Is it bad I get turned on imagining him with another man? Yes, it is. I scrub my brain of the image of Ryan with anyone else, even if it is hot as hell.
He slides in on a moan, to the hilt, and I grip the door as he pumps in and out. Our bodies bump together, and I’m dazed and on the edge, waiting to take the leap, but he ruins it with...
“Knock. Knock.”
This time, I tell him to shut up. He doesn’t argue.
He rams into me, pulling my hips back against him until I’m soaring, arms spread, Queen of the world, rushing through time and space…with a bearded chef behind me. Nooooo. Get out of my head.
“Oh, fuck,” Ryan grits. “I won’t last long. It’s too good.”
His fingers find their way to my clit and circle the aching spot until I come so hard my knees sag. He pumps twice more, then a shudder racks his body as he orgasms.
His head drops to my back. “One good thing about breakup sex, it’s amazing.”
“Yeah,” I say, hiding my face beneath a curtain of curls, out of shame from the image of Austin as I came.
“I’m glad we’ll still see each other.”
“Me too.”
We truly do enjoy each other’s company (seeing as it’s basically just like hanging out with ourselves), so there’s certainly no reason we can’t be friends. We rise from the ground, fix our clothes, and make our way back to the party where Ryan mingles for a little while. I call Roger to pick me up. It’s time to let go and head home to have a private pity party.
I say goodbye to Ruth and on the way out of the building, stuff a couple not-bears in my pocket.
This certainly wasn’t the night I envisioned, but I’m learning to expect the unexpected.
It’ll be okay.
One door closes, another opens.
Twelve
“Charlotte, you were correct.” Making up with my best friend feels better than sex. The truth has finally set me free.
“I never tire of hearing that,” she says. “Now what are you going to do?”
“I already did it. Ryan’s rock is in my rearview.”
She props her feet on the coffee table. “That…wasn’t what I was saying.”
“No, I know.” I’m well aware of the real problem that still needs fixing. “But it was the right thing to do with Ryan.”
She laughs. “I cannot believe you made a door.”
“I can’t believe he shaved his beard.”
“Yeah. Such a shame. Are you sad about it ending?”
“Well, no. Is that bad? I mean, I’m sad I may never get my dream cabin in the woods with a bearded prince, but I’ll be okay. My heart will go on.”
She cringe-laughs. “You’re as bad as him with his knock-knock jokes.”
“See, too much alike.”
She listens as I tell her about the Uber ride home, and how Roger and I both agreed this was for the best. Excluding the Bud issue, sometimes, it’s a bad thing to be with someone so much like yourself. After all, an important part of a healthy relationship is learning from the other person and gaining fresh perspectives. Other than gummy highs and learning the finer domestic arts, I’m not sure what Ryan can offer me outside of friendship.
When I started doubting my decision, Roger had an excellent point—so excellent, I emailed the company to tell them what a gem of an employee they have in him—if we were to ever get stuck in a rut, we’d stay stuck. Because those similarities that seemed so lucky to find would prevent either of us from escaping the rut. Enabling bad behavior, if you will.
“Roger sounds super smart and intuitive. Maybe I need to Uber with him and discuss my problems.”
“You should. I highly recommend him. But you’re super smart and intuitive too.”
She sinks into the cushions of the couch and stares at the ceiling. “Like, I have a degree in psychology, so I know all the right things to say to other people’s problems, but when it’s you, it’s not so easy to follow the advice. I want what I want and the fact I can’t have it is depressing.”
“Preaching to the choir,” I murmur.
We sit in comfortable silence for a moment, in the way best friends do, and then I look over at her. “I’m sorry you’re so stressed about the wedding and that I didn’t seem to grasp how upsetting the whole venue thing is for you. I finally understood the depth of what you’re going through when Ryan’s mom got the final say in our sex-painting location.”
She smiles. “You know what upset me more than the wedding stuff?”
“What?”
“That you thought I thought you were slutting around. Like I’ve got any history of slut-shaming? I am the girl who had sex in a church, in case you forgot.”
“You’re Jewish. It wasn’t quite as forbidden for you.”
“It’s the principle! Anyway. How could you think I’d judge you like that?”
“Maybe because I was judging me like that?”
“You shouldn’t, though. Sex isn’t shameful.” She stares at her toes. “It’s not about the guys you’re dating. My main issue is how can you ever move on when he’s in your face daily? I love Austin, obviously, but it’s like you’re putting a Band-Aid on a gaping wound and hoping it will heal.”
She’s right, of course. “I know. After the wedding, and the winter craft fair, maybe I’ll look for another place.”
This was stupid of me to think I could live here and not be affected by glimpses of Austin’s bod leaving the bathroom with only a towel slung around his hips. Or having dinner, laughing and talking about his day. On a friend level, it’s all fine. But it doesn’t help end a crush you’re trying to get over when you see him walk in the kitchen for morning coffee, hair mussed, still semi-sporting morning wood.
“So Ryan handled it well, huh?”
“Yeah, we’re still going to bang if needed, and that was the best part, so.”
She laughs. “My God. The grasshopper has become the master.”
It cuts our conversation short when Austin shows up with an amazing bottle of something that he got from the owner in exchange for catering a private party. With renewed effort, I keep my eyes above his beard, which is filling out at a rapid pace.
“It’s good to see you two back on the couch together. We need to celebrate.”
“Bless you,” Charlotte says. “I could use a drink. Um, you have a beard?”
“Yep.”
“What does Lucy think about that?”
“Don’t know. Haven’t talked to her.”
I can’t imagine she won’t love it. I’m sure she’ll hug it with her toned legs around his face. Lucky girl.
“It looks good on you,” Charlotte says.
“Thanks. I might keep it after this whole No-Shave-November thing.”
He touches it! Fondles it! It’s too much to bear, and I bound from the couch to grab glasses from the cabinet while Austin opens the bottle. We decide it’s going to be an old-fashioned getting hammered with your friends’ night. Since Charlotte and I are on opposite ends of the couch, Austin sits between us. I wedge myself in the corner, practically hanging over the arm. He pours each of us a generous amount, and we cheers before slugging the tasty liquid back.