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I tried it once with one of the boyfriends who claimed our sex life was lacking because it "had gotten stale."
It was fine. A little uncomfortable. A lot awkward. Not at all sexy.
I never wanted to try it again.
But it would be different with Jackson. Everything I've tried would be different with Jackson.
No. I'm focusing on his dysfunction, not mine. "Was that a mutual decision or did one of you want something else?"
"I couldn't give her what she wanted," he says. "We both agreed on that. We parted on good terms."
Right.
"She told me to hook up with someone here." He shakes his headthis is ridiculous. "Minutes after I talked her off, she told me to go hook up with someone."
That is a very vivid mental image.
He doesn't notice the distraction in my expression. "She says that's the only way I know how to have fun."
"Well—" I bite my tongue. I shouldn't call the guy a square—I mean, he just said he'd try pegging!—but let's face it. In all other ways, he is.
"You agree?" he asks.
I mime zipping my lips again.
"No. Tell me the truth. It won't hurt my feelings."
"Really? If I say you're no fun, I hate hanging out with you. That wouldn't hurt?"
"The latter would. Not the former," he says.
"I wouldn't describe you as fun, no."
"And you?" he asks.
"What about me?" I ask.
"How would you describe yourself?"
"Well, I'm not talking off my exes at work," I say. "But I enjoy myself."
"Oh yeah, turning in at nine to watchDoctor Who?" A teasing tone drops into his voice.
Which is way too sexy. Especially since he's so wrong.
Doctor Whois amazing, and what is more fun than watching TV on the couch with your best friend? Or at least on the couch on your own.
It's the only time of day when no one expects anything from me. And it's still a more traditional form of fun than any of his supposed outlets.
"All right counselor," I say. "Maybe neither of us knows how to have fun. I can cop to that if you can."
His smile shifts to something else, something dirty.
No. That's me. I have some cross-examination lawyer fantasy I'm playing out in my head.
This is normal conversation between friends.
"An admission of guilt." His arm brushes mine as he leans closer. "That's out of the question. I need some sort of immunity deal."
