“I do, which is crazy, because I’ve been burned.” She bumps her shoulder against mine, shifting the mood with a tiny grin. “But if I tell you, that big old dragon of jealousy will go thrashing around.”
I growl in answer. “You’ve awakened the dragon.”
She tap dances her fingers up my chest. “Aw, that’s the Easton I know. Jealous and crazy over past men.”
“I hate any man who’s ever touched you,” I say, meaning it.
“Well, then, you’d really hate Braxton. I was with him for two years, and he cheated on me the whole time.”
I seethe. I grunt. “Who is this jackass?”
“Just an ex. But even so, I won’t give him power over me by turning off my desire for love. I’ve seen what love can do. I believe in its power. My dad was wildly in love with my mom and broken when she died. But then he met my stepmom, and he fell in love again. They’re crazy for each other. That’s why I know it’s possible, even if you’ve been hurt,” she says, squeezing my hand.
I want to believe what she’s saying is true for everyone, but the prospect of losing someone I love is too intense, too terrifying. I couldn’t endure that pain twice.
“You’re probably right, in theory,” I admit.
She laughs softly. “But theory is not reality, so it’s good that we have this understanding.”
I gesture from her to me, then to the bed. “Is that what this is? An understanding?”
An understanding has promise. Maybe we can both have a little something.
“I think we just made one. You don’t want more. And I do. So, this thing between us—this orgasm thing—will fade out and burn away. And that’s just the way it goes,” she says.
Wait. Is that all?
But truly, that’s all it can be.
“Yes, we have an understanding,” I say.
“Good,” she says, then her stomach growls. “Can this understanding also involve food?”
“What kind of food? The kind I can order or the kind I can make?”
Her eyes pop open. “I want the great Easton Ford to cook me dinner.”
“You should have everything you want, Bellamy,” I say, and brush my lips to hers, lingering in a kiss.
Then I cook her dinner, and she leaves a little before midnight.
I go to bed alone, and that feels a little empty.
Maybe that’s what understandings are. But alone is safe. And that’s exactly what I want.
29
Order of Arousal
From the Email Correspondence of Bellamy Hart and Easton Ford
Dear Bellamy,
* * *
By the way, you had spinach in your teeth from dinner last night.
* * *
Yours in food on your face,
Easton
Dear Easton,
* * *
And was I right? Were you still turned on?
* * *
Yours in maybe I meant to do it,
Bellamy
Dear Bellamy,
* * *
Let’s just say I was both turned on and amused. Would we call that a cousin of schadenfreude? Meaning . . . turned on while secretly laughing at your expense.
* * *
Yours in we need a new word for that,
Easton
Dear Easton,
* * *
I believe that’s called arousement.
* * *
Yours in made-up words,
Bellamy
Dear Bellamy,
* * *
A state best enjoyed with a couple more orgasms and a glass of Merlot. Also, you’re welcome for the additional Os.
* * *
Yours in multiples,
Easton
Dear Easton,
* * *
I thanked you last night for them, you greedy man.
But if you want more gratitude, here goes. I thoroughly enjoyed my Friday afternoon and evening with you. I indulged in cock, a rich red wine, a decadent slice of chocolate cake, terrific company, and that incredible spinach and mushroom risotto. Well done.
* * *
Yours in I really did enjoy myself,
Bellamy
Dear Bellamy,
* * *
I see you mentioned everything in order of enjoyment.
* * *
Yours,
Easton
Dear Easton,
* * *
Yes. In ascending order. The risotto was really good.
* * *
Yours in last words,
Bellamy
30
Bellamy Hart’s Planning Notes for A Million Frogs . . .
Time to start over.
To rip out the pages from the prior notebooks and begin again. But how the hell do I start with someone like Easton? I know how to make a dating profile for me. Been there, done that. Have the scars and the smiles to show for it. I can make one for any of my girlfriends too.
But for a guy who makes risotto that makes my taste buds sing? Who works with his badass grandma? Who’s familiar with Mrs. Whatsit? And who knew, too, just what to say to me when I felt terribly stuck, and then again when I felt free?
On the other hand, he’s also a guy who doesn’t want to date.
He’s a conundrum, and I don’t want to lead anyone on when I make his profile.
Least of all, myself.
So, I sit down to write him another letter, a little scared that these have become the best parts of my day.
Scared, and a little thrilled too.
31
All of the Above
During my run on Sunday morning, I mull over ideas for my meeting with Victoire’s PR department later this week.
The Twitter chatter has died down. Because that’s how social media cycles work—they reset whenever there’s a new outrage over whether pumpkin spice lattes have a right to exist or a celebrity should have an emotion. Still, Angeline made her wishes clear, and my job is to deliver for the client.
I’m solo on the trail today—I do my best thinking when I’m not smack-talking with my friends or laying down bets—so I peel off a few miles as the cogs turn.
I pass a man and a woman running together pushing a jogging stroller, then a pair of women who slow their pace to snap a selfie of a chaste kiss, then more solo runners.
The inkling of a publicity idea takes shape, but it needs more work, so I file it away, then head home to shower before I meet Spencer and Coco.