That wouldn’t be lonely at all, would it?
I put the car in drive and pulled away from the curb. I could travel too—I could go anywhere I wanted, whenever I wanted. Plenty of people traveled by themselves. Look at Mia, going to Paris all alone and meeting the love of her life when she least expected it!
That was the thing about being free—your life still had so much possibility. So I didn’t need to fret about my relationship status or envy my friends their happy life milestones. I still had possibility.
And if possibility had a pair of handcuffs and a magic tongue, all the better.
After successfully battling the urge to call Charlie after Thanksgiving weekend, I was thrilled when he texted me the first Monday in December, asking if I wanted to meet for coffee the next morning.
We met at the Starbucks by me at ten thirty, just after I taught an adult ballet class and before he had to be at work. When I saw him waiting for me near the entrance, my heartbeat quickened, which I decided was a sexual reaction rather than an emotional one. Of course, I refrained from hugging him hello, although I wanted to. It annoyed me how much I wanted to.
We ordered drinks and found a table by the window. “You could have woken me to say goodbye on Friday night, silly,” I said.
Charlie grinned as he shrugged out of his coat. “I tried, I swear. You were out cold.”
“Really?” I wrinkled my nose. “Sorry. I am kind of a heavy sleeper, I guess.”
“Back or stomach?”
I tilted my head, confused. “What?”
“Do you like to sleep on your back or stomach?”
“Oh. Neither. I’m a side sleeper. And I have this body pillow thing I like to hug.”
Charlie thought that was funny.
“What?” I said indignantly.
“Nothing. That’s cute. You’re a cuddler, even when you sleep.”
“I guess so.” I’d never really thought about it. I’d spent plenty of nights with my exes, but I didn’t remember cuddling much. Now if Charlie spent the night… No. Stop that. No night-spending¸ no cuddling, no feelings.
“Why are you frowning?” Charlie sipped his black coffee and set it down.
“Was I? Sorry. I was just thinking about my exes.” That was sort of the truth.
He leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Do tell. Expert cuddlers, were they?”
“Honestly I don’t remember. It’s been a while. The first guy was my college boyfriend—he turned out to be gay, actually.”
“You turned a man gay?”
I gave him a murderous look. “No. He was already gay, thank you. He said he liked women too, but in the end decided he liked men more. He said when he met me it was maybe fifty-fifty, but after we dated for a while he knew it was more like ninety ten.”
“See? You did turn him gay.”
I wadded up my napkin and threw it at him. “Shut up, I did not.”
“Come on, Erin. I’m only teasing. If he wasn’t attracted enough to a girl like you, he clearly preferred men.”
“Thank you. I think.” Did that mean he still found me attractive? Wait, he’s looking at my chest. And now my lips! Good.
He made eye contact again. “So what about the other one?”
“The other one talked in his sleep so we didn’t actually spend that many nights together.” I wasn’t about to tell him that one became a priest. He’d have a field day with that. “So what about you?” I blew on my latte to cool it off. “Stomach or back?”
He picked up his coffee. “Back.”
Good. That’s perfect for straddling, which I happen to be good at since I’m flexible. “And let me guess—you’re not a cuddler when you sleep.”
“I told you, I don’t spend the night with women, since it sends the wrong message,”—I rolled my eyes at this—“but as for cuddling, it’s a rare occasion, which is why you should feel extra honored that I invited you to cuddle with me the other night.”
I laughed, but secretly I did feel that way.
Later, he hugged me goodbye in the parking lot.
It wasn’t even awkward.
#
And then I didn’t hear from that asshole for over a week. Nine days, in fact, during which I thought about him way more than I should have. Pictured his body moving over mine. Imagined his voice in my ear, that voice. Fantasized about him surprising me in the shower. In the kitchen. In the car.
Pretty much everywhere.
I wanted to call him, but I still thought my plan to let him chase me was the best way to convince him I didn’t have any emotional attachment, even though we’d had sex.
Problem was, he wasn’t chasing me.
Meanwhile, I practically broke the Naughty Rabbit, I gave it such a demanding workout schedule.
Finally, he called.
It was a Thursday night. I’d gotten home late from the studio and was warming up some pasta for dinner when my phone rang. When I saw his number, my face broke into a wide smile and my insides danced, but I let it ring another five seconds before picking it up. “Hello?”
“What size shoe do you wear?”
“I’m fine, thanks. And how have you been?”
“Sorry. How are you?”
“Great.” God, I loved the sound of his voice. When had that happened? It wasn’t even that voice.
“Good, me too. Now what size shoe?”
I sighed in exasperation. “Seven. Why?”