them. “Do you mind if I take the inside?”