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And then, I moan, experiencing the pure bliss of making love to a perfectionist.
* * *
Fifteen… Maybe Twenty Minutes Later
Randy and I are putting the finishing touches on buttoning our shirts and zipping our pants. As usual, we’ve arrived at the point where we can barely look each other in the eyes.
“Oh, and about Jeremy,” Randy says, collecting my full attention.
We stare at each other. My heart swells, full of the strong emotions of after-sex.
“What about him?” I’m barely able to voice.
“I can pay for the damage to his car. You don’t have to go out with him.”
I’m already shaking my head. Even after we’ve just gotten as close as people can humanly get, I still don’t want to be beholden to the side of Randy that can be a complete jerk. But arguing with him about it is not the postcoital behavior I want to engage in right now.
“I’ll be fine,” I say, waving off his concern. But then another thought comes to mind. “Unless he’s someone I should be wary about?”
“No, no,” he says, shaking his head adamantly. “It’s not that.”
“Then what is it?”
His eyebrows become animated, as if he’s battling inner turmoil. For a moment, I almost think Randy is jealous. Surely, he’s not jealous. He has made it very clear that this thing between us is just sex. And I’ve conveyed the same thing to him.
I remember this instance last year at our Christmas party, in front of everybody, he said, “I can’t wait to see the guy Gina ends up with. I bet he’ll be…” And then he raised his eyebrows.
“He’ll be what?” I snapped, determined not to let him off the hook.
He bounced his eyebrows again.
I was steaming. We had already done the deed about twice then. He was Mr. Mixed Signals then and still is now.
“To hell with it,” he finally says. “I just know he’s not your type.”
I want to say, “Why do I care if he’s my type or not? I’m just paying off an easy debt.” But I still don’t want to bicker with Randy after sex, so I just say, “Okay. I’ll keep that in mind.”
After a moment, he turns his back on me and walks out, leaving me staring at the empty space he leaves behind, trying to figure out what I’m feeling right now. The way we did it tonight was different. We could hardly keep our mouths off each other. Every caress, squeeze, and rub could be felt deeply.
Could that have been something more? Like love? Is that why Randy is warning me about his cousin?
Then I shake my head. It couldn’t have been love. I could never love Randy, and he could never love me. We’re oil and water—the furthest of binaries, existing on two opposite ends of the spectrum.
No. Whatever emotions we have for each other don’t penetrate beneath the surface. I push thoughts of him away. Instead, I focus on the idea of a shower, my bed, and the deeply needed sleep awaiting me. With that in mind, I clock out of my shift for the day.
Chapter 3
Debt Date
Gina
As I lie in bed, tracing the delicate crack in the ceiling with my weary gaze, my eyelids begin to feel impossibly heavy. What a whirlwind of emotions today has been, and the gust has followed me into the night. As I drift softly into the embrace of sleep, the memory of Randy’s kiss lingers. I touch my lips and feel the fleeting echo of passion flutter through me. It’s curious how swiftly the fiery moments shared between lovers dissolves into the ether of our minds. At first, there’s this electric spark of attraction that ignites an exhilarating rush. Then in the heat of connection, we soar, touched by euphoria. But as quickly as it ignites, the flame dims, leaving those shared moments to gently recede into the tapestry of our past.
With Randy, it’s a dance of shadows—intense and captivating, yet elusive, slipping through my fingers like whispers of smoke. I can never seem to hold on to him, to carry the essence of us beyond the now. And in these quiet, introspective moments, I find myself pondering—do I even want to? Do I yearn to anchor him, to weave him into the fabric of my tomorrows?
Honestly, I don’t know much about Randy except that he almost became a famous chef in New York City before something big happened. We’ve never talked about what went wrong, and we’ve never really been on an actual date. People say Randy doesn’t do dates, even though lots of folks have tried to catch his eye. He’s pretty popular. It makes me wonder if I am the only one he’s doing.
The idea that I might not be his only secret hookup bothers me a lot. I toss and turn in bed, feeling all kinds of upset. That’s it. I decide here and now that Randy and I are done. It is time to move on.
