Who cares.
Who even fucking cares about the pillow case?
Chandler’s small hands stroke my backside, then up my spine, slowly up and down, not yet ready to shove me off so she can breathe easy—nor am I in any rush to go. Climb off. Roll over. Be separated. The whole thing is beyond me right now; couldn’t even spell my name if I tried.
I plant another kiss to the corner of her mouth—one of her favorite spots—then in the center of her lips, before finally moving off her and flopping to the side, pulling her over with my arm.
There is a god and he’s watching out for me.
“I can’t believe we slept together on our first date.” Chandler is groaning beside me, arm slung over her brow and avoiding all eye contact. She didn’t seem embarrassed before, but now she’s abashed and flushing. “I am the worst! No self-control whatsoever!”
“First date?” What the hell is she talking about? “This is like, our fifth date, babe. Relax.”
Babe.
I wait for irritation at the endearment to settle in the pit of my stomach, but nothing comes. Strange, since I cannot stand hearing couples babe and honey and sweetie the shit out of each other.
And here I lie, fucking doing it to someone I’m not in a relationship with yet.
Yet?
Whoa, slow down, pal. She’s probably not interested—are you?
Chandler looks confused. “Fifth? No it’s not. This is our first.”
She’s so cute. “No—fifth or something.” I think, squinting up at the ceiling before I begin counting off our dates. “The rehearsal, the rehearsal dinner, wedding, The Ivy, my brother’s house, and tonight. So, what is that? Six? Yeah, we’re good.”
“We have not gone on six dates! None of that counts.” She laughs. “Have you lost your mind?”
Yeah, probably. But so what? “If it’s going to make you feel better about banging me so soon, then just rationalize it as six dates. No big deal.” I boop her on the nose. “God you’re adorable.”
Especially when she’s worked herself into a snit.
I think I could get used to that; no need to be perky and adoring all the time. I’ll take the prickly moods, too.
“Oh jeez, you must have a concussion—no sane man would say a thing like that.”
“You don’t want me to call you adorable?” I’m confused—don’t women want to be complimented and shit after they’ve been banged?
Chandler is not your average female; Chandler can kick your ass five ways from Sunday.
“No, I do, I just…don’t want you to feel like you have to? You just…” She shrugs and glances over the pillow at me. “Don’t seem like the type.”
No, I most certainly don’t—but that’s what makes her different. I want to be the type to say nice shit and do nice things. Sure, it’s unfamiliar territory and might take a while until I get used to it, but it’s worth fucking trying.
“It didn’t feel weird saying it, so I guess that’s saying something.”
She nods. Giggles. “What now? Do I put my clothes on and leave? How does this usually work?”
“Usually work?” I’m lying down but still manage to cock my head, confused.
“Yeah, you know—after you sleep with someone, do you kick them out right away, or can I at least use the bathroom real quick?”
Jesus—she’s actually being serious right now.
And there’s that recognizable pit forming in my stomach, but this one isn’t from dread. It’s a ball of guilt.
“You don’t have to go anywhere if you don’t want to. In fact, if you want to spend the night, I can find you a spare toothbrush.”
Chandler blinks, doe-eyed and adorable.
Yeah—adorable.
“Okay.”
I nod. “Okay then.”
Now there’s nothing to do but find that toothbrush, let the dog out to piss, fuck her a few more times, and get a good night’s rest.
Having a girlfriend may be the best play I’ve made all year. I just have to see if she’s down for that.
Huh.
Color me surprised.
Eighteen
Chandler
“Whoa, whoa, whoa—back up.”
“To which part?”
I’m in my cubicle at the office, peeking around the corner to make sure no one is nearby, before whispering back into the phone’s receiver at my cousin, who called for a post-date update.
“The part where we carved pumpkins or the part where we had sex?”
“No one gives a shit about the pumpkins, Chandler!” she hisses through the line like a complete savage. “Get to the good part—I have a meeting in fifteen minutes.”
“You’ve been a real monster since you got married,” I tell her with a laugh, twirling in my desk chair toward the laptop in front of me. “Are you not getting laid enough?”
“The opposite, actually.” She yawns. “I’m sleep-deprived from constantly getting poked in the ass crack by my husband’s hard dick.” Hollis pauses. “Sorry, was that too much information?”
My cousin yawns again, not at all helping the situation.
“I’m sorry,” she tells me for the second time. “What were you saying? You banged all night or no?”
I only hesitate a moment. There’s no point in lying; she’ll most likely find out the truth anyway if Tripp is the kind of man who tells his brother his personal business.
“Yes?” Pause.
“Not to be weird or anything, but how was it? Tripp doesn’t strike me as the sensitive type—he seems like more of a love ’em and leave ’em cold on the other side of the bed type.”
“Do you want me to tell you if he’s a cuddler first or how the sex was, because those are two entirely different things.”
“Could you not be so literal? We’re on a time crunch here.”
I can almost see her checking the gold watch circling her wrist; I know it’s there, because the expensive designer timepiece was a high school graduation gift from her parents, and I was at the party where she received it.
“Okay, yes—the sex was amazing. And yes, he’s a giver. I mean, he went down on me twice and I barely touched his dick at all.” Jeez, I can’t believe I just told her that. Now I feel like a selfish asshole.
“Oh nice! Love that! We call that a pillow princess, you know. Some guys would rather get you off than have you pleasure them or whatever.”
“How the hell do you know that?”
“Eh, some guy on a dating app wrote it in his bio and I had to do an internet search to figure out what it was.”
“I don’t think Tripp is looking for a pillow princess, I just think he was trying to get me off.”
Hollis sighs. “Yeah, you’re probably right—they all want their dicks sucked eventually.”
I gape, craning my neck to peer over my cubicle partition.
The coast is clear, so I hiss, “Are you alone right now? Jeez. Anyone could hear you.” Despite what little I know about her job in publishing, she’s still a grunt and I know she doesn’t have a cushy office either.