“Because it’s not. I want someone who challenges me. Who will fight with me until we end up having hot sex on the floor and he pulls my hair back and drills into me from behind.”
“Man, I think our friendship just took a turn.” She laughs. “Tell me more, sex kitten.”
I flop down on my bed, still in my robe. “You can’t tell me you’d want some guy who treats you like a porcelain doll.”
“No. Definitely not. And I know you’re probably going to think I’m boring, but I like missionary.”
“I didn’t say there’s anything wrong with missionary. I just don’t want to be staring up at the ceiling every night, faking an orgasm and pretending to enjoy his sweaty body on top of me.”
“Paisley!” she yells and cackles with laughter.
“What?” I chuckle.
“I never knew any of this about you.”
I sigh. “Well, now you do. But I’m either going to have to teach my future husband how to fuck me or just resort to a sex toy drawer to fulfill my fantasies.” Going after the kind of guy I want is dangerous—I’ve seen how that works out.
“Maksim is smitten with you. I see the way he looks at you. There’s no way that man isn’t going to toss you around in the bedroom.”
She’s right. I know she is. Sometimes I hate myself for only seeing myself as a plain Jane, but I look identical to my mother. The dimple. The curls. The sweet demeanor as though she’d harm no one. My dad’s mistress was blonde, with dark eyeliner and red lipstick. She wore short dresses that clung to her ass and breasts with high heels that made her legs go on for miles. Eventually, men tire of the girl next door. She seems like a good idea when you’re looking for someone to mother your children, but that gets old fast.
The night my dad left, I swore I’d never allow myself to get in a relationship like that. His absence set off a phase in high school, one I’m not proud of, where I was the girl who’d fool around with anyone. Of course, I kept it to the public school boys. Boys who lived in my neighborhood and didn’t attend the private school I went to. They thought I was that much more appealing because of the Catholic schoolgirl uniform—“Wear your short plaid skirt,” they’d say.
I shake my head, wanting to forget that girl. It’s the one piece of my life I’ve never shared with Jana.
“Want to bet it’s Italian?” I say.
“My money’s on Maksim being more original than that, but wear a dark color just in case the sauce splashes up on you.”
“I’m just going to wear my boring black dress then.” I get up off the bed and take it off the hanger.
“I hope he surprises you.”
“Me too.”
“I’ll be crossing my fingers for some doggie style in your future.” She laughs, and we both say goodbye before hanging up.
I stare at the black dress I wear on almost every date. It’s simple, and I can pair it with a jean jacket and sandals to tone it down, depending on what he’s wearing when he shows up. I make my hair a little bouncier, spray the curls in place. My makeup is light, barely there, a natural look with my lips a little pinker than normal.
The doorbell rings a minute later, and I take one last look at myself, preparing the standard date answers as to why I chose psychology, where I went to school, how long it will be until my practice is doing well. I open the door and find Maksim in shorts, a T-shirt, and a sweatshirt over top, looking handsome as ever and casual.
“Um.” I look down at myself. Even if I put on my jacket and sandals, I’m still way over dressed.
“Yeah, go change into shorts and a T-shirt while I snoop.” He walks into my house without an invite.
There’s a comeback on the tip of my tongue, but I kind of like his take-charge behavior.
“There’s nothing to find.” I smile, leaving him in my small living room while I head to the bathroom.
“We’ll see about that. Hurry up, I’ve got reservations.”
“Where?”
“You’ll see.”
Sitting in Maksim’s Mercedes, one that almost looks as if it’s matchbook-sized compared to him, the scent of his aftershave or his cologne makes my body hum. Now that I’m here with him and we’re really doing this, my nerves are working overtime. I was prepared to sleep with Maksim when we were in Toronto, but I have a feeling that being wooed by Maksim will be something else entirely.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
He smiles at me as he heads onto the freeway. “It’s a surprise. Sorry to disappoint you if you thought I was going to take you to a fancy restaurant.”
“No. I’m not disappointed.” I’m not, although I did assume.
“You thought that, didn’t you?” He grins, and the way it lights up his crystal-blue eyes should be criminal.
I shake my head, but my smile gives me away and his grin widens. “Maybe.”
“I’m more original than that.” He winks.
Isn’t that the problem though? He’s unlike any other man I’ve ever met, and the harder I try to push aside any curiosity I have for this man, the more he pulls me in.
“I guess we’ll see.”
“Are you challenging me?”
“Maybe.” I shrug.
“How many dates do you think I can plan before I do something unoriginal like dinner and a movie?”
I shift in my seat to face him, curious where this line of conversation is going. I’d love to go on more dates with this man, especially since the bubbly feeling in my stomach is a nice change of pace. But I don’t want to get my hopes up. “Who’s the one to decide unoriginal versus original?”
“I think we can manage that ourselves. How many?”
“Two,” I say.
He groans. “Kotik, you’re making this too easy.”
I chuckle. “Okay.” I don’t want to make it too hard for him. I’m not sure how many dates I could plan that were original. “Five.”
“Let’s say nine. It is my lucky number.” He looks away from the highway for a moment and grins at me.
“Nine dates?” My eyes are wide as he nods. “You’re going to commit to nine dates with me?”
When he pulls off the highway, the car idles at a stoplight and he glances at me, his eyes holding a devilish glint. “I’d commit to an infinite amount of dates with you.”
I’d like to say “only until you find someone else who interests you more,” but I push that thought aside, excited to see him even attempt nine.
“And what do you get if you pull off nine original dates?” I ask.
“If I succeed, then you have to plan an unoriginal date for me.”
I nod in agreement. “And if you lose?”
“We can do an honest therapy session and I won’t come on to you once.”
How can I turn that down? I hold out my hand. “Deal.”
He takes it, and heat courses through my veins from where our skin meets. “Free up your calendar, Miss Paisley.”
“That’s Dr. Paisley.”
“Now you’re putting thoughts in my head of you in a white coat and naked underneath. I think I want to change up my reward after the nine dates.” His hands tighten on the steering wheel and he turns onto the main road.