10
* * *
JESSA
This has officially become the most unique date I’ve ever been on.
We’re sitting in the back room at Frisky Business with six other couples. By “we,” I mean I’m sitting next to Connor, who’s looking so hot it’s unfair. His knee is so close to mine that I can almost feel the heat of his skin through the denim of his jeans. Between the closeness of his body and the fact that we’re literally sitting in the back of a sex-toy shop that he owns, it’s getting really, really hard to focus.
I’ll admit, when Connor first asked me out, I was hesitant. Scratch that. I didn’t even realize what he was asking. He’s my boss, after all, and our dating would be totally inappropriate. Plus, with every day that passes, I get closer to leaving, and that doesn’t feel fair to Connor or to baby Marley.
But then Connor looked at me, and I looked back at him, and the look in those dreamy green eyes was enough to make my heart ooze out of my chest.
I know what it’s like to feel rejection. Real rejection. The kind that pierces through you, pokes holes in your chest, makes you feel like you’re empty and hollow inside. And I knew I couldn’t do that to him. Not to Connor. Not to a man who’s so sweet, so sincere, he makes me wonder why I ever wanted to leave this city.
Because I’ve been with men who were the opposite of him. Men who were cruel and heartless and cold. Men who rejected me, even when they were with me. Men who looked for every opportunity to tear me down, to make me feel small and insignificant and unworthy of their precious attention. I’ve wasted years chasing after those kinds of men, waiting for them to change, waiting for them to love me the way I wanted them to.
But of course they never did. No amount of love I could give them could ever be enough. They were who they were, and I had to accept that. Or, in my case, have them push me away so many times I felt like I might break into a million tiny insignificant pieces until I decided to stop crawling back to them anymore.
Then finally, one day I started to put myself back together again. I took some time for myself, a year or two, to really figure out who I was and what I wanted. That’s how I’d decided on the trip to Central America.
It wasn’t just about getting away—it was about helping people, doing something that really mattered. Which is why it feels so terrible that any part of me is now thinking about staying in Chicago after all. Even if it is for Connor. Going on the trip is supposed to be for me. It’s supposed to be a part of my healing.
“Friends, lovers, people of all varieties, welcome to Spice Up Your Sex Life.” A twenty-something woman with lavender hair, a septum ring, and an artful half sleeve on her left arm stands at the front of the room with her hands clasped over her heart, and a warm, welcoming smile on her face. “I’m Neda, and I’ll be your guide this evening.”
Neda starts walking around the room, weaving through the rows of couples as she continues.
“Everyone’s spice levels are going to be different. Anything outside of missionary might be spicy for some. Others might have a closet full of whips and chains. We’re all approaching things from different angles, and wherever you’re coming from, that’s okay. I still think everyone will get something out of this class.”
Her gaze lands directly on me when she says the word “everyone.” Or at least, it feels like her gaze is on me.
Is it hot in here? Am I the only one sweating?
I turn to sneak a peek at Connor’s face, only to find him peering down at me to check mine. I quirk a brow up at him. He holds up his hands and murmurs, “There are no whips or chains in my closet. I promise.”
I bite my lip to stifle a nervous giggle. All right, then. It’s going to be that kind of evening.
“Before we get started, let’s get to know each other,” Neda says, casting a broad smile around the room. “How long has everyone been with their partner?”
The man in the couple next to us speaks first. “Eight years.”
Oh shit.
“Fourteen,” someone says from behind us.
“Two of the best years of my life,” a woman says at the front of the room, placing her hand on her partner’s shoulder.
The instructor reaches our row and stares at Connor and me expectantly. We exchange a look, and he shrugs.
“This is our first date,” he says somewhat shyly.
A few of the couples around us cheer, and Neda gives us an impressed smile.
“Adventure. Good. That bodes well for your future,” she says mysteriously before whisking herself away to the front of the room.
She plants herself in front of the couple who’s been together for two years, and they stare up at her admiringly.
“So,” Neda says briskly, “tonight we’ll be focusing primarily on the concept of accelerators and brakes. Accelerators are things that heat you up. Brakes, on the other hand, are things that make you . . . not in the mood.”
My stomach drops. I’m not sure what I was expecting from a class called “Spice Up Your Sex Life” that takes place in the back of a sex-toy shop, but it’s only hitting me right now just how intimate these topics will be. Dangerously close to being too intimate to discuss with someone I’ve only known for a few weeks and shared a single kiss with.
But strangely, as Neda keeps talking, explaining examples of accelerators, nothing about this feels awkward. I can’t imagine being here with anyone except Connor. Instead of discomfort or strained silence between the two of us, there’s this buzzy excitement, like we can’t wait to get started.
Although, let’s be honest, the alcohol might have had something to do with that.
The instructor continues to wander around the room, this time handing out a worksheet to each of the couples. She places one of the papers on the table in front of us, and Connor and I exchange a look.
“Use this worksheet to start a discussion between you and your partner. It’s important to communicate about your accelerators and your brakes. Otherwise, you might not realize when you’re pressing both pedals at the same time.”
She arches a brow at us and then continues around the room, and a low hum of muted voices fills the air as the couples begin discussing.
Connor picks up the sheet of paper, scanning the questions before looking back at me. There’s a playful glint in his eyes, coupled with something curious, something darker. My stomach ties itself into a thousand tiny knots, and I lick my lips and nod for him to read.
His eyebrows shoot up, and then he smiles. It’s a rare smile, the kind that makes me want to melt into a puddle of warm mush. Then he clears his throat and asks, “What’s an accelerator for you? The examples are watching porn together, lighting candles, wearing lingerie . . . role-playing games?”
My mouth falls open. This. This is an accelerator for me. Hearing Connor’s deep voice rumble over each word.
I quickly pull myself together. Tossing my hair over my shoulder, I look up at the ceiling and bite my lip, trying to look like I’m thinking. “Wearing lingerie,” I say finally. “And lighting candles. Porn is kind of take it or leave it for me.”
Connor nods slowly, and I can practically see him struggling not to ogle every inch of my body. “Lingerie is good.”